Chapter IX: Tudor Period (2)

You that will drinke _Keynaldo_ unto deth,
The _Dane_ that would carouse out of his boote.

Mr. W. Mason adds that ‘it appears from one of Howell’s letters, dated at Hamburg in the year 1632, that the then King of Denmark had not degenerated from his jovial predecessor. In his account of an entertainment given by his majesty to the Earl of Leicester, he tells us that the king, after beginning thirty-five toasts, was carried away in his chair, and that all the officers of the court were drunk.’

See also the _Nugæ Antiquæ_, vol. ii. p. 133, for the scene of drunkenness introduced into the court of James I. by the King of Denmark in 1606.

Roger Ascham, in one of his letters, mentions being present at an entertainment where the Emperor of Germany seemed in drinking to rival the King of Denmark: ‘The emperor,’ says he, ‘drank the best that ever I saw; he had his head in the glass five times as long as any of us, and never drank less than a good quart at once of Rhenish wine.’

IV. That Shakespeare regarded English drunkenness as influenced by our intercourse with the Low Countries. Thus, _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act ii. scene 2, Mistress Page calls Falstaff a _Flemish drunkard_. The Variorum Edition of 1803 has the following note:--

It is not without reason that this term of reproach is here used.
Sir John Smythe, in _Certain Discourses, &c._, 4to. 1590, says
that ‘the habit of drinking to excess was introduced into England
from the low countries by some of our such men of warre within
these very few years, whereof it is come to passe, that now-a-dayes
there are very fewe feastes where our said men of warre are
present, but that they do invite and procure all the companie,
of what calling soever they be, to carowsing and quaffing; and,
because they will not be denied their challenges, they, with many
new conges, ceremonies, and reverences, drinke to the health of
counsellors, and unto the health of their greatest friends both at
home and abroad, in which exercise they never cease till they be
deade drunke, or, as the _Flemings_ say, _doot drunken_.’ He adds,
‘And this aforesaid detestable vice hath, within these six or seven
yeares, taken wonderful roote amongst our English nation, that in
times past was wont to be of all other nations of christendome one
of the soberest.’

V. That whatever the Danes were, the English were worse.

In _Othello_ we have a terrible reputation. Thus:--

Act ii. scene 3. The double-dyed Iago has tempted honest foolish Cassio to drink with him, in spite of Cassio’s very honest confession, ‘I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking: I could well wish courtesy would invent some other custom of entertainment.’ But Cassio is weak. On Iago’s urgent pressing, he says, ‘I’ll do it; but it dislikes me.’ He had just before remarked, ‘I have drunk but one cup to-night, and that was craftily qualified too, and behold what innovation it makes here [_striking his forehead_]: I am unfortunate in the infirmity, and dare not task my weakness with any more.’

They passed to the revel. Iago, who is seasoned, calls out:--

Some wine, ho!
And let me the canakin clink, clink;
And let me the canakin clink:
A soldier’s a man;
A life’s but a span;
Why, then, let a soldier drink.
Some wine, boys. [_Wine brought in._

_Cassio._ ‘Fore heaven, an excellent song.

_Iago._ I learned it in England, where (indeed) they are most
potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-bellied
Hollander,--Drink, oh!--are nothing to your English.

_Cassio._ Is your Englishman so expert in his drinking?

_Iago._ Why he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk; he
sweats not to overthrow your Almain; he gives your Hollander a
vomit ere the next pottle can be filled.

_Cassio._ To the health of our general!

_Mon._ I am for it, lieutenant, and I’ll do you justice.

_Iago._ _O sweet England!_

How like is human nature at all periods! Iago’s drinking song reminds us of the half-gay, half-melancholy campaigning song, said to have been composed by General Wolfe, and sung by him at the mess-table on the eve of the storming of Quebec, in which he fell so gloriously:--

Why, soldiers, why
Should we be melancholy, boys?
Why, soldiers, why,
Whose business ‘tis to die?
For should next campaign
Send us to Him who made us, boys,
We’re free from pain;
But should we remain,
_A bottle and kind landlady_
Will set all right again.

