Excerpts from Bartholomew Fair
[Stage-Keeper] [...] Would not a
fine pump upon the stage ha’ done well, for a property now? And a
punk set under upon her head, with her stern upward, and ha’ been
sous’d by my witty young masters o’ the Inns o’ Court? What think
you o’ this for a show, now? (Induction 31–35)
[...]
[Scrivener.] Articles of
Agreement, indented, between the spectators or hearers, at the Hope
on the Bankside, in the county of
Surrey, one the one party; and the author of Bartholomew Fair in the said place and county, on the
other party: the one and thirtieth day of October 1614 and in the
twelfth year of the reign of our Sovereign Lord, James, by the grace
of God King of England, France, and Ireland; Defender of the Faith;
and of Scotland the seven and fortieth (Induction 64–72).
[...]
[Scrivener.] [...] It is further
covenanted, concluded and agreed, that how great soever the
expectation be, no person here is to expect more than he knows, or
better ware than a Fair will afford: neither to look back to the
sword-and-buckler-age of Smithfield,
but content himself with the present (Induction 114–19).
[...]
[Scrivener.] [...] In
consideration of which, it is finally agreed by the foresaid hearers
and spectators that they neither in themselves conceal, nor suffer
by them to be concealed, any state-decipherer, or politic picklock
of the scene, so solemnly ridiculous as to search out who was meant
by the Ginger-bread-woman, who by the Hobby-horse-man, who by the
Costermonger, nay, who by their wares; or that will pretend to
affirm, on his own inspired ignorance, what Mirror of Magistrates is
meant by the Justice, what great lady by the Pig-woman, what
conceal’d statesman by the Seller of Mousetraps, and so of the rest.
But that such person, or persons so found, be left discovered to the
mercy of the author, as a forfeiture to the stage, and your
laughter, aforesaid; as also, such as shall so desperately, or
ambitiously, play the fool by his place aforesaid, to challenge the
author of scurrility because the language somewhere savours of Smithfield, the booth, and the
pig-broth, or of profaneness because a madman cries, ’God quit you’,
or ’bless you’. In witness whereof, as you have preposterously put
to your seals aready (which is your money), you will now add the
other part of suffrage, your hands. The play shall presently begin.
And though the Fair be not kept in the same region that some here,
perhaps, would have it, yet think that therein the author hath
observ’d a special decorum, the place being as dirty as Smithfield, and as stinking every whit
(Induction
136–62).
[...]
[...]
[Littlewit.] [...] Win, good
morrow, Win. Aye marry, Win! Now you look finely indeed, Win! This
cap does convince! You’d not ha’ worn it, Win, nor ha’ had it
velvet, but a rough country beaver, with a copper-band, like the
coney-skin woman of Budge-row? Sweet
Win, let me kiss it! And her fine high shoes, like the Spanish lady!
Good Win, go a little, I would fain see thee pace, pretty Win! By
this fine cap, I could never leave kissing on’t.
Win. Come, indeed la, you are
such a fool, still!
Lit. No, but half a one, Win,
you are the tother half: man and wife make one fool, Win. (Good!) Is
there the proctor, or doctor indeed, i’ the diocese, that ever had
the fortune to win him such a Win! (There I am again!) I do feel
conceits coming upon me, more than I am able to turn tongue to. A
pox o’ these pretenders to wit, your Three
Cranes, Mitre and Mermaid men! Not a corn of true salt,
nor a grain of right mustard amongst them all (1.1.19–34).
[...]
[Littlewit.] Troth, I am a little
taken with my Win’s dressing here! Does’t not fine, Master Winwife?
How do you apprehend, sir? She would not ha’ worn this habit. I
challenge all Cheapside to show such
another -- Moorfields, Pimlico path,
or the Exchange, in a summer evening
-- with a lace to boot, as this has. Dear Win, let Master Winwife
kiss you. He comes a-wooing to our mother, Win, and may be our
father perhaps, Win. There’s no harm in him, Win (1.2.3–10).
[...]
Win. Sir, my mother has had her
nativity-water cast lately by the cunning men in Cow-lane, and they ha’ told her her
fortune, and do ensure her she shall never have happy hour, unless
she marry within this sen’night, and when it is, it must be a
madman, they say.
[Littlewit.] Aye, but it must be
a gentleman madman.
Win. Yes, so the tother man of
Moorfields says.
[Winwife.] But does she believe
’em?
[...]
