Shakespeare's England E-Book

• Herausgeber: The History Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 511

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2003

Beschreibung

This is an intriguing and fascinating collection of excerpts from some of the best, wittiest and most unusual sixteenth and seventeenth century writing. Shakespeare's England brings to life the variety, the energy and the harsh reality of England at this time. Providing a fascinating picture of the age, it includes extracts from a wide range of writing, taken from books, plays, poems, letters, diaries and pamphlets by and about Shakespeare's contemporaries. These include William Harrison and Fynes Moryson (providing descriptions of England), Nicholas Breton (on country life), Isabella Whitney and Thomas Dekker (on London life), Nashe (on struggling women writers), Stubbes (with a Puritan view of Elizabethan enjoyments), Harsnet and Burton (on witches and spirits), John Donne (meditations on prayer and death), King James I (on tobacco) and Shakespeare himself.

Leseprobe

Shakespeare’s

ENGLAND

Shakespeare’s

ENGLAND

Life in Elizabethan & Jacobean Times

EDITED & INTRODUCED BY

R. E. PRITCHARD

First published in 1999, 2013

The History Press

The Mill, Brimscombe Port

Stroud, Gloucestershire, GL5 2QG

www.thehistorypress.co.uk

This ebook edition first published in 2013

All rights reserved

© R.E. Pritchard, 1999, 2003, 2013

The right of R.E. Pritchard to be identified as the Author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

EPUB ISBN 978 0 7509 5282 8

Original typesetting by The History Press

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

INTRODUCTION

1

England and the English

2

Women and Men

3

House and Home

4

Country Life

5

Education

6

Beliefs

7

The Court

8

London

9

Arts and Pleasures

10

Poverty, Crime and Punishment

11

Over Seas

Coda

FURTHER READING

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

British Library: 1 (MS Eg. 1222.f.73); Bodleian Library: 2, 7, 9, 10, 11, 16, 21 (A.3.15.6–14), 3 (Mal.632), 6 (R.205), 8 (Douce M.399), 12 (4º 17.11.Art), 14 (A.5.287), 20 (Mal.6012), 22 (Mal.632), 25 (G.A. Ireland 4º 82); Pepysian Library, Magdalene College, Cambridge: 4, 5, 24; Staatriche Museen, Kassel: 13; Guildhall Library: 15, 18; Museum of London: 17; Courtauld Institute: 19; British Museum: 23 (117a).

If the publisher and the author have unwittingly infringed copyright in any picture or photograph or text reproduced in this publication, we tender our sincere apologies and will be glad of the opportunity, upon being satisfied as to the owner’s title, to pay an appropriate fee as if we had been able to obtain prior permission.

INTRODUCTION

To hold . . . the mirror up to nature; to show . . . the very age and body of the time his true form and pressure.

Shakespeare, Hamlet (1600–3)

This collection of writings by and about Shakespeare’s contemporaries, drawn from books, plays, pamphlets and a handful of poems, has been selected both because the passages are interesting and entertaining in themselves, and because of the insight they give us into how some Elizabethans and Jacobeans, the well-known and the obscure, perceived the England of their times. A wide range of topics touched on by Shakespeare is included: love and marriage, work and leisure, Court and country, religion and crime, home life and overseas; throughout, a shared world-view becomes apparent.

While some of the famous appear, the emphasis here is on lesserknown writers and passages. In some ways, the greater writers are greater because they penetrate more incisively and eloquently into the essential spirit of their age; but the lesser writers may provide more of the cultural and linguistic context, often give a more generally informative picture of what was going on, and provide their own distinctive pleasures and judgements. Some writers of the time – Holinshed in his Chronicles, Spenser in The Faerie Queene, Shakespeare in his Histories and King Lear – strove, through poetic mythology and history, to engage with and shape ‘England’, as not just a place or uncertain political structure but an evolving and not readily definable cultural identity. The writings here suggest the day-to-day feel of it, then.

It is notable that the writers are almost all men from the minority upper and middle social orders: women and the lower social orders were generally less literate, with fewer opportunities to write, let alone publish. Their views and experiences achieved little public expression then (though matters improved later in the seventeenth century). Consequently, even if this were a much larger volume, a complete picture of English society at the time would hardly be possible. Likewise, when encountering these writers’ reflections on life, we should remember that (as Hamlet would know) all mirrors distort, and that generally they were less concerned with objective reporting than with making money or a reputation, entertaining, persuading, or reflecting the prejudices of various readerships. Some might consciously engage in long-term political, religious or cultural struggles, and most reveal unexamined assumptions. Inevitably, their culture speaks through them. As such, these writings are part of the history of their times, reflecting and helping to shape their society and its values; they are not objective socio-cultural analyses.

With this in mind, each chapter has a concise, contextual introduction, indebted in varying degrees to the work of recent historians, as represented in the select list of further reading. For greater convenience, spelling, punctuation and typographical conventions have been modernized, and glossing of obscure words and phrases is inserted in the text, in square brackets, rather than tucked away at the back. Such modernization, however, tends to conceal what the original appearance might suggest, that different linguistic practices derive from different cultures and assumptions; even where the words are the same, the meanings may vary. These voices echo out of the past: while much is very recognizable, we may not catch everything they say. (In ‘Pierre Menard’, Jorge Luis Borges warns us of ‘the elementary idea that all epochs are the same, or that they are different’.)

