Never did any city pocket up such wrong at the hands of one over whom she is so jealous and so tender, that in winter nights if he be but missing and hide himself in the dark, I know not how many beadles are sent up and down the streets to cry him: yet you see, there is more cause she should send out to curse him. For what villanies are not abroad so long as Candle-light is stirring? The serving-man dare then walk with his wench: the private punk (otherwise called one that boards in London) who like a pigeon sits billing all day within doors and fears to step over the threshold, does then walk the round till midnight, after she hath been swaggering amongst pottle-pots and vintners' boys. Nay, the sober perpetuana-suited puritan, that dares not (so much as by moonlight) come near the suburb-shadow of a house where they set stewed prunes before you, raps as boldly at the hatch, when he knows Candle-light is within, as if he were a new chosen constable. When all doors are locked up, when no eyes are open, when birds sit silent in bushes, and beasts lie sleeping under hedges, when no creature can be smelt to be up but they that may be smelt every night a street's length ere you come at them, even then doth this ignis fatuus (Candle-light) walk like a fire-drake into sundry corners. If you will not believe this, shoot but your eye through the iron grates into the cellars of vintners, there you shall see him hold his neck in a gin, made of a cleft hoop-stick, to throttle him from telling tales, whilst they most abominably jumble together all the papistical drinks that are brought from beyond-sea: the poor wines are racked and made to confess any thing: the Spanish and the French meeting both in the bottom of the cellar, conspire together in their cups, to lay the Englishman (if he ever come into their company) under the board. To be short, such strange mad music do they play upon their sack-butts, that if Candle-light being overcome with the steam of new sweet wines, when they are at work, should not tell them 'tis time to go to bed, they would make all the hogsheads that use to come to the house to dance the canaries till they reel again. When the grape-mongers and he are parted, he walks up and down the streets squireing old midwives to any house (very secretly) where any bastards are to be brought into the world. From them (about the hour when spirits walk and cats go a-gossiping) he visits the watch, where creeping into the beadle's cothouse (which stands between his legs, that are lapped about with pieces of rug, as if he had new struck off shackles) and seeing the watchmen to nod at him, he hides himself presently (knowing the token) under the flap of a gown, and teaches them (by instinct) how to steal naps into their heads, because he sees all their cloaks have not one good nap upon them: and upon his warrant snort they so loud, that to those night-walkers (whose wits are up so late) it serves as a watch-word to keep out of the reach of their brown bills: by which means they never come to answer the matter before master constable, and the bench upon which his men (that should watch) do sit: so that the counters are cheated of prisoners, to the great damage of those that should have their morning's draught out of the garnish. O Candle-light, Candle-light! to how many costly sackpossets, and rear-banquets hast thou been invited by prentices and kitchen-maidens? When the bell-man for anger to spite [spy?] such a purloiner of so many citizens' goods, hath bounced at the door like a madman; at which (as if Robin Good-fellow had been conjured up amongst them) the wenches have fallen into the hands of the green-sickness, and the young fellows into cold agues, with very fear lest their master (like old Jeronimo and Isabella his wife after him) starting out of his naked bed should come down with a weapon in his hand and this in his mouth: "What out-cries pull us from our naked bed? Who calls? &c." as the players can tell you. O Candlelight, how hast thou stunk then, when they have popped thee out of their company; how hast thou taken it in snuff, when thou hast been smelt out, especially the master of the house exclaiming, that by day that deed of darkness had not been. One veney more with thee, and then I have done. How many lips have been worn out with kissing at the street door or in the entry, in a winking blind evening? How many odd matches and uneven marriages have been made there between young prentices and their masters' daughters, whilst thou (O Candle-light) hast stood watching at the stair's head, that none could come stealing down by thee, but they must be seen? It appears by these articles put in against thee, that thou art partly a bawd to diverse loose sins, and partly a cozener. For if any in the city have bad wares lying dead upon their hands, thou art better than aqua vitae to fetch life into them, and to send them packing. Thou shalt therefore be taken out of thy proud chariot, and be carted. Yet first will we see what workmanship and what stuff it is made of, to the intent that if it be not dangerous for a city to keep any relic belonging to such a crooked saint, it may be hung up as a monument to shew with what dishonour thou wert driven out of so noble a lodging, to deface whose buildings thou hast been so envious, that when thou hast been left alone by any thing that would take fire, thou hast burnt to the ground many of her