[Quarlous.] Hoy-day! How
respective you are become o’ the sudden! I fear this family will
turn you reformed too; pray you come about again. Because she is in
possibility to be your daughter-in-law, and may ask you blessing
hereafter, when she courts it to Tottenham
to eat cream -- well, I will forbear, sir; but i’ faith, would
thou wouldst leave thy exercise of widow-hunting once, this drawing
after an old reverend smock by the splay-foot! There cannot be an
ancient tripe or trillibub i’ the town, but thou art straight nosing
it; and ’tis a fine occupation thou’lt confine thyself to, when thou
hast got one -- scrubbing a piece of buff, as if thou hadst the
perpetuity of
Pannyer-alley
to stink in, or perhaps, worse, currying a carcass that thou hast
bound thyself to alive (1.3.56–69).
[...]
[Quarlous.] Aye, for there was a
blue-starch-woman o’ the name, at the same time. A notable
hypocritical vermin it is; I know him. One that stands upon his face
more than his faith, at all times; ever in seditious motion, and
reproving for vain-glory; of a most lunatic conscience, and spleen,
and affects the violence of singularity in all he does; (he has
undone a grocer here, in Newgate-market, that broke with him, trusted him with
currants, as arrant a zeal as he, that’s by the way;) by his
profession, he will ever be i’ the state of innocence, though, and
childhood (1.3.132–41).
[...]
Wasp. [...] Why, we could not
meet that heathen thing, all day, but stay’d him: he would name you
all the signs over, as he went, aloud: and where he spied a parrot,
or a monkey, there he was pitch’d, with all the little-long-coats
about him, male and female; no getting him away! I thought he would
ha’ run mad o’ the black boy in Bucklersbury, that takes the scurvy, roguy tobacco, there
(1.4.108–13).
[...]
[Mistress Overdo.] I am content
to be in abeyance, sir, and be govern’d by you; so should he too, if
he did well; but ’twill be expected you should also govern your
passions.
[...]
[Littlewit.] Tut, we’ll have a
device, a dainty one; (now, Wit, help at a pinch, good Wit come,
come, good Wit, an’t be thy will). I have it, Win, I have it i’
faith, and ’tis a fine one. Win, long to eat of a pig, sweet Win, i’
the Fair; do you see? I’ the heart o’ the Fair; not at Pie-corner. Your mother will do
anything, Win, to satisfy your longing, you know; pray thee long,
presently, and be sick o’ the sudden, good Win. I’ll go in and tell
her; cut thy lace i’ the meantime, and play the hypocrite, sweet Win
(1.5.148–56).
[...]
Trash. Charm me? I’ll meet thee
face to face, afore his worship, when thou dar’st: and though I be a
little crooked o’ my body, I’ll be found as upright in my dealing as
any woman in Smithfield; aye, charm
me! (2.2.23–26)
[...]
[Knockem.] What! my little lean
Urs’la! my she-bear! art thou alive yet? With thy litter of pigs, to
grunt out another Bartholomew Fair? Ha!
[Ursula.] Yes, and to amble
afoot, when the Fair is done, to hear you groan out of a cart, up
the heavy hill.
Kno. Of Holborn, Urs’la, meanst thou so? For what? For what,
pretty Urs?
Urs. For cutting halfpenny
purses, or stealing little penny dogs, out o’ the Fair.
Kno. O! good words, good words,
Urs.
[Justice Overdo.] [Aside] Another special enormity.
A cutpurse of the sword! the boot, and the feather! Those are his
marks.
Urs. You are one of those
horse-leeches that gave out I was dead, in Turnbull-street, of a
surfeit of bottle-ale, and tripes?
Kno. No, ’twas better meat, Urs:
cow’s udders, cow’s udders! (2.3.1–16)
[...]
[Mooncalf.] What mean you by
that, Master Arthur?
[Justice Overdo.] I mean a child
of the horn-thumb, a babe of booty, boy; a cutpurse.
Moon. O Lord, sir! far from it.
This is Master Dan. Knockem: Jordan the ranger of Turnbull. He is a
horse-courser, sir (2.3.28–33).
[...]
[Quarlous.] Body o’ the Fair!
what’s this? Mother o’ the bawds?
[Knockem.] No, she’s mother o’
the pigs, sir, mother o’ the pigs!
[Winwife.] Mother o’ the Furies,
I think, by her firebrand.
Quar. Nay, she is too fat to be
a Fury, sure some walking sow of tallow!
Winw. An inspir’d vessel of
kitchen-stuff!
She drinks this
while.
Quar. She’ll make excellent gear
for the coach-makers, here in Smithfield, to anoint wheels and axle-trees with (2.5.69–76).
[...]