Writing at this time intended for publication had to be approved and entered in the Stationers’ Register; after that, it was widely available, from the bookstalls near St Paul’s churchyard, from provincial booksellers and, especially in the case of pamphlets, from country pedlars (like Autolycus in The Winter’s Tale). The expansion of education produced an increasingly wide readership (more could read than could easily write), at all levels of society. The day of the professional writer – seeking profitable subjects (a printer might offer ‘forty shillings and an odd pottle of wine’), catering for different markets – had arrived. Most readers were looking for serious material: religious writing (theology, debate, sermons) was predominant, and history, travel, medical and instructional works sold well. Docere et delectare, ‘profit and delight’, were the watchwords. There was also a growing market for entertainment – satirical pamphlets, accounts of crime and scandal, poems and ballads, almanacs, playscripts, jestbooks, and fiction (though the realist novel did not appear until much later). By the turn of the century, perhaps two hundred books were published each year.

Most writers’ work was shaped by their education, where the grammar schools and universities concentrated on style as demonstrated in the Latin classics and rhetoric. Writers were trained in the formal disposition of material and the conscious selection of style appropriate to subject and purpose, and encouraged to develop copiousness – accumulation and variation – while variety of metaphor, simile and phrase, and verbal patterning, were particularly appreciated. Classical literary models lay behind much of their writing; increasingly important, however, was the influence of spoken English, of voice (‘Language most shows a man: speak, that I may see thee,’ wrote Ben Jonson): in the writing of the time, much of the vocabulary, structure and rhythms reflect the pressure and requirements of vigorous speech rather than of grammatical correctness.

At all levels, there is an appreciation of rhetoric, of style, of vigour, of the capacity to combine the colloquial and direct with the extravagant or formal. Whatever the views the writers seek to propagate, whatever the accuracy of their reportage, it is the strength of, and their pleasure in, their writing that is apparent, that in turn serve to increase our pleasure in reading, and to extend our imaginative sympathy and understanding of life both then and now.

1

ENGLANDANDTHE ENGLISH

This earth, this realm, this England.

Shakespeare, Richard II (1596)

In the sixteenth century, people were interested in ‘perspective’ paintings, in which the subject changed appearance according to the observer’s viewpoint. Likewise, there are different perspectives on the life of these times. One would portray ‘merry England’, an increasing national confidence, the glamour of Court and high fashion, the splendour of great mansions, the power and beauty of the drama, literature and music, the eloquence of religious prose and concern for religious principle, the charm of traditional customs and a relatively lightly populated, bird-rich countryside, and remarkable, energetic and colourful individuals. Another would present a typical third-world developing country, with gross disparities of wealth, with the powerful few plundering the commonwealth, the numerous poor with low life-expectancy, traditional cultural patterns crumbling under the pressure of new and more efficient agricultural and economic practices, inflation outpacing wages, child labour, infectious diseases, religious intolerance and widespread superstition. As in all good perspective paintings, each has its own validity – and may be glimpsed, sometimes between the lines, in this volume’s writings.

The population was starting to grow again, with increasing rapidity, from nearly three million to about four-and-a-half million in Shakespeare’s lifetime. A high birth rate mostly surpassed a high death rate from endemic diseases such as pneumonia and tuberculosis and epidemics of plague, typhus and viral diseases, exacerbated by poor hygiene and periods of acute dearth. Pressure on land and food resources produced a busy land market and sharp increases in land rents and food prices (the price of grain doubled in Shakespeare’s lifetime), while wages and accommodation increased very little.

Traditional hierarchies remained, but were significantly affected by economic change. The great magnates of the aristocracy and upper gentry, a tiny minority owning some 15 to 20 per cent of the land, did well from the sale of Church estates in the 1530s and Crown estates in the 1560s and 1580s; inflation, and the growing cost of the conspicuous consumption, especially of luxury goods, expected of the upper orders, enforced the selling-off of land, while the acquisition of estates by lawyers, successful businessmen, large farmers and even yeomen, opened the way to social promotion into the gentry and governing classes. Smallholders, small tradesmen and poor cottagers did worse; these were very bad times for the urban poor.

Unaccustomed social mobility accompanied geographical mobility, as people moved around from village to village or to town or even (especially) to London, in pursuit of work, accommodation or food. Most people lived in the country, southeast of a line from the Humber to the Severn, working in agriculture or related trades. There were a few moderate-sized towns (around 1600, Norwich numbered some 30,000, Bristol 20,000, Newcastle 16,000), and many little market towns; poor roads discouraged transport, so marketing and service activities were decentralized.

Agriculture was the main activity; here we may note the importance of the cloth industry, though this struggled in the later sixteenth century, as broadcloth (produced mostly in the southwest) declined, while lighter fabrics and worsteds from Essex and Norfolk did better. Stone quarrying increased, to build the ‘prodigy houses’ of the rich; woodburning and charcoal diminished the woodlands, but coal was increasingly mined, and the iron industry expanded in the Weald, South Wales and the Midlands, as did lead (for the houses’ roofs, waterpipes and window-frames), tin and copper (cooking utensils), glass for more windows, and drinking (‘glasses, glasses is the only drinking,’ said Falstaff), and lace for ruffs, cuffs and collars (and starch to stiffen them).

More great houses, and more homelessness; more production, more deprivation; more rich, and more poor; and a general, steady improvement for ‘the middling sort’. As is the way, a great deal of the new techniques, investment and skilled labour that helped in the industrial transformation of early modern England were imported from the more advanced countries (the Netherlands, Flanders, France); but at last, in a process of profound economic, social and cultural change, one of Europe’s more backward countries was catching up.

ENGLAND: THE EARTH, ANDTHE FULLNESS THEREOF

The air of England is temperate but thick, cloudy and misty, and Caesar witnesseth that the cold is not so piercing as in France. For the sun draweth up the vapours of the sea which compasseth the island, and distils them upon the earth in frequent showers of rain, so that frosts are somewhat rare; and howsoever snow may often fall in the winter time, yet in the southern parts (especially) it seldom lies long on the ground. Also the cool blasts of sea winds mitigate the heat of summer.

