Chapter XI: Part THE FIRST: Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church Yard London

The father of the "boy" Jack had married a second time, and Jack's stepmother behaved most harshly to him, and half starved him.

"Nay, tho' his meat and drink was poor
He had not half enough.
Yet, if he seem'd to crave for more
His ears she strait did cuff."

His father, however, behaved kindly, and to get the lad away, proposed he should look after the cows all day, taking his provision with him. One day, an old man came to him and begged for food, on which Jack offered him his dinner, which the old man thankfully took and eat.

Indeed, he was so grateful that he told Jack he would give him three things, whatever he liked to choose. Jack replied--

"The first thing I'd have thee bestow
On me without dispute,
Pray let it be a cunning bow,
With which I birds may shoot.
Well thou shalt have a bow, my son,
I have it here in store,
No archer ever yet had one
Which shot so true before.
Take notice well of what I say.
Such virtues are in this
That wink or look another way
The mark you shall not miss."

Jack also asked for a pipe, and the old man said--

"A pipe I have for thee my son,
The like was never known,
So full of mirth and mickle joy,
That whensoe'er 'tis blown,
All living creatures that shall hear
The sweet and pleasant sound
They shan't be able to forbear
But dance and skip around."

The third thing Jack chose was, that whenever his stepmother looked crossly at him, she should, against her will, behave in a rude and unseemly manner, which was also granted.

The old man left him; and at evening Jack took the cattle home, and as he went, he tried his pipe with wonderful effect.

"His Cows began to caper then,
The Bulls and Oxen too,
And so did five and twenty men
Who came this sight to view,
Along the road he piping went,
The Bulls came dancing after,
Which was a fit of merriment,
That caus'd a deal of laughter.
For why, a friar in his gown
Bestrides the red cow's back,
And so rides dancing thro' the town,
After this young wag Jack."

He found his father at home, and telling him how he had disposed of his dinner, the good man handed him a capon; at which his mother-in-law frowned, and, to her great disgust, her punishment was prompt, and she had to retire, Jack bantering her. She vowed vengeance, and

"A Friar whom she thought a saint,
Came there to lodge that night;
To whom she made a sad complaint,
How Jack had sham'd her quite.

Said she, For sweet St. Francis sake,
To-morrow in the field,
Pray thrash him till his bones you break
No shew of comfort yield."

]

[Footnote 13: This illustration is from another edition.]

The friar went the next morning to give Jack his thrashing, but Jack begged him not to be angry, and he would show him something; so he took his bow and shot a pheasant, which fell in a thorn bush. The friar ran to secure the bird, and when well in the bush, Jack played his pipe, with woeful effects as regards the friar, who in his involuntary dancing got literally torn to pieces, till he begged Jack--

"For Good St. Francis sake,
Let me not dancing die."

He naturally told his pitiful tale when he reached Jack's father's house, and the father asked him if it were true, and if so, to play the pipe and make them dance. The friar had already experienced the sensation, and

"The Friar he did quake for fear
And wrung his hands withal.
He cry'd, and still his eyes did wipe,
That work kills me almost;
Yet if you needs must hear the pipe,
Pray bind me to a post."

This was done; the pipe struck up, and every one began their involuntary dance, to the delight of the father, and the great disgust of the stepmother and the friar, who

"was almost dead,
While others danced their fill
Against the post he bang'd his head,
For he could not stand still.
His ragged flesh the rope did tear,
And likewise from his crown,
With many bangs and bruises there
The blood did trickle down."

The lad led them all into the street, where every one joined in the mad scene, until his father asked him to stop. Then the friar summoned him before the proctor, and the gravity of the court was disturbed by Jack's playing his pipe at the proctor's request. All had to dance, nor would Jack desist until he had a solemn promise that he should go free. Here the First Part ends, as also does the first printed version of the romance, which is entitled, "Here begynneth a mery Geste of the Frere and the Boye, emprynted at London in Flete strete at the sygne of the sonne by Wynkyn de Worde." There is no date, and there is a copy in the public library, Cambridge. It has been reprinted both by Ritson and Hazlitt. Ritson says, "From the mention made in v. 429 of the city of 'Orlyance,' and the character of the 'Offycial,' it may be conjectured that this poem is of French extraction; and, indeed, it is not at all improbable that the original is extant in some collection of old Fabliaux."