goodliest houses. Candle-light's coach is made all of horn, shaven as thin as changelings are. It is drawn (with ease) by two rats: the coachman is a chandler, who so sweats with yerking them, that he drops tallow, and that feeds them as provender: yet are the lashes that he gives the squeaking vermin more deadly to them than all the ratsbane in Bucklersbury. Painfulness and Study are his two lackeys and run by him: Darkness, Conspiracy, Opportunity, Stratagems and Fear, are his attendants: he's sued unto by diggers in mines, gravers, scholars, mariners, nurses, drunkards, unthrifts and shrode husbands: he destroys that which feeds him, and therefore Ingratitude comes behind all this, driving them before her. THOMAS DEKKER, The Seuen Deadly Sinnes of London 1606 §4. Temptations Polonius. Such wanton, wild and usual slips Reynaldo. As gaming, my lord? Polonius. Ay, or drinking, fencing, swearing, quarrelling, Drabbing. Hamlet, 11. i. 22-26 A. Drink Its effects. (a) Falstaff's opinion A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapours which environ it; makes it apprehensive, quick, forgetive, full of nimble fiery and delectable shapes; which, deliver'd o'er to the voice, the tongue, which is the birth, becomes excellent wit. The second property of your excellent sherris is, the warming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, left the liver white and pale, which is the badge of pusillanimity and cowardice: but the sherris warms. it and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme. It illumineth the face, which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners and inland petty spirits muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puffed up with this retinue, doth any deed of courage; and this valour comes of sherris. So that skill in the weapon is nothing without sack, for that sets it a-work; and learning, a mere hoard of gold kept by a devil till sack commences it and sets it in act and use. Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like lean, sterile, and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled, with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant. If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack. 2 Henry IV., IV. iii. 103—136 (b) A puritan's opinion Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale? Twelfth Night, 11. iii. 123 Spudeus. You spake of drunkenness, what say you of that? Philoponus. I say that it is a horrible vice, and too too much used in Ailgna [England]. Every country, city, town, village and other places hath abundance of alehouses, taverns and inns, which are so fraught with malt-worms, night and day, that you would wonder to see them. You shall have them there sitting at the wine and good-ale all the day long, yea, all the night too, peradventure a whole week together, so long as any money is left; swilling, gulling and carousing from one to another, till never a one can speak a ready word. Then, when with the spirit of the buttery they are thus possessed, a world it is to consider their gestures and demeanours, one towards another and towards every one else. How they stut and stammer, stagger and reel to and fro like madmen....and which is most horrible, some fall to swearing, cursing and banning, interlacing their speeches with curious terms of blasphemy, to the great dishonour of God, and offence of the godly ears present. Sp. But they will say that God ordained wines and strong drinks to cheer the heart and to sustain the body withal, therefore it is lawful to use them to that end. Philo. Meats (moderately taken) corroborate the body, refresh the arteries and revive the spirits, making them apter, every member, to do his office as God hath appointed; but being immoderately taken (as commonly they be), they are instruments of damnation to the abusers of the same, and nourish not the body, but corrupt it rather, casting it into a world of diseases. And a man once drunk with wine or strong drink rather resembleth a brute beast than a Christian man. For do not his eyes begin to stare and to be red, fiery and bleared, blubbering forth seas of tears? Doth he not froth and foam at the mouth like a boar? Doth not his tongue falter and stammer in his mouth? Doth not his head seem as heavy as a millstone, he not being able to bear it up? Are not his wits and spirits, as it were, drowned? Is not his understanding altogether decayed? Do not his hands, and all his body vibrate, quaver and shake, as it were, with a quotidian fever? Besides these, it casteth him into a dropsy or pleurisy, nothing so soon ; it enfeebleth the sinews, it weakeneth the natural strength, it corrupteth the blood, it dissolveth the whole man at the length, and finally maketh him forgetful of himself altogether, so that what he doth being drunk, he remembreth not being sober. The drunkard, in his drunkenness, killeth his friend, revileth his lover, disèloseth secrets, and regardeth no man. He either expelleth all fear of God out of his mind, all love of his friends and kinsfolks, all remembrance of honesty, civility, and humanity; so that I will not fear to call drunkards beasts, and no men; and much worse than beasts, for beasts never exceed in any such kind of excess or superfluity, but alway modum adhibent appetitui, they measure their appetites by the rule of necessity, which, would God, we would do. PHILIP STUBBES, The Anatomie of Abuses 1583 (2nd ed.) |