By reason of this temper, laurel and rosemary flourish all winter, especially in the southern parts, and in summertime England yields apricots plentifully, musk melons in good quantity, and figs in some places, all which ripen well, and happily imitate the taste and goodness of the same fruits in Italy. And by the same reason all beasts bring forth their young in the open fields, even in the time of winter. And England hath such abundance of apples, pears, cherries and plums, such variety of them and so good in all respects, as no country yields more or better, for which the Italians would gladly exchange their citrons and oranges. But upon the sea coast the winds many times blast the fruits in the very flower.

The English are so naturally inclined to pleasure, as there is no country wherein the gentlemen and lords have so many and large parks only reserved for the pleasure of hunting, or where all sorts of men allot so much ground about their houses for pleasure of gardens and orchards. The very grapes, especially towards the south and west, are of a pleasant taste, and I have said that in some counties, as in Gloucestershire, they made wine of old, which no doubt many parts would yield at this day, but that the inhabitants forbear to plant vines, as well because they are served plentifully and at a good rate with French wines, as for that the hills most fit to bear grapes yield more commodity by feeding of sheep and cattle. . . .

England abounds with sea-coals upon the sea-coast, and with pitcoals within land. But the woods this day are rather frequent and pleasant than vast, being exhausted for fire and with iron-mills, so as the quantity of wood and charcoal for fire is much diminished in respect of the old abundance; and in some places, as in the Fens, they burn turf, and the very dung of cows. Yet in the meantime England exports great quantity of sea-coal to foreign parts. In like sort England hath infinite quantity, as of metals, so of wool and woollen clothes to be exported. The English beer is famous in Netherland and lower Germany, which is made of barley and hops; for England yields plenty of hops, howsoever they also use Flemish hops. . . .

England abounds with corn [wheat], which they may transport, when a quarter (in some places containing six, in others eight, bushels) is sold for twenty shillings, or under; and this corn not only serves England, but also served the English army in the civil wars of Ireland, at which time they also exported great quantity thereof into foreign parts, and by God’s mercy England scarce one in ten years needs supply of foreign corn, which want commonly proceeds of the covetousness of private men, finding great commodity in feeding of sheep and cattle than in the plough (requiring the hands of many servants), can by no law be restrained from turning cornfields into enclosed pastures, especially since great men are the first to break these laws.

England abounds with all kinds of fowl as well of the sea as of the land, and hath more tame swans swimming in the rivers than I did see in any other part. It hath multitudes of hurtful birds, as crows, ravens and kites, and they labour not to destroy the crows consuming great quantity of corn, because they feed on worms and other things hurting the corn. And in great cities it is forbidden to kill kites and ravens, because they devour the filth of the streets. England hath very great plenty of sea and river-fish, especially above all other parts abundance of oysters, mackerel and herrings, and the English are very industrious in fishing, though nothing comparable to the Flemings therein.

Fynes Moryson, An Itinerary (1617)

ROUGH UNEVEN WAYS DRAW OUT OUR MILES

Now to speak generally of our common highways through the English part of our isle (for of the rest I can say nothing), you shall understand that in the clay or cledgy soil they are often very deep and troublesome in the winter half. Wherefore by authority of Parliament an order is taken for their yearly amendment, whereby all sorts of the common people do employ their travail for six days in summer upon the same. And albeit that the intent of the statute is very profitable for the reparations of the decayed places, yet the rich do so cancel their portions, and the poor do so loiter in their labours, that of all the six, scarcely two days’ work are well performed and accomplished in a parish on these so necessary affairs. Besides this, such as have land lying upon the sides of the ways do utterly neglect to ditch and scour their drains and water-courses for better avoidance of the winter waters . . . whereby the streets do grow to be much more gulled [rutted] than before, and thereby very noisome for such as travel by the same. Sometimes also, and that very often, these days’ works are not employed upon those ways that lead from market to market, but each surveyor amendeth such byplots and lanes as seem best for his own commodity and more easy passage unto his fields and pastures. And whereas in some places there is such want of stones as thereby the inhabitants are driven to seek them far off in other soils, the owners of the lands wherein those stones are to be had, and which have hitherto given money to have them borne away, do now reap no small commodity [profit] by raising the same to excessive prices, whereby their neighbours are driven to grievous charges, which is another cause wherefore the meaning of that good law is very much defrauded. Finally, this is another thing likewise to be considered of, that the trees and bushes growing by the streets’ sides do not a little keep off the force of the sun in summer for drying up of the lanes. Wherefore if order were taken that their boughs should continually be kept short, and the bushes not suffered to spread so far into the narrow paths, that inconvenience would also be remedied, and many a slough prove hard ground, that yet is deep and hollow.

Of the daily encroachments of the covetous upon the highways I speak not. But this I know by experience, that whereas some streets within these five and twenty years have been in most places fifty foot broad, according to the law, whereby the traveller might escape the thief, or shift the mire, or pass by the laden cart without damage of himself and his horse, now they are brought unto twelve, or twenty, or six and twenty at the most, which is another cause also whereby the ways be worse, and many an honest man encumbered in his journey. But what speak I of these things whereof I do not think to hear a just redress, because the error is so common, and the benefit thereby so sweet and profitable to many by such houses and cottages as are raised upon the same.

William Harrison, Description of England (1587)

SHALL I NOT TAKE MINE EASE IN MINE INN?