This song was a favourite with Sir Walter Scott--see Washington Irving’s _Abbotsford and Newstead_.

VI. The bane of ardent spirits and of that to which they conduce--intemperance. Thus _Othello_, act ii. scene 3:--

O, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their
brains! that we should, with joy, revel, pleasure, and applause,
transform ourselves into beasts!

And again--

O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known
by, let us call thee--devil!

And--

Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil.

Two customs which are alluded to in Shakespeare’s works are worthy of note. _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act ii. scene 2.

_Bard._ Sir John, there’s one Master Brook below would fain speak
with you, and be acquainted with you; and hath sent your worship a
morning’s draught of sack.

According to Malone, it seems to have been a common custom at taverns, in our author’s time, to send presents of wine from one room to another, either as a memorial of friendship, or (as in the present instance) by way of introduction to acquaintance. Of the existence of this practice the following anecdote of Ben Jonson and Bishop Corbet furnishes a proof: Ben Jonson was at a tavern, and in comes Bishop Corbet (but not so then) into the next room. Ben Jonson calls for a quart of _raw_ wine, and gives it to the tapster. “Sirrah,” says he, “carry this to the gentleman in the next chamber, and tell him, I sacrifice my service to him.” The fellow did, and in those words. “Friend,” says Dr. Corbet, “I thank him for his love; but ‘pr’ythe tell him from me that he is mistaken; for _sacrifices_ are always _burnt_”’ (_Merry Passages and Jeasts_, MSS. Harl. 6395).

This practice was continued as late as the Restoration. In the Parliamentary History, vol. xxii. p. 114, we have the following passage from Dr. Price’s _Life of General Monk_: ‘I came to the _Three Tuns_ before Guildhall, where the general had quartered two nights before. I entered the tavern with a servant and portmanteau, and asked for a room, which I had scarce got into, _but wine followed me as a present_ from some citizens, desiring leave to drink their morning’s draught with me.’

The other custom to be noted is that of taking _night-caps_. _Macbeth_, act i. scene 2.

_Lady Macbeth._ I have drugged their possets.

It appears from this passage as well as from many others in our old dramatic performances, that it was the general custom to take _possets_ just before bed-time. So in the first part of _King Edward IV._, by Heywood: ‘thou shalt be welcome to beef and bacon, and perhaps a bag-pudding; and my daughter Nell shall pop a _posset_ upon thee when thou goest to bed.’ Macbeth has already said:--

Go bid thy mistress, when my _drink_ is ready,
She strike upon the bell.

Lady Macbeth has also just observed:--

That which hath made them drunk, hath made me bold.

And in _The Merry Wives of Windsor_ Mrs. Quickly promises Jack Rugby a _posset_ at night. This custom is also mentioned by Froissart.

One more quotation I cannot refrain from adding. It is not from Shakespeare, but from one who had studied him, and who, if nothing else, could certainly parody the ‘seven ages of man’ (_As You Like It_, act ii. scene 7).

STAGES OF DRUNKENNESS.--All the world’s a pub,
And all the men and women merely drinkers;
They have their hiccoughs and their staggerings;
And one man in a day drinks many glasses,
His acts being seven stages. At first the gentleman,
Steady and steadfast in his good resolves;
And then the wine and bitters, appetiser,
And pining, yearning look, leaving like a snail
The comfortable bar. And then the arguments,
Trying like Hercules with a wrathful frontage
To refuse one more two penn’orth. Then the mystified,
Full of strange thoughts, unheeding good advice,
Careless of honour, sudden, thick, and gutt’ral,
Seeking the troubled repetition
Even in the bottle’s mouth; and then quite jovial,
In fair good humour while the world swims round
With eyes quite misty, while his friends him cut,
Full of nice oaths and awful bickerings;
And so he plays his part. The sixth stage shifts
Into the stupid, slipping, drunken man,
With ‘blossoms’ on his nose and bleery-eyed,
His shrunken face unshaved, from side to side
He rolls along; and his unmanly voice,
Huskier than ever, fails and flies,
And leaves him--staggering round. Last scene of all,
That ends this true and painful history,
Is stupid childishness, and then oblivion--
Sans watch, sans chain, sans coin, sans everything.

It is impossible to dismiss Shakespeare without some notice of the man himself. But how little is known apart from his works![107] Go to Stratford-on-Avon, visit ‘the birthplace;’ bear those good ladies who show it tell you of the eight villages immortalised by their supposed connection with the poet; hear them repeat the lines ascribed by tradition to Shakespeare himself:--

Piping Pebworth, dancing Marston,
Haunted Hillborough, hungry Grafton,
Dudging Exhall, Popish Wickford,
Beggarly Broom, and drunken Bidford.

Hear them tell the story of Shakespeare’s crab-tree, how that the young poet was one of a party who accepted a challenge for a drinking bout from certain topers at Bidford, how that the hero became so overcome that when he started home he could proceed no further than the crab-tree, and so lay down there and sheltered for the night.[108] Hear, too, of ‘ye Falcon Tavern,’ close to the grammar school where the poet was almost certainly educated. And this is all that the present limit allows.

How died he? We turn to the pages of an inimitable diary, and read thus:

After this act (referring to the making of his will) we surmise
the poet’s strength rallied, his friends probably heard of his
illness, and crowded around him.... Then came Ben Jonson and
Drayton, his chosen ones--they shared his inmost heart. In the
city, on the stage, at good men’s feasts.... Their minds had been
as one. Shakespeare was sick, and they came to cheer, to sooth,
to sympathize with his sufferings. Animated and excited by their
long-tried and much-loved society, as the sound of the trumpet
rouses the spirit of the dying war-horse, their presence and voices
made him forget the weakness that even then was bowing him to the
very dust. He left his chamber, and perhaps quitted his bed to join
the circle; we think we hear him, with musical voice, exclaim,
‘Sick now! droop now!’ We imagine we behold his pale face flushed
with the brilliant animation of happiness, but not of health. We
see his eyes flashing with the rays of genius, and sparkling with
sentiments of unmingled pleasure. He is himself again, the terrors
of death are passed away, the festive banquet is spread, and the
warm grasp of friendly hands have driven the thick coming fancies
from his lightened heart; he is the life of the party, the spirit
of the feasts; but the exertion was far too great for his fragile
frame, ‘the choice of death is rare,’ and the destroyer quitted not
his splendid victim.[109]

So passed away William Shakespeare, whose influence cannot be better summed up than in the words of a very thoughtful writer:--

In all his works he is a witness ever ready to declare and expose
the ruling sin of his day and generation. It is true that he
sometimes found a picture gallery among the drunkards, used them in
his artistic way, and made them extol the virtues of the thing that
lowered them to what they were, the buffoons of his creation; but
in his heart of hearts, as he would himself express it, he abhorred
the thing, while he could not resist the acknowledgment of its
fascination.

The same cannot be said of his friend, Ben Jonson, who, like so many of the dramatists of the period, as Marlowe, Greene, and Nash, was a notoriously free liver. His naturally passionate disposition, so unlike that of his famous friend, was rendered more hasty and vindictive by his addiction to drink. He goes near to condemn himself in his apostrophe ‘To Penshurst’:--

Whose liberal board doth flow
With all that hospitality doth know!
Where comes no guest but is allowed to eat
Without his fear, and of my lord’s own meat;
Where the same beer and bread, and self-same wine,
That is his lordship’s shall be also mine.
And I not fain to sit--as some this day
At great men’s tables--and yet dine away.
Here no man tells my cups.

To him canary was

The very elixir and spirit of wine.

He could say, though not in the original intention,

Wine is the word that glads the heart of man,
And mine’s the house of wine. Sack, says my bush,
Be merry and drink sherry, that is my posie.

The following are

_Ben Jonson’s Sociable Rules for the Apollo._

Let none but guests, or clubbers, hither come.
Let dunces, fools, sad sordid men keep home.
Let learned, civil, merry men, b’invited,
And modest too; nor be choice ladies slighted.
Let nothing in the treat offend the guests;
More for delight than cost prepare the feast.
The cook and purvey’r must our palates know;
And none contend who shall sit high or low.
Our waiters must quick-sighted be, and dumb,
And let the drawers quickly hear and come.
Let not our wine be mix’d, but brisk and neat,
Or else the drinkers may the vintners beat.
And let our only emulation be,
Not drinking much, but talking wittily.
Let it be voted lawful to stir up
Each other with a moderate chirping cup;
Let not our company be or talk too much;
On serious things, or sacred, let’s not touch
With sated heads and bellies. Neither may
Fiddlers unask’d obtrude themselves to play,
With laughing, leaping, dancing, jests, and songs,
And whate’er else to grateful mirth belongs,
Let’s celebrate our feasts; and let us see
That all our jests without reflection be.
Insipid poems let no man rehearse,
Nor any be compelled to write a verse.
All noise of vain disputes must he forborne,
And let no lover in a corner mourn,
To fight and brawl, like hectors, let none dare,
Glasses or windows break, or hangings tear,
Whoe’er shall publish what’s here done or said
From our society must be banishèd;
Let none by drinking do or suffer harm,
And, while we stay, let us be always warm.

In one of his plays he absurdly compares the host of the ‘New Inn’ to one of those stone jugs called ‘Long Beards.’

Who’s at the best some round grown thing--_a jug_
_Fac’d with a beard_, that fills out to the guests.

These stone vessels may be recognised as glazed, of a mottled brown colour, with a narrow neck and wide-spreading belly, a rudely executed face with a long flowing beard, and a handle behind. Mr. Chaffers, from whom this description is taken, says that these vessels were in general use in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries at public-houses, to serve ale to the customers. The largest size held eight pints. Some of them bore coats-of-arms. They were also called _Bellarmines_, after the celebrated cardinal who so opposed the progress of the reformers that he incurred the hatred of the Protestants, who manifested their rancour by satire such as this bottle, which figured a hard-featured son of Adam.

In the _Cynthia’s Revels_ of Ben Jonson, occurs an allusion to that hideous custom, the practice of which he attributes to a representative lover stabbing himself, drinking a health, and writing languishing letters in his blood. In the _Humorous Lieutenant_ of Beaumont and Fletcher, allusion is made to the same practice of gentlemen cutting and stabbing themselves, and mingling their blood with the wine in which they toasted their mistresses. In the _Merchant of Venice_ the Prince of Morocco, with the same meaning, speaks of ‘making an incision for love.’ Jonson occupied the president’s chair in the Apollo room in the _Devil_ Tavern (on the site of which is Child’s bank), surrounded by the ‘eruditi, urbani, hilares, honesti,’ of that age. A contemporary dramatist, Shakerly Marmion, describes him thus:--

The boon Delphic god
Drinks _sack_, and keeps his Bacchanalia,
And has his incense and his altars smoking,
And speaks in sparkling prophecies.

The tavern to which Ben gave such a lasting reputation had for a sign the Devil, and St. Dunstan twigging his nose with a pair of hot tongs. Over the chimney inside were engraved in black marble his _leges conviviales_, and over the door some verses by the same hand, which wind up with a eulogistic encomium upon wine.

Ply it, and you all are mounted,
‘Tis the true Phœbian liquor,
Cheers the brains, makes wit the quicker;
Pays all debts, cures all diseases,
And at once three senses pleases.[110]

Two authors, who would well bear comparison, remain to be mentioned--Barnabie Googe and Thomas Tusser. The latter was a georgical poet of great popularity in the sixteenth century. His poems were faithful pictures of the domestic life of the English farmer of his day. He concerns us now simply for his belief in the strengthening virtues of the hop. Among his ‘Directions for Cultivating a Hop Garden,’ we find:--

The hop for his profit I thus do exalt,
It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt;
And being well brewed, long kept it will last,
And drawing abide--if ye draw not too fast.

His entire poem, after considerable expansion, appeared under the title of _Five Hundreth Points of Good Husbandrie_.

Googe wrote upon the same subject.[111] We can glean from him some useful information upon the culture of the vine in England. He says:--

We might have a reasonable good wine growing in many places of this
realme; as undoubtedly wee had immediately after the Conquest;
tyll partly by slouthfulnesse, not liking anything long that is
painefull, partly by civil discord long-continuying, it was left,
and so with tyme lost, as appeareth by a number of places in this
realme that keepe still the name of vineyardes; and uppon many
cliffes and hilles are yet to be seene the rootes and olde remaynes
of vines. There is besides Nottingham an auncient house, called
Chilwell, in which house remayneth yet, as an auncient monument, in
a great wyndowe of glasse, the whole order of planting, pruyning,
stamping, and pressing of vines. Beside there is yet also growing
an old vine, that yields a grape sufficient to make a right good
wine, as was lately proved. There hath, moreover, good experience
of late yeears been made, by two noble and honorable barons of this
realme, the lorde Cobham and the lorde Willyams of Tame, who had
both growyng about their houses as good wines as are in many parts
of Fraunce.

FOOTNOTES:

[87] Cf. the Act of 1536 which speaks of ‘sakkes and other sweete wines.’

[88] ‘Now, many kinds of _sacks_ are known and used.’ Howell. _Londinopolis_, p. 103. The palm-sack, which Ben Jonson speaks of, is from Palma Island, one of the Canary group.

[89] Bancroft, _Two Bookes of Epigrammes and Epitaphs_, 1639.

[90] Another variety of this second version is ‘Turkeys, carps, hops, piccarel, and beer.’ Anderson. _Hist. of Commerce_, vol. i., p. 354.

[91] See _Losely Manuscripts_, and other Rare Documents minutely illustrating English History, Biography, and Manners from Henry VIII. to James I., preserved in the Muniment Room at Losely House, edited with Notes by A. J. Kempe.

[92] Camden Society reprint of the _Rutland Papers_.

[93] _Tusser Redivivus_ (1744), p. 81.

[94] _Christen State of Matrimony_ (1543).

[95] _The Anatomie of Abuses_ (1583).

[96] This song is given in Washington’s Irving’s _Sketch Book_, in its original orthography.

[97] _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, act 2, scene i. Cf. Knight, _Pict. Hist._, vol. ii. _Gent. Magazine_, May 1784.

[98] Herrick: _Poems_.

[99] Scott, _Lay of the Last Minstrel_. Cf. also _Christmas with the Poets_; and the ‘Old and Young Courtier’ in the _Percy Reliques_.

[100] In the time of Henry IV. there was a club called ‘La Court de bone Compagnie,’ of which Occleve was a member, and perhaps Chaucer. The word _club_ is connected with _cleave_, which has the twofold meaning of _split and adhere_; reminding one of the equivalent words _partner_ and _associe_, the former pointing to the _division_ of profits, the latter to the _community_ of interests. Cf. Timbs, _Club Life_.

[101] Camden’s assertion will be found criticised towards the end of this book.

[102] By Richard Carew, 1602.

[103] _Anatomie of Abuses_, 1583.

[104] Naogeorgus, _The Popish Kingdome_, Englyshed by Barnabe Googe. London, 1570.

[105] Gascoigne: _The Steele Glas: A Satyre_, 1576.

[106] Since writing the present sketch, the attitude of Shakespeare to temperance has been carefully considered and dealt with in a work entitled _Shakespeare on Temperance_, by Frederick Sherlock.

[107] All that can possibly be verified has been investigated by the indefatigable energy and industry, extending over nearly half a century, of J. O. Halliwell Phillipps Esq., F.R.S., of Hollingbury Copse, Brighton.

[108] Cf. Knight, _Old England_, vol. ii.; and C. F. Green, _Shakespeare’s Crab Tree_.

[109] Diary of the Rev. John Ward (arranged by Charles Severn, 1839).

[110] George Daniel, _Merrie England in the Olden Time_.

[111] _Foure Bookes of Husbandry, 1578._