[Knockem.] Be of good cheer, Urs;
thou hast hind’red me the currying of a couple of stallions here,
that abus’d the good race-bawd o’ Smithfield; ’twas time for ’em to go (2.5.159–61).
[...]
[Justice Overdo.] Hark, O you
sons and daughters of Smithfield! and
hear what malady it doth the mind: it causeth swearing, it causeth
swaggering, it causeth snuffling, and snarling, and now and then a
hurt (2.6.64–67).
[...]
[Justice Overdo.] Look into any
agle o’ the town -- the Straits, or the Bermudas -- where the
quarrelling lesson is read, and how do they entertain the time, but
with bottle-ale, and tobacco? The lecturer is o’ one side, and his
pupils o’ the other; but the seconds are still bottle-ale, and
tobacco, for which the lecturer reads, and the novices pay (2.6.72–77).
[...]
[Leatherhead.] What do you lack?
What do you buy, pretty Mistress! a fine hobby-horse, to make your
son a tilter? a drum to make him a soldier? a fiddle, to make him a
reveller? What is’t you lack? Little dogs for your daughters! or
babies, male or female?
Busy. Look not toward them,
hearken not: the place is Smithfield,
or the field of smiths, the grove of hobby-horses and trinkets, th
wares are the wares of devils. And the whole Fair is the shop of
Satan! (3.2.32–40)
[...]
[Quarlous.] I’ll warrant thee,
then, no wife out o’ the widow’s hundred: if I had but as much title
to her, as to have breath’d once on that strait stomacher of hers, I
would now assure myself to carry her, yet, ere she went out of Smithfield. Or she should carry me,
which were the fitter sight, I confess (3.3.136–41).
[...]
[Cokes.] Numps, here be finer
things than any we ha’ bought, by odds! And more delicate horses, a
great deal! Good Numps, stay, and come hither.
Wasp. Will you scourse with him?
You are in Smithfield, you may fit
yourself with a fine easy-going street-nag for your saddle again;
Michaelmas term, do; has he ne’er a little odd cart for you, to make
a caroche on, i’ the country, with four pied hobby-horses? (3.4.19–26)
[...]
[Nightingale.] Alack and for pity, why
should it be said?
As if they regarded or places, or
time.
Examples have been
Of some that were
seen,
In Westminster
Hall, yea the pleaders between,
Then why should the judges be free from
this curse,
More than my poor self, for cutting
the purse? (3.5.82–89)
[...]
[Nightingale.] At Worc’ster, ’tis known well, and
even i’ the jail,
A knight of good worship did there show
his face,
Against the foul sinners, in zeal for to
rail,
[...]
Grace. Faith, through a common
calamity, he bought me, sir; and now he will marry me to his wife’s
brother, this wise gentleman, that you see, or else I must pay value
o’ my land.
[Quarlous.] ’Slid, is there no
device of disparagement, or so? Talk with some crafty fellow, some
picklock o’ the Law! Would I had studied a year longer i’ the Inns
of Court, an’t had been but i’ your case (3.5.275–82).
[...]
Busy. Sister, let her fly the
impurity of the place, swiftly, lest she partake of the pitch
thereof. Thou art the seat of the Beast, O Smithfield, and I will leave thee. Idolatry peepeth out
on every side of thee (3.6.41–44).
[...]
Trash. A pox of his Bedlam purity. He has spoil’d half my
ware: but the best is, we lose nothing, if we miss our first
merchant (3.6.129–31).
[...]
[Cokes.] Would I might lose my
doublet, and hose too, as I am an honest man, and never stir, if I
think there be anything but thieving, and coz’ning, i’ this whole
Fair. Bartholomew-fair, quoth he; an’ ever any Bartholomew had that
luck in’t that I have had, I’ll be martyr’d for him, and in Smithfield, too (4.2.67–72).
[...]
Whit. As soon ash tou cansht,
shweet Ursh. Of a valiant man I tink I am the patientsh man i’ the
world, or in all Smithfield (4.4.205–07).
[...]
[Ursula.] Help, help here.
[Knockem.] How now? What vapour’s
there?
Urs. O, you are a sweet ranger!
and look well to your walks. Yonder is your punk of Turnbull,
Ramping Alice, has fall’n upon the poor gentlewoman within, and
pull’d her hood over her ears, and her hair through it (4.5.57–62).
[...]
Alice. The poor common whores
can ha’ no traffic, for the privy rich ones; your caps and hoods of
velvet call away our customers, and lick the fat from us.
[Ursula.] Peace, you foul ramping
jade, you --
Alice. Od’s foot, you bawd in
grease, are you talking?