(I)

The world affords not such inns as England hath, either for good and cheap entertainment after the guests’ own pleasure, or for humble attendance on passengers, yea, in very poor villages, where if Curculio of Plautus should see the thatched houses he would fall into a fainting of his spirits, but if he should smell the variety of meats his starveling look would be much cheered. For as soon as a passenger comes to an inn, the servants run to him, and one takes his horse and walks him till he be cold, then rubs him and gives him meat; yet I must say that they are not much to be trusted in this last point, without the eye of the master or his servant to oversee them. Another servant gives the passenger his private chamber, and kindles his fire, the third pulls off his boots and makes them clean. Then the host or hostess visits him, and if he will eat with the host or at a common table with others, his meal will cost him sixpence, or in some places but fourpence (yet this course is less honourable and not used by gentlemen); but if he will eat in his chamber he commands what meat he will, according to his appetite, and as much as he thinks fit for him and his company, yea, the kitchen is open to him, to command the meat to be dressed as he best likes, and when he sits at table, the host or hostess will accompany him, or if they have many guests will at least visit him, taking it for courtesy to be bid sit down. While he eats, if he have company especially, he shall be offered music, which he may freely take or refuse, and if he be solitary, the musicians will give him the good day with music in the morning. It is the custom, and no way disgraceful, to set up part of supper for his breakfast. In the evening, or in the morning after breakfast (for the common sort use not to dine, but ride from breakfast to suppertime, yet coming early to the inn for better resting of their horses), he shall have a reckoning in writing, and if it seem unreasonable, the host will satisfy him, either for the due price or by abating part, especially if the servant deceive him any way, which one of experience will soon find. Having formerly spoken of ordinary expenses by the highway, as well in the particular journal of the first part as in a chapter of this part, purposely treating thereof, I will now only add, that a gentleman and his man shall spend as much as if he were accompanied with another gentleman and his man, and if gentlemen will in such sort join together to eat at one table, the expenses will be much diminished. Lastly, a man cannot more freely command at home than he may do in his inn, and, at parting, if he give some few pence to the chamberlain and ostler, they wish him a happy journey.

Fynes Moryson, An Itinerary (1617)

(II)

If the traveller have an horse, his bed doth cost him nothing, but if he go on foot he is sure to pay a penny for the same; but whether he be horseman or footman, if his chamber be once appointed he may carry the key with him, as of his own house, so long as he lodgeth there. If he loseth aught while he abideth in the inn, the host is bound by a general custom to restore the damage, so that there is no greater security anywhere for travellers than in the greatest inns in England.

Their horses in like sort are walked, dressed and looked unto by certain ostlers or hired servants, appointed at the charges of the goodman of the house, who in hope of extraordinary reward will deal very diligently, after outward appearance, in this their function and calling. Herein nevertheless are many of them blameworthy, in that they do not only deceive the beast oftentimes of his allowance by sundry means, except their owners look well to them; but also make such packs with slipper merchants which hunt after prey (for what place is sure from evil and wicked persons?) that many an honest man is spoiled of his goods as he travelleth to and fro, in which feat also the counsel of the tapsters or drawers of drink, and chamberlains is not seldom behind or wanting.

Certes, I believe that not a chapman or traveller in England is robbed by the way without the knowledge of some of them; for when he cometh into the inn and alighteth from his horse, the ostler forthwith is very busy to take down his budget [bag] or capcase [wallet] in the yard from his saddlebow, which he peiseth [weighs] slyly in his hand to feel the weight thereof; or if he miss of this pitch, when the guest hath taken up his chamber, the chamberlain that looketh to the making of the beds will be sure to remove it from the place where the owner hath set it, as if it were to set it more conveniently somewhere else, whereby he getteth an inkling whether it be money or other sort wares, and therefore giveth warning to such odd guests as haunt the house and are of his confederacy, to the utter undoing of many an honest yeoman as he journeyeth by the way. The tapster in like sort for his part doth mark his behaviour, and what plenty of money he draweth when he payeth the shot, to the like end: so that it shall be an hard matter to escape all their subtle practices. Some think it a gay matter to commit their budgets at their coming to the goodman of the house, but thereby they oft bewray [deceive] themselves. For albeit their money be safe for the time that it is in his hands (for you shall not hear that a man is robbed in his inn), yet after their departure the host can make no warranties of the same, sith his protection extendeth no farther than the gate of his own house; and there cannot be a surer token unto such as pry and watch for these booties, than to see any guest deliver his capcase in such a manner.

In all our inns we have plenty of ale, beer and sundry kinds of wine, and such is the capacity of some of them that they are able to lodge two hundred or three hundred persons and their horses at least, and thereto with a very short warning make such provision for their diet, as to him that is unacquainted withal may seem to be incredible. Howbeit of all in England there are no worse inns than in London, and yet many are there far better than the best I have heard of in any foreign country, if all circumstances be duly considered.

William Harrison, Description of England (1587)

TRAVELLERSINA vILLAINOUS INN

ROCHESTER, KENT. AN IN YARD.

First Carrier.

Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I’ll be hanged; Charles’s wain [the Plough constellation] is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler!

Ostler (within).

Anon, anon.

First Carrier.

I prithee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle; put a few flocks [tufts of wool] in the point [saddle-strap], poor jade is wrung in the withers [galled on the shoulder-ridge] out of all cess.

ENTER SECOND CARIER.

Second Carrier.

Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jade the bots [worms]; this house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.

First Carrier.

Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death of him.

Second Carrier.

I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas; I am stung like a tench.

First Carrier.

Like a tench! By the mass, there is ne’er a king christen could be better bit than I have been since the first cock.

Second Carrier.

Why, they will allow us ne’er a jordan [chamber-pot], and then we leak in your chimney; and your chamberlye [urine] breeds fleas like a loach.

First Carrier.

What, ostler! Come away, and be hanged; come away!

Second Carrier.

I have a gammon of bacon and two razes [roots] of ginger to be delivered as far as Charing Cross.

First Carrier.

God’s body! the turkeys in my pannier are quite starved. What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? Canst not hear? An ‘twere not as good deed as drink to break the pate on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged! Hast no faith in thee?

ENTER GADSHIL [A THIEF].

Gadshill.

Good morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock?

First Carrier.

I think it be two o’clock.

Gadshill.

I prithee lend me thy lantern to see my gelding in the stable.

First Carrier.

Nay, by God! Soft! I know a trick worth two of that, i’faith.

Gadshill.

I pray thee lend me thine.

Second Carrier.

Aye, when, canst tell? Lend me thy lantern, quoth’a? Marry, I’ll see thee hanged first.

Gadshill.

Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

Second Carrier.

Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour Mugs, we’ll call up the gentlemen; they will along with company, for they have great charge.

EXEUNT CARIERS..

Gadshill.

What ho, chamberlain!

Chamberlain (within).

At hand, quoth pickpurse. . . . (Enter chamberlain) Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you yesternight: there’s a franklin in the Weald of Kent hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold; I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at supper . . .

Gadshill.

Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man.

Shakespeare, Henry IV, Part I (1597)

DEGREE AND CHANGE

We in England divide our people commonly into four sorts, as gentlemen, citizens or burgesses, yeomen, and artificers or labourers. Of gentlemen, the first and chief (next the king) be the prince, dukes, marquesses, earls, viscounts, and barons; and these are called gentlemen of the great sort, or (as our common usage of speech is) lords and noblemen; and next unto them be knights, esquires and last of all they that are simply called gentlemen . . .

Citizens and burgesses have next place to gentlemen, who be those that are free within the cities, and are of some substance to bear office in the same. . . . In this place also are our merchants to be installed, as amongst the citizens (although they often change estate with gentlemen, as gentlemen do with them, by a mutual conversion of the one into the other), whose number is so increased in these our days that their only maintenance is the cause of the exceeding prices of foreign wares, which otherwise, when every nation was permitted to bring in their own commodities, were far better cheap and more plentifully to be had. . . . I do not deny but that the navy of the land is in part maintained by their traffic, and so are the high prices of wares kept up, now they have gotten the only sale of things into their hands. . . . The wares that they carry out of the realm are for the most part broadcloths and carfies [prepared cloth] of all colours, likewise cottons, friezes [coarse woollen cloth], rugs, tin, wool, lead, fells [hides], etc; which being shipped at sundry ports of our coasts are borne from thence into all quarters of the world, and there either exchanged for other wares or ready money, to the great gain and commodity of our merchants. And whereas in times past their chief trade was into Spain, Portugal, France, Flanders, Dansk, Norway, Scotland and Iceland only, now in these days, as men not contented with these journeys, they have sought out the East and West Indies, and made voyages not only unto the Canaries and New Spain, but likewise into Cathay [China], Moscovia [Russia], Tartary and the regions thereabout, from whence, as they say, they bring home great commodities.

Yeomen are those which by our law are called Legales homines, freemen born English, and may dispend of their own free land in yearly revenue to the sum of forty shillings sterling [£2]. This sort of people have a certain pre-eminence, and more estimation than labourers and artificers, and commonly live wealthily, keep good houses and travel to get riches. They are also for the most part farmers to gentlemen, and with grazing, frequenting of markets and keeping of servants (not idle servants as the gentlemen do, but such as get both their own and part of their masters’ living) do come to great wealth, insomuch that many of them are able and do buy the lands of unthrifty gentlemen, and often setting their sons to the schools, to the universities, and to the Inns of Court; or otherwise leaving them sufficient lands whereupon they might live without labour, do make them by those means to become gentlemen; these were they that in times past made all France afraid, and the kings of England in foughten battles were wont to remain among them (who were their footmen) as the French kings did amongst their horsemen, the prince thereby showing where his chief strength did consist.

The fourth and last sort of people in England are day labourers, poor husbandmen, and some retailers (which have no free land), copy holders, and all artificers, as tailors, shoemakers, carpenters, brickmakers, masons, etc. As for slaves and bondmen we have none. This therefore have neither voice nor authority in the commonwealth, but are to be ruled and not to rule other; yet they are not altogether neglected, for in cities and corporate towns, for default of yeomen, they are fain to make up their inquests of such manner of people. And in villages they are commonly made churchwardens, sidesmen, ale-conners, constables, and many times enjoy the name of headboroughs [parish constables].

Unto this sort also may our great swarms of idle serving men be referred, of whom there runneth a proverb: young serving men, old beggars; because service is none heritage. These men are profitable to none, for, if their condition be well perused, they are enemies to their masters, to their friends and to themselves: for by them oftentimes their masters are encouraged unto unlawful exactions of their tenants, their friends brought unto poverty by their rents enhanced, and they themselves brought unto confusion by their own prodigality and errors, as men that, having not wherewith of their own to maintain their excesses, do search in highways, budgets [wallets], coffers, mails [packs] and stables, which way to supply their wants. How divers of them also, coveting to bear an high sail, do insinuate themselves with young gentlemen and noblemen newly come to their lands, the case is too much apparent, whereby the good natures of the parties are not only a little impaired, but also their livelihoods and revenues so wasted and consumed that, if at all, yet in not many years they shall be able to recover themselves.

William Harrison, Description of England (1587)

NOBLEMEN

Noblemen or gentlemen ought to be preferred in fees, honours, offices and other dignities of command and government before the common people. They are to be admitted near and about the person of the Prince to be of his Council in war, and to bear his standard.

We ought to give credit to a noble or gentleman before any of the inferior sort. He must not be arrested or pleaded against upon cozenage [fraud]. We must attend him and come to his house, and not he to ours. His punishment ought to be more favourable and honourable upon his trial, and that to be by his peers of the same noble rank. He ought in all sittings, meetings and salutations to have the upper hand and greatest respect. They must be cited by bill or writing to make their appearance. In criminal cases, noblemen may appear by their attorney or procurator. They ought to take their recreations of hunting, hawking, etc., freely, without control in all places. Their imprisonment ought not to be in base manner, or so strict as others.

They may eat the best and daintiest meat that the place affordeth, wear at their pleasure gold, jewels, the best apparel and of what fashion they please, etc. Beside, nobility stirreth up emulation in great spirits, not only of equalling others but excelling them; as in Cimon, the elder Scipio Africanus, Decius the son, Alexander, Edward our Black Prince, and many other. It many times procureth a good marriage, as in Germany; where a fair coat and crest is often preferred before a good revenue.

It is a spur in brave and good spirits to bear in mind those things which their ancestors have nobly achieved. It transferreth itself to posterity; and as for the most part we see the children of noble personages to bear the lineaments and resemblance of their parents, so in like manner they possess their virtues and noble dispositions, which even in their tenderest years will bud forth and discover itself.

Henry Peacham, The Compleat Gentleman (1634)

THE DAILY ROUND

ONE OF THE CLOCK

It is now the first hour and time is, as it were, stepping out of darkness and stealing towards the day; the cock calls to his hen and bids her beware of the fox, and the watch, having walked the streets, take a nap upon the stall; the bellman calls to the maids to look to their locks, their fire and their light, and the child in the cradle calls to the nurse for a dug; the cat sits watching behind a cupboard for a mouse, and the flea sucks on sweet flesh, till he is ready to burst with blood; the spirits of the studious start out of their dreams, and, if they cannot fall asleep again, then to the book and the wax candle; the dog at the door frays the thief from the house, and the thief within the house may hap to be about his business. In some places bells are rung to certain [religious] orders; but the quiet sleeper never tells the clock. Not to dwell too long upon it, I hold it the farewell of the night and the forerunner to the day, the spirit’s watch and reason’s workmaster. Farewell.

TWO OF THE CLOCK

It is now the second hour and the point of the dial hath stepped over the first stroke, and now time begins to draw back the curtain of the night; the cock again calls to his hen, and the watch begin to bustle toward their discharge; the bellman hath made a great part of his walk, and the nurse begins to huggle the child to the dug; the cat sits playing with the mouse which she hath catched, and the dog with his barking wakes the servant of the house; the studious now are near upon waking, and the thief will be gone, for fear of being taken; the foresters now be about their walks, and yet stealers sometimes cozen the keepers; warreners [rabbiters or gamekeepers] now begin to draw homeward, and far dwellers from the town will be on the way to market; the soldier now looks to the corps de garde [guardroom], and the corporal takes care for the relief of the watch; the earnest scholar will now be at his book, and the thrifty husbandman will rouse towards his rising; the seaman will now look out for light, and, if the wind be fair, he calls for a can of beer; the fishermen now take the benefit of the tide, and he that bobs for eels will not be without worms. In sum, I hold it much of the nature of the first hour, but somewhat better. And to conclude, I think it the enemy of sleep and the entrance to exercise.

THREE OF THE CLOCK

It is now the third hour, and the windows of heaven begin to open, and the sun begins to colour the clouds in the sky before he show his face to the world. Now are the spirits of life, as it were, risen out of death; the cock calls the servants to their day’s work, and the grass horses are fetched from the pastures; the milkmaids begin to look towards their dairy, and the good housewife begins to look about the house; the porridge pot is on for the servants’ breakfast, and hungry stomachs will soon be ready for their victual. The sparrow begins to chirp about the house, and the birds in the bushes will bid them welcome to the field; the shepherd sets his pitch on the fire, and fills his tar-pot ready for his flock; the wheel and the reel begin to be set ready, and a merry song makes the work seem easy; the ploughman falls to harness his horses, and the thresher begins to look towards the barn; the scholar that loves learning will be hard at his book, and the labourer by great [piece-worker] will be walking towards his work. In brief, it is a parcel of time to good purpose, the exercise of nature and the entrance into art. Farewell.

FOUR OF THE CLOCK

It is now the fourth hour, and the sun begins to send her beams abroad, whose glimmering brightness no eye can behold. Now crows the cock lustily and claps his wing for the joy of the light, and with his hens leaps lightly from the roost; now are the horses at their chaff and provender, the servants at breakfast, the milkmaid gone to the field, and the spinner at the wheel, and the shepherd with his dog are going toward the fold; now the beggars rouse them out of the hedges, and begin their morning craft – but if the constable come, beware the stocks! The birds now begin to flock, and the sparrowhawk begins to prey for his eyrie. The thresher begins to stretch his long arms, and the thriving labourer will fall hard to his work; the quick-witted brain [lawyer] will be quoting of places, and the cunning workman will be trying of his skill; the hounds begin to be coupled for the chase, and the spaniels follow the falconer to the field. Travellers begin to look toward the stable, where an honest ostler is worthy his reward; the soldier now is upon discharge of his watch, and the captain with his company may take as good rest as they can. In sum, thus I conclude of it: I hold it the messenger of action and the watch of reason. Farewell.

FIVE OF THE CLOCK

It is now five of the clock, and the sun is going apace upon his journey; and fie, sluggards who would be asleep. The bells ring to prayer and the streets are full of people, and the highways are stored with travellers. The scholars are up and going to school, and the rods are ready for the truants’ correction; the maids are at milking and the servants at the plough, and the wheel goes merrily – while the mistress is by. The capons and the chickens must be served without door, and the hogs cry till they have their swill; the shepherd is almost gotten to his fold, and the herd[sman] begins to blow his horn through the town. The blind fiddler is up with his dance and his song, and the alehouse door is unlocked for good fellows; the hounds begin to find after the hare, and horse and foot follow after the cry. The traveller now is well on his way, and if the weather be fair he walks with the better cheer; the carter merrily whistles to his horse, and the boy with his sling casts stones at the crows; the lawyer now begins to look on his case, and if he gives good counsel, he is worthy of his fee. In brief, not to stay too long upon it, I hold it the necessity of labour and the note of profit. Farewell.

SIX OF THE CLOCK

It is now the first hour, the sweet time of the morning, and the sun at every window calls the sleepers from their beds; the marigold begins to open her leaves, and the dew on the ground doth sweeten the air. The falconers now meet with many a fair flight, and the hare and the hounds have made the huntsman good sport; the shops in the city begin to show their wares, and the market people have taken their places. The scholars now have their forms, and whosoever cannot say his lesson must presently look for absolution; the forester now is drawing home to his lodge, and if his deer be gone he may draw after cold scent; now begins the curst [shrewish] mistress to put her girls to their tasks, and a lazy hilding will do hurt among good workers. Now the mower falls to whetting of his scythe, and the beaters of hemp give a ‘Ho!’ to every blow; the ale-knight is at his cup ere he can well see his drink, and the beggar is as nimble-tongued as if he had been at it all day; the fishermen now are at the crayer [small fishing-boat] for their oysters, and they will never tire crying while they have one in their basket. I hold it the sluggard’s shame and the labourer’s praise. Farewell.

SEVEN OF THE CLOCK

It is now the seventh hour, and time begins to set the world hard to work: the milkmaids in their dairy to their butter and their cheese, the ploughmen to their ploughs and their barrows in the field, the scholars to their lessons, the lawyers to their cases, the merchants to their accounts, the shopmen to ‘What lack you?’, and every trade to his business. Oh, ‘tis a world to see how life leaps about the limbs of the healthful; none but finds something to do: the wise to study, the strong to labour, the fantastic to make love, the poet to make verses, the player to con his part, and the musician to try his note. Everyone in his quality and according to his condition sets himself to some exercise, either of the body or the mind; and therefore, since it is a time of much labour and great use, I will thus briefly conclude of it: I hold it the enemy of idleness and employer of industry. Farewell.

EIGHT OF THE CLOCK

It is now the eighth hour, and good stomachs are ready for a breakfast. The huntsman now calls in his hounds, and at the fall of the deer the horns go apace; now begin the horses to breathe and the labourer to sweat, and, with quick hands, work rids apace. Now the scholars make a charm [chattering noise] in the schools [debating-chambers], and ergo [therefore] keeps a stir in many a false argument; now the chapmen fall to furnish the shops, the market people make away with their ware, the tavern-hunters taste of the ‘tother wine, and the nappy [strong] ale makes many a drunken noll [head]. Now the thresher begins to fall to his breakfast and eat apace, and work apace rids the corn quickly away; now the piper looks what he hath gotten since day, and the beggar, if he hath hit well, will have a pot of the best; the traveller now begins to water his horse, and, if he were early up, perhaps a bait [something to eat] will do well. The ostler now makes clean his stables, and, if guests come in, he is not without his welcome. In conclusion, for all I find in it, I hold it the mind’s travail and the body’s toil. Farewell.

NINE OF THE CLOCK

It is now the ninth hour, and the sun is gotten up well toward his height, and the sweating traveller begins to feel the burden of his way. The scholar now falls to conning of his lesson, and the lawyer at the bar falls to pleading of his case; the soldier now makes many a weary step in his march, and the amorous courtier is now almost ready to go out of his chamber; the market now grows to be full of people, and the shopmen now are in the heat of the market. The falconers now find it too hot flying, and the huntsmen begin to grow weary of their sport; the birders now take in their nets and their rods, and the fishermen now send their fish to the market. The tavern and the alehouse are almost full of guests, and Westminster and Guild Hall are not without a word or two on both sides. The carriers now are loading out of town, and not a letter but must be paid for ere it pass; the crier now tries the strength of his throat, and the bearward leads his bear home after his challenge; the players’ bills are now almost all set up, and the clerk of the market begins to show his office. In sum, in this hour there is much to do, as well in the city as the country; and therefore to be short, I will thus make my conclusion: I hold it the toil of wit and the trial of reason. Farewell.

TEN OF THE CLOCK

It is now the tenth hour, and now preparation is to be made for dinner: the trenchers must be scraped and the napkins folded, the salt covered and the knives scoured and the cloth laid, the stools set ready and all for the table. There must be haste in the kitchen for the boiled and the roast, provision in the cellar for wine, ale and beer. The pantler and the butler must be ready in their office, and the usher of the hall must marshal the serving-men; the hawk must be set on the perch, and the dogs put into the kennel, and the guests that come to dinner must be invited against the hour. The scholars now fall to construe and parse, and the lawyer makes his client either a man or a mouse. The chapmen now draw home to their inns, and the shopmen fall to folding up their wares; the ploughman now begins to grow towards home, and the dairymaid, after her works, falls to cleansing of her vessels. The cook is cutting sops for broth, and the butler is chipping of loaves for the table; the minstrels begin to go towards the taverns, and the cursed crew visit the vile places. In sum, this I conclude of it; I hold it the messenger to the stomach and the spirit’s recreation. Farewell.

ELEVEN OF THE CLOCK

It is now the eleventh hour: children must break up school, lawyers must make home to their houses, merchants to the exchange, and gallants to the ordinary [eating-house]; the dishes set ready for the meat, and the glasses half full of fair water. Now the market people make towards their horses, and the beggars begin to draw near the towns; the porridge, put off the fire, is set a-cooling for the ploughfolk, and the great loaf and the cheese are set ready on the table. Colleges and halls ring to dinner, and a scholar’s commons is soon digested; the rich man’s guests are at curtsy and ‘I thank you’; and the poor man’s feast is, ‘Welcome, and God be with you’. The page is ready with his knife and trencher, and the meat will be half cold ere the guests can agree on their places; the cook voids the kitchen, and the butler the buttery, and the serving-men stand all ready before the dresser. The children are called to say grace before dinner, and the nice [fussy] people rather look than eat. The gates be locked for fear of the beggars, and the minstrels called in to be ready with their music; the pleasant wit is now breaking a jest, and the hungry man now puts his jaws to their proof. In sum, to conclude my opinion of it, I hold it the epicure’s joy and the labourer’s ease. Farewell.

TWELVE OF THE CLOCK

It is now the twelfth hour, the sun is at his height, and the middle of the day. The first course is served in, and the second ready to follow; the dishes have been read over, and the reversion [surplus] set by; the wine begins to be called for, and who waits not is chidden; talk passeth away time, and when stomachs are full discourses grow dull and heavy, but after fruit and cheese, say grace and take away. Now the markets are done, the Exchange broke up, and the lawyers at dinner, and Duke Humphrey’s servants make their walks in Paul’s [Sir John Beauchamp’s tomb in St Paul’s, believed to be the tomb of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, was the rendezvous of the penniless, workless, idlers and foodless]; the shopmen keep their shops, and their servants go to dinner. The traveller begins to call for a reckoning, and goes into the stable to see his horse eat his provender; the ploughman now is at the bottom of his dish, and the labourer draws out his dinner out of his bag. The beasts of the field take rest after their feed, and the birds of the air are at juke [chirping] in the bushes; the lamb lies sucking while the ewe chews the cud, and the rabbit will scarce peep out of her burrow; the hare sits close asleep in her meuse [hole in a hedge], while the dogs sit waiting for a bone from the trencher. In brief, for all I find of it, I thus conclude in it: I hold it the stomach’s pleasure and the spirit’s weariness. Farewell.

MIDNIGHT

Now is the sun withdrawn into his bedchamber, the windows of heaven are shut up, and silence with darkness have made a walk over the whole earth, and time is tasked to work upon the worst actions. Yet virtue, being herself, is never weary of well doing, while the best spirits are studying for the body’s rest. Dreams and visions are haunters of troubled spirits, while nature is most comforted in the hope of the morning. The body now lies as a dead lump, while sleep, the pride of ease, lulls the senses of the slothful; the tired limbs now cease from their labours, and the studious brains give over their business; the bed is now the image of the grave, and the prayer of the faithful makes the pathway to Heaven. Lovers now enclose a mutual content, while gracious minds have no wicked imaginations; thieves, wolves and foxes now fall to their prey, but a strong lock and a good wit will aware much mischief, and he that trusteth in God will be safe from the Devil. Farewell.

Nicholas Breton, Fantastickes (1626)

CLOTHESAND FASHIONS

The fantastical folly of our nation, even from the courtier to the carter, is such that no form of apparel liketh us no longer than the first garment is in wearing, if it continue so long and be not laid aside to receive some other trinket newly devised by the fickle-headed tailors, who covet to have several tricks in cutting, thereby to draw fond customers to more expense of money. For my part, I can tell better how to inveigh against this enormity than describe any certainty of our attire, sithence such is our mutability, that today there is none to the Spanish guise, tomorrow the French toys are most fine and delectable, ere long no such apparel as that which is after the high Almain [German] fashion; by and by the Turkish manner is best liked of, otherwise the Morisco gowns, the barbarian [North African] sleeves, the mandilion [loose overcoat] worn to Colley Weston-ward, and the short French breeches make such a comely vesture that, except it were a dog in a doublet, you shall not see any so disguised as are my countrymen of England.

And as these fashions are diverse, so likewise it is a world to see the costliness and the curiosity, the excess and the vanity, the pomp and the bravery, the change and the variety, and finally the fickleness and the folly, that is in all degrees. Insomuch that nothing is more constant in England than inconstancy of attire. Oh, how much cost is bestowed nowadays upon our bodies, and how little upon our souls! How many suits of apparel hath the one, and how little furniture hath the other! How long time is asked in decking up of the first, and how little space is left wherin to feed up the latter! How curious, how nice also are a number of men and women, and how hardly can the tailor please them in making it fit for their bodies! How many times must it be sent back again to him that made it! What chafing, what fretting, what reproachful language doth the poor workman bear away! And many times when he hath done nothing to it at all, yet when it is brought home again it is very fit and handsome. Then must we put it on, then must the long seams of our hose be set by a plumbline, then we puff, then we blow, and finally sweat till we drop, that our clothes may stand well upon us. . . . I say most nations do not unjustly deride us, as also for that we do seem to imitate all nations round about us, wherein we be like to the polypus [octopus] or chameleon; and thereunto bestow most cost upon our arses, and much more than upon all the rest of our bodies, as women do, likewise upon their heads and shoulders.

In women also it is most to be lamented, that they do now far exceed the lightness of our men (who nevertheless are transformed from the cap even to the very shoe), and such staring attire as in time past was supposed meet for none but light housewives [hussies] only, is now become an habit for chaste and sober matrons. What should I say of their doublets with pendant codpieces [small ornamental bags] on the breast, full of jags and cuts, and sleeves of sundry colours? Their galligaskins [wide, loose breeches], to bear out their bums and make their attire to fit plumb round (as they term it) about them? Their farthingales [hooped petticoats] and diversely coloured nether stocks of silk, jersey and such like, whereby their bodies are rather deformed than commended? I have met with some of these trulls in London so disguised that it hath passed my skill to discern whether they are men or women. . . . Thus it is now come to pass that women are become men, and men transformed into monsters . . .

William Harrison, Description of England (1587)

HEADTO FOOT

[HATS]