It is a most popular Chap-book, and went through many editions. A Second Part was afterwards added, but it is coarser in its humour. The Newcastle frontispiece is extremely quaint.

_The Pleasant History of_

JACK HORNER

CONTAINING

His witty tricks and pleasant pranks, which he
play'd from his youth to his riper years: Right
pleasant and delightful for winter and summer
recreations.

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED IN THIS PRESENT YEAR.

This is somewhat similar to "The Friar and the Boy," but is even coarser.

"Jack Horner was a pretty lad,
Near London he did dwell,
His father's heart he made full glad
His mother lov'd him well;
She often set him on her lap,
To turn him dry beneath
And fed him with sweet sugar'd pap,
Because he had no teeth.
While little Jack was sweet and young,
If he by chance should cry,
His mother pretty sonnets sung,
With a Lulla ba by;
With such a dainty, curious tone,
As Jack sat on her knee,
So that e'er he could go alone,
He sung as well as she.
A pretty boy, of curious wit,
All people spoke his praise
And in the corner he would sit
In Christmas holy-days:
When friends they did together meet,
To pass away the time;
Why, little Jack, he sure would eat
His Christmas pye in rhime.
And said, Jack Horner, in the corner,
Eats good Christmas pye,
And with his thumbs pulls out the plumbs,
And said Good boy am I.
These pretty verses which he made
Upon his Christmas cheer,
Did gain him love, as it is said,
Of all both far and near."

Jack Horner was a dwarf, and never exceeded thirteen inches in height. His first exploit was to frighten a tailor who stole some of his cloth, by putting on the head of a goat lately killed, and pretending to be the devil. He had a fight with a cook-maid who chastised him for making a sop in the dripping-pan, in which he got the best of it. An old hermit being desirous of a jug of beer, Jack brought it to him, and in return the hermit presented him with a coat in which he should be invisible, and a pair of enchanted pipes, both of which he tried on some fiddlers, making them dance sorely against their will. He had many adventures, but his last was with a giant who had seized and imprisoned a knight's daughter. Jack armed himself, and mounting on a badger, rode down the giant's throat, and with his pipes and sword created such a disturbance in his inside, that the giant died, and Jack delivered the lady, whom he afterwards married.

THE

MAD PRANKS

OF

TOM TRAM

Son in Law to Mother Winter

TO WHICH IS ADDED.

_His Merry Jests, odd Conceits and Pleasant Tales, being
very delightful to read._

NEWCASTLE: PRINTED IN THIS PRESENT YEAR.

THE

MAD PRANKS

OF

=Tom Tram=

_Son in Law to Mother Winter_

TO WHICH IS ADDED.

His Merry Jests, odd Conceits and pleasant
Tales, very delightful to Read.

THE FIRST PART.

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD,
BOW LANE LONDON.

"There was an old woman, named Mother Winter, who had a son in Law, whose name was Thomas, who though he was at man's estate, yet would do nothing but what he pleased, which grieved his mother to the heart. One day being at market, she heard a proclamation that those who would not work should be whipped; On this she ran home and told Tom of the proclamation that was issued out; replied Tom, I will not break the decree. Upon which the old woman left her son, and went to market.

"She was no sooner gone, but Tom looked into a stone pot she used to keep her small beer in, and seeing the beer did not work, he with his cartwhip lays on the pot as hard as he could. The people seeing him, told his mother, who said, The knave will be hanged, and in that note went home--Tom seeing her coming, laid on as hard as he could drive, and broke the pots, which made the old woman say, O what hast thou done, thou villain? O dear mother said he, you told me it was proclaimed, that those who did not work must be whipped; and I have so often seen our pots work so hard that they foamed at the mouth; but these two lazy knaves will never work. So I have whipped them to death to shew their fellows to work, or never look me in the face again."

Mother Winter once sent him to buy a pennyworth of soap, and bade him be sure, and bring her the change back safely; so he got two men with a hand barrow to carry the soap, and hired four men with "brown bills" to guard it, and gave them the elevenpence for their pains. But Tom was quite as much knave as fool, and, as the anecdotes relating to him are not very amusing, only those illustrating the Newcastle title-page will be made use of.

Whilst staying at an inn, he saw some turkeys in the yard. He killed two of them by running pins into their heads, and then persuaded his hostess to throw them away, as there was a sickness among the birds. Of course he took them away with him, but, finding them heavy to carry, had recourse to stratagem to help himself. He saw a man leading his horse down the hill, and "Tom fell down, crying as if he had broke a leg and made great lamentation of his being five or six miles from any town, and was likely to perish. The man asked where he lived? Tom replied, With such a Knight. He, knowing the gentleman, set him on his horse. Tom then bid him give him his master's turkies, and then galloped away as fast as he could, crying out I shall be killed, I shall be killed--The man seeing he was gone without the turkies, knew not what to do, for he thought if he left the turkies behind the Knight might take it amiss. So carrying them on foot, lugging, fretting, and sweating to the next town, where he hired a horse to overtake Tom, but could not till he arrived at the Knight's house, where Tom stood ready, calling to him, Oh! now I see thou art an honest fellow; I had thought you had set me on a headstrong horse on purpose to deceive me of my two turkies. But he replied Pox on your turkies and you too; I hope you will pay me for the horse I got."

The story of the house on fire in the top left hand of the title-page is thus told: "It happened one evening there came a number of Gypsies to town, whom Tom meeting, asked what they did there? they said, To tell people their fortunes, that they might avoid approaching danger. Where do you lie to night said Tom? We cannot tell, said they. If you can be content to lie in the straw, says Tom, I will show you where you may lie dry and warm. They thanked him, and said they would tell him his fortune for nothing. He thanked them, and conveyed them to a little thatched house filled with straw, and which had a ditch round it, close to the wall of the house, and there left them to take their rest, drawing up the bridge after him. In the dead of the night he got a long pole with a large whisp of straw, and set the house on fire. One of the Gypsies seeing the house in flames, calling to the rest, and thinking to cross the bridge, fell into the ditch, crying out for help; while by Tom's means great part of the town stood to see the Jest. As the Gypsies came out of the ditch, the people let them go to the fire to warm themselves; when Tom told them, That seeing they could not foretel their own fortunes he would, which was on the morrow morning they should be whipt for cheats, and in the afternoon charged for setting the house on fire.

"The Gypsies hearing this having made haste to dry themselves, got out of the town before day break, and never came there afterwards."

The right-hand upper portion of the engraving represents Tom cutting some shavings of wood from the gallows, to put in the ale of some persons who had played a practical joke upon him.

There are three parts, but the other two are uninteresting both as to matter and illustrations.

THE

=Birth, Life, and Death=

OF

JOHN FRANKS

_With the Pranks he played
Though a meer Fool_

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD. LONDON.

From the preface, and its general internal evidence, this Chap-book seems to be recollections of a real person, who was locally famous, and whose actions were traditionally handed down. Only a few of the sayings and deeds of this half-witted jester are worth repeating.

THE PREFACE.

"John Franks, the reputed son of John Ward, was born at Much Eaton in Essex, within three miles of Dunmow. He had no friends to take care of him, but his being such a fool was the cause of his well being; for every one was in love with the sport he made.

"When he was grown to be of man's stature, there was a worthy Knight, who took him to keep, where he did many strange pranks.

"He was a comely person, and had a good complexion, his hair was of a dark flaxen. He was of a middle stature, and good countenance. If his tongue had not betrayed his folly, he might have been taken for a wise man."

"The Knight where Jack lived kept a poor taylor in his house, who lay with the fool.

"One morning they wondered that the taylor nor Jack did not come down; one of the servants going up, found the door fast, and calling to them, Jack only answered them; so calling more assistance and breaking open the door, they found the taylor dead in his bed with his neck broke, and the fool set astride on a high beam, whence he could not come down without help. They asked Jack how it was? he said the Devil came upstairs, clink, clink, clink, and came to my bed side, and I cried, Good devil do not take me take the taylor; so the devil broke the taylor's neck, and set me upon the beam. Jack was strictly examined at Chelmsford Assizes, and several times after; but he always kept in one story, and never seemed concerned."

"Jack was often upon the ramble; one day he went up to a yeoman's house, who loved to make sport with him. The servants being all busy and abroad, none but the fool and he was together. Mr. Sorrel, says Jack, shall we play at Blind Man's Buff? Ay, says he, with all my heart, Jack--You shall be blinded says Jack--That I will, Jack, says he. So pinning a napkin about his eyes and head; Now turn about, says Jack; but you see Mr. Sorrel, you see; No, Jack, said he I do not see. Jack shuffled about the kitchen, in order to catch him, still crying, you see, but when he found he did not see he ran to the chimney and whipt down some puddings, and put them into his pockets; this he did every time he came to that end of the room, till he had filled his pockets and breeches. The doors being open, away runs Jack, leaving the good man blindfolded, who wondering he did not hear the fool, cried out, Jack, Jack; but finding no answer, he pulled off the napkin, and seeing the fool gone, and that he had taken so many puddings with him, was so enraged that he sent his blood hounds after him; which when Jack perceived, he takes a pudding and flings it at them; the dogs smelling the pudding, Jack gained ground the time: and still as the dogs pursued, he threw a pudding at them; and this he did till he come to an house. This was spread abroad to the shame and vexation of the farmer.

"Some time after Mr. Sorrel and some other tenants went to see the fool's master. Jack espying them, went and told his Lady that Mr. Sorrel was come. The lady being afraid the fool might offend him by speaking of the puddings, told Jack he should be whipped if he mentioned them. But when they were at dinner, Jack went and shaked Mr. Sorel by the hand, saying, How is it Mr. Sorel then, seeming to whisper, but speaking so loud that all the Company heard him, said, Not a word of the puddings, Mr. Sorel.--At this they all burst into a laughter, but the honest man was so ashamed, that he never came there again. Ever since it is a bye-word to say, Not a word of the puddings."

"A Justice of the Peace being at his Lord's table one day, who delighted to jest with every one, and Jack being in the room to make them some sport, and having then a new calfskin suit on, red and white spotted, and a young puppy in his arms, much of the same colour; he said to the justice, as he jogged him, Is not this puppy like me? The justice said It is very much like thee; now there are two puppies Jack, ha! ha! ha!--Jack after going downstairs to dinner, returned again and striking the Justice on the back with his fist the Justice seemed angry. How is it Justice, said Jack, are you angry, let us shake hands and be friends. The Justice gave him his hand, and the fool cried out laughing, Now here are two fools, Justice, two fools, two fools. At this they all laughed heartily, to see this great wit affronted by a fool; especially a gentleman whom the Justice had but a few minutes before abused by his jesting; for he was of that temper that he would jest but never take one.

It is not safe to play with edged tools
Nor is it good to Jest too much with fools."

SIMPLE SIMON'S MISFORTUNES

AND HIS

=Wife Margery's Cruelty=

WHICH BEGAN

_The very next Morning after their
Marriage_

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD
LONDON

Simple Simon married a shrew named Margery, who brought him a "considerable fortune; forty shillings in money, and a good milch cow, four fat weathers, with half a dozen ewes and lambs, likewise geese, hens, and turkies; also a sow and pigs, with other moveables." She began scolding him the day after marriage, and the poor fellow found out he had a hard bargain. "Ud swaggers, I think I have a woeful one now." He went out, and meeting with one Jobson, an old friend, proceeded to an alehouse with him; but his wife, coming there with her gossips, "snatched up Jobsons oaken staff from off the table, and gave poor Simon such a clank upon the noddle, as made the blood spin," and afterwards treated Jobson to a sound thrashing, and then she and her gossips got "as drunk as fishwomen."

Simon sneaked away, but when he got home he found his wife before him, and "not forgetting the fault he had committed, she invented a new kind of punishment; for having a wide chimney, wherein they used to dry bacon, she, taking him at a disadvantage, tied him hand and foot, bound him in a basket, and by the help of a rope drew him up to the beam of the chimney, and left him there to take his lodging the second night after his wedding; with a small smoaky fire under him; so that in the morning he was reezed like a red herring. But at length he caused his wife to shew him so much pity as to let him down."

He was undoubtedly a great fool, for, his wife having sent him to the mill with a sack of corn, he was induced by a stranger to lay it on the back of his spare horse, and of course the man made off with it.

Simon had to take a basket of eggs to market, but finding that "two butter women had fallen out, and to that degree, that they had taken one another by the quoif, their hair and their fillets flying about their ears," he essayed to part them, but got pushed down, and his eggs were all broken. The constable, coming up, thought they were drunk, and clapped them in the stocks, where, being between the combatants, he had to endure their scolding. On his release he went home, only to endure his customary beating. So he lay all night in the hog-stye, and on the morrow, "in the presence of some of his dearest friends he begged pardon on his knees, of his sweet wife Margery."

One day his wife went to a "gossiping," leaving Simon at home to fill and boil the kettle. He made the fire and hung the kettle over it, then started to fill his pail at the well. He put down his pail in order to stop a runaway ox, which led him a chase of three or four miles. On his return he found his pail stolen, and, when he reached home, the bottom was burnt out of the kettle. When his wife came back, it is needless to say that "she let fly an earthen pot at his head, which made the blood run about his ears. This done she took him by the collar and cuft him about the kitchen at a most horrid rate."

No doubt he was very vexing, as he could not be trusted with the most ordinary concerns of life. He had to get some soap, but, whilst passing over a bridge, he was frightened by some crows, and dropped the money into the water. Knowing what the consequences would be, he stripped and went into the water to search after it, but a larcenous old ragman came by and stole his clothes. He had to go home naked, where his wife administered his usual correction--"taking the dog whip, she jerked poor Simon about, making him dance the Canaries for two hours."

Many more mishaps and punishments happened to the poor wretch, until at last even he could stand it no longer; so he attempted to poison himself, but, by mistake, drank his wife's bottle of sack (_vide_ frontispiece), and consequently got drunk. He was duly cudgelled; but, either this determination of his, frightened his wife, or she saw the folly of going on in the way they were doing, for the tale winds up with, "For now he leads a happy life."

THE

_HISTORY_

OF

TOM LONG the Carrier

PRINTED AND SOLD IN ALDERMARY CHURCH YARD
BOW LANE

Although the address "To the Reader" says--

"Of all the Toms that ever yet was nam'd,
Was ever Tom like TOM LONG fam'd,
Tom Tram, who mad pranks shews,
Unto Tom Long, will prove a Goose.
Tom Thumb is dumb until the pudding creep,
In which he was entomb'd, then out doth peep.
The fool may go to school, but ne'er be taught,
Such rare conceits with which Tom Long is fraught.
Tom Ass but for his ugly ears, might pass,
Since no such jewels as our Tom he wears.
Tom Tell Truth is but froth, the truth to tell,
From all the Toms, TOM LONG doth bear the bell,"

yet the Chap-book is very dreary fun, not even being enlivened by any good illustrations--those supplied belonging to other books--but it is valuable for its frontispiece, which represents a Chapman of Elizabethan or Jacobean time, a veritable Autolycus. The other edition in the British Museum, "Printed and Sold at Sympson's Warehouse in Stone Cutter Street, Fleet Market," has a bad copy of this engraving.

THE

WORLD

TURNED

UPSIDE DOWN

OR THE

_FOLLY OF MAN_

EXEMPLIFIED

IN TWELVE COMICAL RELATIONS

UPON

UNCOMMON SUBJECTS

_Illustrated with Twelve curious Cuts
Truly adapted to each Story_

PRINTED AND SOLD IN LONDON

"Philosophers of old will tell us,
As Tycho, and such merry fellows,
That round this habitable ball
The beamy sun did yearly fall;
No wonder then the world is found
By change of place Turn'd Upside Down;
If revolutions strange appear
Within the compass of the sphere;
If men and things succession know,
And no dependance reigns below;
Since tis allow'd the world we dwell in,
Is always round the sun a sailing;
Experience to our knowledge brings;
That times may change as well as things,
And art than nature wiser grown,
Turns every object upside down,
Whim's epidemic takes her rise,
And constancy's become a vice.
He that to do is fortunate,
The darling minions of his fate!
To morrow feels his fate's displeasure,
Spoil'd his hoarded idol treasure!
And like this man, his emblem shows,
A sudden revolution knows.
His fortune grows profoundly scurvy
Turns the poor earthworms topsy turvy,
Becomes the tennis ball of fools,
Things quite form'd out of nature's rules.
Such as you see Atlas bear
Upon their backs this mighty sphere.
The young, the old, the middle aged,
Are all in this great task engaged;
And strive with wondrous eagerness
Which all the greatest part possess.
Since folly then has got the ascendant,
He's most a fool that han't a hand in't;
And as the mad brain'd world runs round
Still keeps towards the rising ground."

This is quite enough for a specimen of the style of this poem, and, luckily, the illustrations explain themselves.

A Strange and Wonderful

RELATION

OF THE

OLD WOMAN

WHO WAS DROWNED AT

_RATCLIFFE HIGHWAY_

A Fortnight ago.

TO WHICH IS ADDED

THE OLD WOMAN'S DREAM,

A little after her Death.