[Knockem.] Why, Alice, I say.
Alice. Thou sow of Smithfield, thou.
Urs. Thou tripe of Turnbull.
Kno. Cat-a-mountain-vapours!
ha!
Urs. You know where you were
taw’d lately, both lash’d and slash’d you were in Bridewell.
Alice. Aye, by the same token,
you rid that week, and broke out the bottom o’ the cart, night-tub
(4.5.68–80).
[...]
[Leatherhead.] Well, Luck and
Saint Bartholomew! Out with the sign of our invention, in the name
of Wit, and do you beat the drum, the while; all the foul i’ the
Fair, I mean all the dirt in Smithfield (that’s one of Master Littlewit’s
carriwitchets now), will be thrown at our banner today, if the
matter does not please the poeple (5.1.1–6).
[...]
[Cokes.] A motion, what’s
that?
He reads the bill.
[...]
[Littlewit.] It pleases him to
make a matter of it, sir. But there is no such matter I assure you:
I have only made it a little easy, and modern for the times, sir,
that’s all; as, for the Hellespont, I imagine our Thames here; and
then Leander I make a dyer’s son, about Puddle-wharf; and Hero a wench o’ the Bank-side, who going over one morning,
to old Fish-street, Leander spies her
land at Trig-stairs, and falls in love
with her: now do I introduce Cupid, having metamorphos’d himself
into a drawer, and he strikes Hero in love with a pint of sherry;
and other pretty passages there are, o’ the friendship, that will
delight you, sir, and please you of judgement (5.3.112–23).
[...]
[Leatherhead.] Gentles, that no longer
your expectations may wander,
Behold our chief actor, amorous
Leander,
With a great deal of cloth lapp’d about
him like a scarf,
For he yet serves his father, a dyer at
Puddle-wharf,
Which place we’ll make bold with, to call
it our Abydus,
As the Bankside is our Sestos, and let it not be denied
us (5.4.113–18).
[...]
[Puppet Leander.] Here, Cole, what
fairest of fairs
Was that fare, that thou landedst but now
at Trig-stairs?
[Cokes.] What was that, fellow?
Pray thee tell me, I scarce understand ’em.
[Leatherhead.] Leander does ask, sir,
what fairest of fairs
Was the fare that he landed, but now, at
Trig-stairs?
[Puppet Cole.] It is lovely Hero.
Pup. Lean. Nero?
Pup. Cole. No, Hero.
Lea. It is Hero
Of the Bankside, he saith, to tell you truth without erring,
Is come over into Fish-street to eat some fresh herring,
Leander says no more, but as fast as he
can,
Gets on all his best clothes; and
will after to the Swan
(5.4.139–52).
[...]
[Leatherhead.] Now, gentles, to the
friends, who in number are two,
And lodg’d in that ale-house, in which
fair Hero does do.
Damon (for some kindness done him in the
last week)
Is come fair Hero, in Fish-street, this morning to seek:
Pythias does smell the knavery of the
meeting,
And now you shall see their true
friendly greeting (5.4.220–25).
[...]
[Puppet Leander.] And sweetest of
geese, before I go to bed,
I’ll swim o’er the Thames, my goose, thee
to tread.
[Cokes.] Brave! he will swim o’er
the Thames, and tread his goose, tonight, he says.
[Leatherhead.] Aye, peace, sir,
they’ll be angry, if they hear you eavesdropping, now they are
setting their match.
Pup. Lean. But lest the Thames should
be dark, my goose, my dear friend,
Let thy window he provided of a
candle’s end (5.4.289–96).
[...]
[Justice Overdo.] Master Winwife?
I hope you have won no wife of her, sir. If you have, I will examine
the possibility of it, at fit leisure. Now, to my enormities: look
upon me, O London! and see me, O Smithfield! the example of justice, and Mirror of
Magistrates; the true top of formality, and scourge of enormity.
Hearken unto my labours, and but observe my discoveries; and compare
Hercules with me, if thou dar’st, of old; or Columbus; Magellan; or
our country-man Drake of later times: stand forth you weeds of
enormity, and spread (5.6.31–40).
[...]
[Quarlous.] [...] Nay, sir, stand
now you fix’d here, like a stake in Finsbury to be shot at, or the whipping post i’ the Fair,
but get your wife out o’ the air, it will make her worse else; and
remember you are but Adam, flesh and blood! (5.6.96–100)
References
-
Citation
Jonson, Ben. Bartholomew Fair. 1614. Ed. E.A. Horsman. Revels Plays. Manchester: Manchester UP, 1960, 1979.This item is cited in the following documents:
