The Project Gutenberg eBook ofGammer Gurton's NeedleThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Gammer Gurton's NeedleDubious author: John StillJohn BridgesWilliam StevensonEditor: John Stephen FarmerRelease date: September 22, 2011 [eBook #37503]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Chris Curnow, Katie Hernandez and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GAMMER GURTON'S NEEDLE ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Gammer Gurton's NeedleDubious author: John StillJohn BridgesWilliam StevensonEditor: John Stephen FarmerRelease date: September 22, 2011 [eBook #37503]Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Chris Curnow, Katie Hernandez and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)
Title: Gammer Gurton's Needle
Dubious author: John StillJohn BridgesWilliam StevensonEditor: John Stephen Farmer
Dubious author: John Still
John Bridges
William Stevenson
Editor: John Stephen Farmer
Release date: September 22, 2011 [eBook #37503]
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Chris Curnow, Katie Hernandez and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GAMMER GURTON'S NEEDLE ***
The Museum Dramatists
No. 1
Edited, with an Introduction, Note-Book, and Word-List.ByJOHN S. FARMER
"Gammer Gurton's Needlewas the first to gather the threads of farce ... interlude, and ... school play into a well-sustained comedy of rustic life[with]the rollicking humour of the ... Bedlem; the pithy and saline interchange of feminine amenities; the ... Chaucerian, laughter,—not sensual but animal; the delight in physical incongruity; the mediæval fondness for the grotesque. If the situations are farcical, they ... hold together; each scene tends towards the climax of the act, and each act towards the dénouement. The characters are both typical and individual; and ... the execution is an advance because it smacks less of the academic. Gammer Gurton carries forward the comedy of mirth."—C. Mills Gayley, Litt.D., LL.D., Professor of the EnglishLanguage and Literature in the University of California.
In 1782 Isaac Reed attributedGammer Gurton's Needleto a Dr. John Still, who, in 1563, was raised to the see of Bath and Wells. His reasons for doing this are, on examination, found to be somewhat inconclusive. It seems that he discovered in the accounts of Christ's College an entry referring to a play acted at Christmas, 1567 (not 1566, as he states), and, as this is the latest entry of the kind occurring before 1575—the date of publication—he inferred that it related to the representation ofGammer Gurton's Needle, which in Colwell's title-page (see facsimile on page 1) was stated to have taken place "not longe ago." The only Master of Arts of the college then living whose surname began with S, that he was able to find, was John Still, whom he therefore confidently identified with the "Mr. S." who is said to have writtenGammer Gurton's Needle.
Curiously enough, another Church dignitary has shared with Dr. Still the attributed authorship of, as Dr. Bradley expresses it, "this very unclerical play"—namely, Dr. John Bridges, Dean of Salisbury and Bishop of Oxford. Innarrating the personal history of these two churchmen, let us take them in order.
John Still was the only son of William Still, Esq., of Grantham, in Lincolnshire, and was born in or about 1543. In 1559 he matriculated as a pensioner in Christ's College, Cambridge, and his record, according toThe National Dictionary of Biography, supplemented by W. C. Hazlitt inDodsley's Old Plays, appears to have been as follows:—B.A. in 1561-2; M.A. in 1565; D.D., 1575; Fellow, 1562; presented to the rectory of St. Martin Outwich, London, in 1570; collated by Archbishop Parker to the rectory of Hadleigh, in Suffolk, 1571; and appointed, with Dr. Watts, by the primate to whom he was chaplain, Joint-Dean of Bocking, 1572. From the deanery of Bocking he rose to the canonry at Westminster, the mastership of St. John's College, Cambridge, the vice-chancellorship of the university on two occasions, the mastership of Trinity College, Cambridge, and finally, the bishopric of Bath and Wells, to which last dignity he was named 1592-3. He died at the episcopal palace at Wells, 1607-8, and was buried, on the 4th April following, in the cathedral, where a handsome monument was erected to his memory. He was twice married, and left behind him several children.
John Bridges was educated at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge, his record being:—B.A., 1556; M.A., 1560; Fellow, 1556; D.D. from Canterbury, 1575. He spent some years in Italy, and translated three books of Machiavelli into English, which, however, were not printed. This was followed by a translationof Walther's175 Homilies on the Acts of the ApostlesandThe Supremacy of Christian Princes over all Persons throughout their Dominions. He became Dean of Salisbury in 1577, and was one of the divines appointed to reply to Edmund Campion'sTen Reasons. His most celebrated work wasA Defence of the Government established in the Church of England for Ecclesiastical Matters—a monumental work of some 1,412 pp., published in 1587, and which derives its chief interest from the fact that it was the immediate cause of the famous Martin Marprelate controversy. Dr. Bridges also took part in the Hampton Court Conference in 1603, and on February 12, 1603-4, was consecrated Bishop of Oxford at Lambeth by Archbishop Whitgift. He officiated at the funeral of Henry Prince of Wales in 1612, and died at a great age in 1618.
The question of authorship has, indeed, always been, more or less, a moot point; the same uncertainty applies also to the question of the date of publication; and, notwithstanding recent research and criticism, these questions cannot even yet be said to be settled beyond a doubt.
Dr. Bradley, one of the editors of theOxford English Dictionary, has recently, in Professor Gayley'sRepresentative English Comedies(Macmillan Co., New York, 1903), sifted the available evidence respecting the date and authorship of the play. I am enabled, through the courtesy of Dr. Bradley and the permission, readily granted, of Messrs. Macmillan and Co., to summarise the facts and inferences which Dr. Bradley adduces against the claims of bothDr. Still and Dr. Bridges, and those which seem to favour the identity of Mr. S. with a William Stevenson, who, born at Hunwick in Durham, matriculated as a sizar in November, 1546, became B.A. in 1549-50, M.A. in 1553, B.D. in 1560, being subsequently ordained deacon in London in 1552, appointed prebendary of Durham in January, 1560-1, and who died in 1575, the year in whichGammer Gurtonwas printed.
The facts are as follows:—
1. The colophon of the earliest known edition ofGammer Gurton's Needlebears date 1575. It also states that it was "played on stage, not longe ago, in Christes Colledge in Cambridge," and was "made by Mr. S., Mr. of Art."
2. The register of the Company of Stationers shows that in 1562-3 Colwell (whose dates as a printer-publisher range from 1561 to 1575) paid 4d. for licence to print a play entitledDyccon of Bedlam, &c.
3. "Diccon the Bedlam" is a character inGammer Gurton's Needle, and there is a presumption that the piece licensed to Colwell in 1562-63 was identical with that printed in 1575 under another title; or, as an alternative, thatGammer Gurtonwas a sequel toDyccon: but that does not affect the value of the argument, as both would probably be by the same author.
4. IfGammer Gurton's Needleis the play licensed in 1563, the performance at Christ's College must have taken place before that date, for it was not the custom to send a play to the press before it had been acted.
5. In the academic year ending Michaelmas,1563, there is no record of dramatic representation given in the college; in 1561-62, the accounts mention certain sums "spent at Mr. Chatherton's playe"; in 1560-61 there is no mention of any play; but in 1559-60 we find two items:—"To the viales at Mr. Chatherton's plaie, 2s. 6d."—"Spent at Mr. Stevenson's plaie, 5s."
6. Therefore, as no evidence to the contrary has been found, it appears highly probable that the "Mr. S." ofGammer Gurton's Needlewas Mr. William Stevenson, Fellow of Christ's College from 1559 to 1561, and identical with the person of the same name who was Fellow of the college from 1551 to 1554, and who appears in the bursar's accounts as the author of a play acted in the year 1553-54.
7. It is presumed that he was deprived of his fellowship under Queen Mary, and was reinstated under Elizabeth. Whether Stevenson's play of 1559-60 was that given six years before, or a new one, there is no evidence to show, but the former supposition derives plausibility from the fact that allusions to church matters inGammer Gurton's Needleseem to indicate a pre-Elizabethan date for its composition. [On this Prof. Gayley (of the University of California, and the general editor ofRepresentative English Comedies) remarks that the reference to the King, Act v. ii. (151c), would strengthen the probability that the play of 1575 (and 1559-60) was originally composed during Stevenson's first fellowship, at any rate before the death of Edward VI.; it might therefore be identical with the play acted in 1553-54.]
8. An objection to Stevenson's authorship ofthe play is the title-page of 1575 speaking of the representation at Cambridge "not longe ago," but Colwell had had the MS. in his possession ever since 1563, and it is not unlikely that the original title-page was retained without other alteration than the change in the name of the piece. The appearance of the title-page (see facsimile, p. 1) suggests the possibility that it may have been altered after being set up; "Gammer gur-/tons Nedle" in small italic may have been substituted forDiccon of| Bedlamin type as large as that of the other words in the same lines. In Colwell's edition of Ingelend'sDisobedient Child(printed 1560, see facsimile title-page opposite) the title-page has the same woodcut border, but the name of the piece is in type of the same size as that of the preceding and following words. As this woodcut does not occur in any other of Colwell's publications now extant, it seems reasonable to infer thatGammer Gurtonwas printed long before 1575.
9. Reverting now to the former attributions of the play to Dr. Bridges and Bishop Still, it is clear, to take the former first, that Dr. Bridges was not "Mr. S." Further, he did not belong to Christ's College, but to Pembroke. These two facts make it difficult to understand why the author of theMartin Marprelatetracts should have thrice claimed for him the authorship of this play, once in theEpistle(1588) and twice in theEpitome. In the first the attribution is somewhat ambiguous; but in the others the writer evidently believed what he stated. Dr. Bradley suggests in explanation that as Dr. Bridges was residentat Cambridge in 1560 he may have assisted William Stevenson in the composition or revision of the play. [In a recent letter to the Editor, Dr. Bradley observes, on reading this article, that "if the arguments offered for an Edwardian date are valid, of course Bridges cannot have been the author, though he may well have revised the play for its performance in 1559-60. I suspect he was rather the sort of man to boast of the authorship, even if his real connection with it was slight."] "Bridges might have written comedy in his youth." His writings "abound in sprightly quips, often far from dignified in tone; and his controversial opponents complained, with some justice, of his buffoonery."
[Reduced Facsimile of Title-page of "The Disobedient Child," from a Copy in the British Museum.[Reduced Facsimile of Title-page of "The Disobedient Child," from a Copy in the British Museum.]
So far Dr. Bradley. The arguments against Still's authorship ofGammer Gurton, and in favour of that of Bridges, are stated at length in an article by Mr. C. H. Ross in the nineteenth volume ofAnglia(1896). The main contention is that "Mr. S." is a "blind" of some sort, standing, it may be, for the last letter, or the last syllable of the name "Bridges." "This is," remarks Prof. Hales inThe Age of Transition, ii. 37, "possible, if not very likely." "Professor Boas," adds the same authority, "is disposed to support the Stevenson theory, but with qualifications. He points out (in a private letter) that it does not follow, because the play was acted at Christ's, that the writer was necessarily a member of that college, and he grants weight to the confident assertion of the Marprelate writer that Bridges was the author, although Bridges was at Pembroke College.... Professor Boas'sgeneral conclusion is as follows: 'I think Mr. Bradley's ascription of the play to Stevenson, though plausible and probable, is by no means certain, and that more may be said for Bridges' authorship than he allows.' In our opinion [that is, Prof. Hales's] the evidence, such as it is, is all in favour of Stevenson as the original author, but it may be hoped that the discovery of some contemporary allusion may yet settle the question once for all."
As regards Still, if Stevenson's authorship be accepted, Reed's conclusion of course falls to the ground; and the extraordinary seriousness of character of Bishop Still renders it incredible that he can ever have distinguished himself as a comic writer. Archbishop Parker, in 1573, speaks of him as "a young man," but "better mortified than some other forty or fifty years of age"; and another eulogist commends "his staidness and gravity." If seriousness had been qualified by wit, there would surely have been some indication of the fact in the vivaciously written account of him given by Harrington, who attests his excellent character, and says that he was a man "to whom I never came but I grew more religious, and from whom I never went but I parted more instructed." But neither there nor elsewhere is there any evidence that he ever made a joke, that he ever wrote a line of verse, or that he had any interests other than those connected with his sacred calling. John Payne Collier, in hisHistory of Dramatic Poetry, noting the fact thatGammer Gurton's Needlewas the first existing English play acted at either university, commented on the singular coincidence that theauthor of the comedy [Dr. Still] so represented should be the very person who, many years afterwards, when he had become Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, was called upon to remonstrate with the Ministers of Queen Elizabeth against having an English play performed before her at that university, as unbefitting its learning, dignity, and character [—another indirect piece of evidence, surely, against Still's authorship].
The play is a comedy-farce in five acts, the central idea being the loss by an old dame of her needle, a half-crazy mischief-making wag setting it about that this (at that time of day) precious possession has been stolen by another old woman, the whole village being ultimately set by the ears about the matter. Finally it is found sticking in the breech of Gammer Gurton's man Hodge. The text followed is that of Colwell's edition of 1575, modernised in spelling and punctuation. Copies of the original are to be found in the British Museum, Bodleian, and Huth libraries. It has been several times reprinted, but never before in modern days in a separate form: (1) in quarto in 1661; (2) in Hawkins'Origin of the English Drama, 1773; (3) in all the editions ofDodsley's Old Plays(1744, 1780, 1825, and 1876); (4) inThe Ancient British Drama, ed. by Sir W. Scott, 1810; (5) inOld English Drama, 1830; (6) in Prof. Manly'sSpecimens of the Pre-Shakspearean Drama, 1897; and (7) in Gayley'sRepresentative English Comedies, 1903.
A facsimile title-page will be found preceding the text, and the device of Thomas Colwell, the printer of the play, on page 64.
The song on page 12 is one of the oldest drinking-songs extant. An older version, modernised in spelling, is given below. Dr. Bradley does not regard it as likely to be "much older than the middle of the sixteenth century (the O.E.D. gives it as c. 1550), and it may possibly be later." As Skelton died 1529, the inference is obvious.
Back and side go bare, go bare;Both hand and foot go cold;But, belly, God send thee good ale enough,Whether it be new or old.But if that I may have, truly,Good ale my belly full,I shall look like one (by sweet Saint John)Were shorn against the wool.Though I go bare, take ye no care,I am nothing cold.I stuff my skin so full withinOf jolly good ale and old.I cannot eat but little meat;My stomach is not good;But sure I think that I could drinkWith him that weareth a hood.Drink is my life; although my wifeSome time do chide and scold,Yet spare I not to ply the potOf jolly good ale and old.Back and side, &c.I love no roast but a brown toast,Or a crab in the fire;A little bread shall do me stead,Much bread I never desire.Nor frost, nor snow, nor wind, I trow,Can hurt me if it would;I am so wrapped within, and lappedWith jolly good ale and old.Back and side, &c.I care right nought, I take no thoughtFor clothes to keep me warm;Have I good drink, I surely thinkNothing can do me harm.For truly then I fear no man,Be he never so bold,When I am armed, and thoroughly warmedWith jolly good ale and old.Back and side, &c.But now and then I curse and ban;They make their ale so small!God give them care, and evil to fare!They strye the malt and all.Such peevish pew, I tell you true,Not for a crown of goldThere cometh one sip within my lip,Whether it be new or old.Back and side, &c.Good ale and strong maketh me amongFull jocund and full light,That oft I sleep, and take no keepFrom morning until night.Then start I up, and flee to the cup;The right way on I hold.My thirst to stanch I fill my paunchWith jolly good ale and old.Back and side, &c.And Kytte, my wife, that as her lifeLoveth well good ale to seek,Full oft drinketh she that ye may seeThe tears run down her cheek.Then doth she troll to me the bowlAs a good malt-worm should,And say, "Sweetheart, I have taken my partOf jolly good ale and old."Back and side, &c.They that do drink till they nod and wink,Even as good fellows should do,They shall not miss to have the blissThat good ale hath brought them to.And all poor souls that scour black bowls,And them hath lustily trolled,God save the lives of them and their wives,Whether they be young or old!Back and side, &c.
[Reduced facsimile of the Title-page of "Gammer Gurton's Needle" from the British Museum Copy.[Reduced facsimile of the Title-page of "Gammer Gurton's Needle" from the British Museum Copy.]
A Right Pithy, Pleasant, and Merry Comedy, entitled Gammer Gurton's Needle. Played on Stage not long ago in Christ's College in Cambridge. Made by Mr. S., M.A. Imprinted at London in Fleet Street, beneath the Conduit, at the sign of St. John Evangelist, by Thomas Colwell.
A Right Pithy, Pleasant, and Merry Comedy, entitled Gammer Gurton's Needle. Played on Stage not long ago in Christ's College in Cambridge. Made by Mr. S., M.A. Imprinted at London in Fleet Street, beneath the Conduit, at the sign of St. John Evangelist, by Thomas Colwell.
The Names of the Speakers in this Comedy:
Diccon, the BedlamHodge, Gammer Gurton's ServantTib, Gammer Gurton's MaidGammer GurtonCock, Gammer Gurton's BoyDame ChatDoctor Rat, the CurateMaster BailyDoll, Dame Chat's MaidScapethrift, Master Baily's ServantMutes
God Save the Queen
As Gammer Gurton with many a wide stitchSat piecing and patching of Hodge her man's breech,By chance or misfortune, as she her gear toss'd,In Hodge's leather breeches her needle she lost.When Diccon the Bedlam had heard by reportThat good Gammer Gurton was robbed in this sort,He quietly persuaded with her in that stoundDame Chat, her dear gossip, this needle had found;Yet knew she no more of this matter, alas!Than knoweth Tom, our clerk, what the priest saith at mass.Hereof there ensued so fearful a fray,Mas. Doctor was sent for, these gossips to stay,Because he was curate, and esteemed full wise;Who found that he sought not, by Diccon's device.When all things were tumbled and clean out of fashion,Whether it were by fortune, or some other constellation,Suddenly the needle Hodge found by the pricking.And drew it out of his buttock, where he felt it sticking.Their hearts then at rest with perfect security,With a pot of good ale they struck up their plaudity.
Diccon.Many a mile have I walked, divers and sundry ways,And many a good man's house have I been at in my days;Many a gossip's cup in my time have I tasted,And many a broach and spit have I both turned and basted,Many a piece of bacon have I had out of their balks,In running over the country, with long and weary walks;Yet came my foot never within those door cheeks,To seek flesh or fish, garlick, onions, or leeks,That ever I saw a sort in such a plightAs here within this house appeareth to my sight.There is howling and scowling, all cast in a dump,With whewling and puling, as though they had lost a trump.Sighing and sobbing, they weep and they wail;I marvel in my mind what the devil they ail.The old trot sits groaning, with alas and alas!And Tib wrings her hands, and takes on in worse case.With poor Cock, their boy, they be driven in such fits,I fear me the folks be not well in their wits.Ask them what they ail, or who brought them in this stay,They answer not at all, but "alack!" and "wellaway!"When I saw it booted not, out at doors I hied me,And caught a slip of bacon, when I saw none spied me,Which I intend not far hence, unless my purpose fail,Shall serve me for a shoeing horn to draw on two pots of ale.
Hodge, Diccon.
Hodge.See! so cham arrayed with dabbling in the dirt!She that set me to ditching, ich would she had the squirt!Was never poor soul that such a life had.Gog's bones! this vilthy glay has dress'd me too bad!Gog's soul! see how this stuff tears!Ich were better to be a bearward, and set to keep bears!By the mass, here is a gash, a shameful hole indeed!And one stitch tear further, a man may thrust in his head.Diccon.By my father's soul, Hodge, if I should now be sworn,I cannot choose but say thy breech is foul betorn,But the next remedy in such a case and hapIs to planch on a piece as broad as thy cap.Hodge.Gog's soul, man, 'tis not yet two days fully ended,Since my dame Gurton (cham sure) these breeches amended;But cham made such a drudge to trudge at every need,Chwold rend it though it were stitched with sturdy packthread.Diccon.Hodge, let thy breeches go, and speak and tell me soonWhat devil aileth Gammer Gurton and Tib her maid to frown.Hodge.Tush, man, th'art deceived: 'tis their daily look;They cow'r so over the coals, their eyes be blear'd with smoke.Diccon.Nay, by the mass, I perfectly perceived, as I came hither,That either Tib and her dame hath been by the ears together,Or else as great a matter, as thou shalt shortly see.Hodge.Now, ich beseech our Lord they never better agree!Diccon.By Gog's soul, there they sit as still as stones in the street,As though they had been taken with fairies, or else with some ill-spreet.Hodge.Gog's heart! I durst have laid my cap to a crownCh'would learn of some prancome as soon as ich came to town.Diccon.Why, Hodge, art thou inspired? or didst thou thereof hear?Hodge.Nay, but ich saw such a wonder as ich saw nat this seven year.Tom Tankard's cow, by Gog's bones! she set me up her sail,And flinging about his half acre, fisking with her tail,As though there had been in her arse a swarm of bees,And chad not cried "tphrowh, whore," shea'd leapt out of his lees.Diccon.Why, Hodge, lies the cunning in Tom Tankard's cow's tail?Hodge.Well, ich chave heard some say such tokens do not fail.But ca[n]st thou not tell, in faith, Diccon, why she frowns, or whereat?Hath no man stolen her ducks or hens, or gelded Gib, her cat?Diccon.What devil can I tell, man? I could not have one word!They gave no more heed to my talk than thou wouldst to a lord.Hodge.Ich cannot skill but muse, what marvellous thing it is.Chill in and know myself what matters are amiss.Diccon.Then farewell, Hodge, a while, since thou dost inward haste,For I will into the good wife Chat's, to feel how the ale doth taste.
Hodge,Tib.
Hodge.Cham aghast; by the mass, ich wot not what to do.Chad need bless me well before ich go them to.Perchance some felon sprit may haunt our house indeed;And then chwere but a noddy to venture where cha' no need.Tib.Cham worse than mad, by the mass, to be at this stay!Cham chid, cham blam'd, and beaten, all th'hours on the day;Lamed and hunger-starved, pricked up all in jags,Having no patch to hide my back, save a few rotten rags!Hodge.I say, Tib, if thou be Tib, as I trow sure thou be,What devil make-ado is this, between our dame and thee?Tib.Gog's bread, Hodge, thou had a good turn thou wert not here this while!It had been better for some of us to have been hence a mile;My gammer is so out of course and frantic all at once,That Cock, our boy, and I, poor wench, have felt it on our bones.Hodge.What is the matter—say on, Tib—whereat she taketh so on?Tib.She is undone, she saith; alas! her joy and life is gone!If she hear not of some comfort, she is, faith! but dead;Shall never come within her lips one inch of meat ne bread.Hodge.By'r lady, cham not very glad to see her in this dump.Chold a noble her stool hath fallen, and she hath broke her rump.Tib.Nay, and that were the worst, we would not greatly careFor bursting of her huckle-bone, or breaking of her chair;But greater, greater, is her grief, as, Hodge, we shall all feel!Hodge.Gog's wounds, Tib, my gammer has never lost her nee'le?Tib.Her nee'le!Hodge.Her nee'le?Tib.Her nee'le! by him that made me, it is true, Hodge, I tell thee.Hodge.Gog's sacrament! I would she had lost th'heart out of her belly!The devil, or else his dame, they ought her, sure a shame!How a murrion came this chance, say, Tib! unto our dame?Tib.My gammer sat her down on her pes, and bad me reach thy breeches,And by and by—a vengeance in it! ere she had take two stitchesTo clout a clout upon thine arse, by chance aside she leers,And Gib, our cat, in the milk-pan she spied over head and ears."Ah, whore! out, thief!" she crief aloud, and swept the breeches down.Up went her staff, and out leapt Gib at doors into the town,And since that time was never wight could set their eyes upon it.Gog's malison chave Cock and I bid twenty times light on it.Hodge.And is not then my breeches sewed up, to-morrow that I should wear?Tib.No, in faith, Hodge, thy breeches lie for all this never the near.Hodge.Now a vengeance light on all the sort, that better should have kept it,The cat, the house, and Tib, our maid, that better should have swept it!See where she cometh crawling! come on, in twenty devils' way!Ye have made a fair day's work, have you not? pray you, say!
Gammer, Hodge, Tib, Cock.
Gammer.Alas, Hodge, alas! I may well curse and banThis day, that ever I saw it, with Gib and the milk-pan;For these and ill-luck together, as knoweth Cock, my boy,Have stack away my dear nee'le, and robbed me of my joy,My fair long straight nee'le, that was mine only treasure;The first day of my sorrow is, and last end of my pleasure!Hodge(aside). Might ha' kept it, when ye had it! but fools will be fools still,Lose that is vast in your hands ye need not but ye will.Gammer.Go hie thee, Tib, and run thou, whore, to th'end here of the town!Didst carry out dust in thy lap? seek where thou pourest it down;And as thou sawest me roking, in the ashes where I mourned,So see in all the heap of dust thou leave no straw unturned.Tib.That chall, Gammer, swyth and tite, and soon be here again!Gammer.Tib, stoop and look down to the ground to it, and take some pain.Hodge.Here is a pretty matter, to see this gear how it goes:By Gog's soul, I think you would lose your arse, and it were loose!Your nee'le lost? it is pity you should lack care and endless sorrow.Gog's death! how shall my breeches be sewed?Shall I go thus to-morrow?Gammer.Ah, Hodge, Hodge! if that ich could find my nee'le, by the reed,Ch'ould sew thy breeches, ich promise thee, with full good double thread,And set a patch on either knee should last this moneths twain.Now God and good Saint Sithe, I pray to send it home again!Hodge.Whereto served your hands and eyes, but this your nee'le to keep?What devil had you else to do? ye keep, ich wot, no sheep!Cham fain abroad to dig and delve, in water, mire, and clay,Sossing and possing in the dirt still from day to day.A hundred things that be abroad, cham set to see them well,And four of you sit idle at home, and cannot keep a nee'le!Gammer.My nee'le! alas! ich lost it, Hodge, what time ich me up hastedTo save the milk set up for thee, which Gib, our cat, hath wasted.Hodge.The devil he burst both Gib and Tib, with all the rest!Cham always sure of the worst end, whoever have the best!Where ha' you been fidging abroad, since you your nee'le lost?Gammer.Within the house, and at the door, sitting by this same post,Where I was looking a long hour, before these folks came here;But, wellaway, all was in vain, my nee'le is never the near!Hodge.Set me a candle, let me seek, and grope wherever it be.Gog's heart, ye be foolish ich think, you know it not when you it see!Gammer.Come hither, Cock: what, Cock, I say!Cock.How, Gammer?Gammer.Go, hie thee soon,And grope behind the old brass pan, which thing when thou hast done,There shalt thou find an old shoe, wherein, if thou look well,Thou shalt find lying an inch of a white tallow candle;Light it, and bring it tite away.Cock.That shall be done anon.Gammer.Nay, tarry, Hodge, till thou hast light, and then we'll seek each one.Hodge.Come away, ye whoreson boy, are ye asleep? ye must have a crier!Cock.Ich cannot get the candle light: here is almost no fire.Hodge.Chill hold thee a penny, chill make thee come, if that ich may catch thine ears!Art deaf, thou whoreson boy? Cock, I say; why, canst not hear?Gammer.Beat him not, Hodge, but help the boy, and come you two together.
Gammer,Tib,Cock,Hodge.
Gammer.How now, Tib? quick, let's hear what news thou hast brought hither!Tib.Chave tost and tumbled yonder heap over and over again,And winnowed it through my fingers, as men would winnow grain;Not so much as a hen's turd, but in pieces I tare it;Or whatsoever clod or clay I found, I did not spare it,Looking within and eke without, to find your nee'le, alas!But all in vain and without help! your nee'le is where it was.Gammer.Alas, my nee'le! we shall never meet! adieu, adieu, for aye!Tib.Not so, Gammer, we might it find, if we knew where it lay.Cock.Gog's cross, Gammer, if ye will laugh, look in but at the door,And see how Hodge lieth tumbling and tossing amids the flour,Raking there some fire to find among the ashes dead,Where there is not one spark so big as a pin's head:At last in a dark corner two sparks he thought he sees,Which were indeed nought else but Gib our cat's two eyes."Puff!" quod Hodge, thinking thereby to have fire without doubt;With that Gib shut her two eyes, and so the fire was out;And by and by them opened, even as they were before;With that the sparks appeared, even as they had done of yore;And even as Hodge blew the fire (as he did think),Gib, as she felt the blast, straightway began to wink;Till Hodge fell of swearing, as came best to his turn,The fire was sure bewitch'd, and therefore would not burn;At last Gib up the stairs, among the old posts and pins,And Hodge he hied him after, till broke were both his shins:Cursing and swearing oaths were never of his making,That Gib would fire the house if that she were not taken.Gammer.See, here is all the thought that the foolish urchin taketh!And Tib, me-think, at his elbow almost as merry maketh.This is all the wit ye have, when others make their moan.Come down, Hodge, where art thou? and let the cat alone!Hodge.Gog's heart, help and come up! Gib in her tail hath fire,And is like to burn all, if she get a little higher!Come down, quoth you? nay, then you might count me a patch,The house cometh down on your heads, if it take once the thatch.Gammer.It is the cat's eyes, fool, that shineth in the dark.Hodge.Hath the cat, do you think, in every eye a spark?Gammer.No, but they shine as like fire as ever man see.Hodge.By the mass, and she burn all, you sh' bear the blame for me!Gammer.Come down and help to seek here our nee'le, that it were found.Down, Tib, on the knees, I say! Down, Cock, to the ground!To God I make a vow, and so to good Saint Anne,A candle shall they have a-piece, get it where I can,If I may my nee'le find in one place or in other.Hodge.Now a vengeance on Gib light, on Gib and Gib's mother,And all the generation of cats both far and near!Look on the ground, whoreson, thinks thou the nee'le is here?Cock.By my troth, Gammer, me-thought your nee'le here I saw,But when my fingers touch'd it, I felt it was a straw.Tib.See, Hodge, what's this? may it not be within it?Hodge.Break it, fool, with thy hand, and see and thou canst find it.Tib.Nay, break it you, Hodge, according to your word.Hodge.Gog's sides! fie! it stinks! it is a cat's turd!It were well done to make thee eat it, by the mass!Gammer.This matter amendeth not; my nee'le is still where it was.Our candle is at an end, let us all in quite,And come another time, when we have more light.
Back and side go bare, go bare,Both foot and hand go cold;But, belly, God send thee good ale enough.Whether it be new or old.I cannot eat but little meat,My stomach is not good;But sure I think that I can drinkWith him that wears a hood.Though I go bare, take ye no care,I am nothing a-cold;I stuff my skin so full withinOf jolly good ale and old.Back and side go bare, go bare, &c.I love no roast but a nut-brown toastAnd a crab laid in the fire.A little bread shall do me stead:Much bread I not desire.No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow,Can hurt me if I would;I am so wrapt, and thoroughly laptOf jolly good ale and old.Back and side go bare, &c.And Tib my wife, that as her lifeLoveth well good ale to seek,Full oft drinks she till ye may seeThe tears run down her cheek:Then doth she trowl to me the bowlEven as a malt-worm should:And saith, sweet heart, I took my partOf this jolly good ale and old.Back and side go bare, &c.Now let them drink till they nod and wink,Even as good fellows should do;They shall not miss to have the blissGood ale doth bring men to;And all poor souls that have scoured bowls,Or have them lustly troll'd.God save the lives of them and their wives,Whether they be young or old.Back and side go bare, &c.
Diccon,Hodge.
Diccon.Well done, by Gog's malt! well sung and well said!Come on, mother Chat, as thou art true maid,One fresh pot of ale let's see, to make an endAgainst this cold weather my naked arms to defend!This gear it warms the soul! now, wind, blow on thy worst!And let us drink and swill till that our bellies burst!Now were he a wise man by cunning could defineWhich way my journey lieth, or where Diccon will dine!But one good turn I have: be it by night or day,South, east, north or west, I am never out of my way!Hodge.Chim goodly rewarded, cham I not, do you think?Chad a goodly dinner for all my sweat and swink!Neither butter, cheese, milk, onions, flesh, nor fish,Save this poor piece of barley-bread: 'tis a pleasant costly dish!Diccon.Hail, fellow Hodge, and well to fare with thy meat, if you have any:But by thy words, as I them smelled, thy daintrels be not many.Hodge.Daintrels, Diccon? Gog's soul, man, save this piece of dry horsebread,Cha bit no bit this livelong day, no crumb come in my head:My guts they yawl-crawl, and all my belly rumbleth,The puddings cannot lie still, each one over other tumbleth.By Gog's heart, cham so vexed, and in my belly penn'd,Chould one piece were at the spital-house, another at the castle end!Diccon.Why, Hodge, was there none at home thy dinner for to set?Hodge.Gog's bread, Diccon, ich came too late, was nothing there to get!Gib (a foul fiend might on her light!) licked the milk-pan so clean,See, Diccon, 'twas not so well washed this seven year, as ich ween!A pestilence light on all ill-luck! chad thought, yet for all thisOf a morsel of bacon behind the door at worst should not miss:But when ich sought a slip to cut, as ich was wont to do,Gog's souls, Diccon! Gib, our cat, had eat the bacon too!
[Which bacon Diccon stole, as is declared before.
Diccon.Ill-luck, quod he! marry, swear it, Hodge! this day, the truth tell,Thou rose not on thy right side, or else blessed thee not well.Thy milk slopped up! thy bacon filched! that was too bad luck, Hodge!Hodge.Nay, nay, there was a fouler fault, my Gammer ga' me the dodge;Seest not how cham rent and torn, my heels, my knees, and my breech?Chad thought, as ich sat by the fire, help here and there a stitch:But there ich was pouped indeed.Diccon.Why, Hodge?Hodge.Boots not, man, to tell.Cham so drest amongst a sort of fools, chad better be in hell.My Gammer (cham ashamed to say) by God, served me no well.Diccon.How so, Hodge?Hodge.Has she not gone, trowest now,and lost her nee'le?Diccon.Her eel, Hodge? who fished of late? that was a dainty dish!Hodge.Tush, tush, her nee'le, her nee'le, her nee'le, man! 'tis neither flesh nor fish;A little thing with an hole in the end, as bright as any sil'er,Small, long, sharp at the point, and straight as any pillar.Diccon.I know not what a devil thou meanest, thou bring'st me more in doubt.Hodge.Knowest not with what Tom-tailor's man sits broaching through a clout?A nee'le, a nee'le, a nee'le! my Gammer's nee'le is gone.Diccon.Her nee'le, Hodge! now I smell thee! that was a chance alone!By the mass, thou hast a shameful loss, and it were but for thy breeches.Hodge.Gog's soul, man, chould give a crown chad it but three stitches.Diccon.How sayest thou, Hodge? what should he have, again thy needle got?Hodge.By m'father's soul, and chad it, chould give him a new groat.Diccon.Canst thou keep counsel in this case?Hodge.Else chwold my tongue were out.Diccon.Do than but then by my advice, and I will fetch it without doubt.Hodge.Chill run, chill ride, chill dig, chill delve,Chill toil, chill trudge, shalt see;Chill hold, chill draw, chill pull, chill pinch,Chill kneel on my bare knee;Chill scrape, chill scratch, chill sift, chill seek,Chill bow, chill bend, chill sweat,Chill stoop, chill stour, chill cap, chill kneel,Chill creep on hands and feet;Chill be thy bondman, Diccon, ich swear by sun and moon,And channot somewhat to stop this gap, cham utterly undone!
[Pointing behind to his torn breeches.
Diccon.Why, is there any special cause thou takest hereat such sorrow?Hodge.Kirstian Clack, Tom Simpson's maid, by the mass, comes hither to-morrow,Cham not able to say, between us what may hap;She smiled on me the last Sunday, when ich put off my cap.Diccon.Well, Hodge, this is a matter of weight, and must be kept close,It might else turn to both our costs, as the world now goes.Shalt swear to be no blab, Hodge?Hodge.Chill, Diccon.Diccon.Then go to,Lay thine hand here; say after me, as thou shalt hear me do.Hast no book?Hodge.Cha no book, I.Diccon.Then needs must force us both,Upon my breech to lay thine hand, and there to take thine oath.Hodge.I, Hodge, breechlessSwear to Diccon, rechless,By the cross that I shall kiss,To keep his counsel close,And always me to disposeTo work that his pleasure is.
[Here he kisseth Diccon's breech.
Diccon.Now, Hodge, see thou take heed,And do as I thee bid;For so I judge it meet;This needle again to win,There is no shift therein,But conjure up a spreet.Hodge.What, the great devil, Diccon, I say?Diccon.Yea, in good faith, that is the way.Fet with some pretty charm.Hodge.Soft, Diccon, be not too hasty yet,By the mass, for ich begin to sweat!Cham afraid of some harm.Diccon.Come hither, then, and stir thee notOne inch out of this circle plat,But stand as I thee teach.Hodge.And shall ich be here safe from their claws?Diccon.The master-devil with his long pawsHere to thee cannot reach—Now will I settle me to this gear.Hodge.I say, Diccon, hear me, hear!Go softly to this matter!Diccon.What devil, man? art afraid of nought?Hodge.Canst not tarry a little thoughtTill ich make a courtesy of water?Diccon.Stand still to it; why shouldest thou fear him?Hodge.Gog's sides, Diccon, me-think ich hear him!And tarry, chall mar all!Diccon.The matter is no worse than I told it.Hodge.By the mass, cham able no longer to hold it!Too bad! ich must beray the hall!Diccon.Stand to it, Hodge! stir not, you whoreson!What devil, be thine arse-strings brusten?Thyself a while but stay,The devil (I smell him) will be here anon.Hodge. Hold him fast, Diccon, cham gone!Chill not be at that fray!
Diccon,Chat.
Diccon.Fie, shitten knave, and out upon thee!Above all other louts, fie on thee!Is not here a cleanly prank,But thy matter was no better,Nor thy presence here no sweeter,To fly I can thee thank.Here is a matter worthy glosing,Of Gammer Gurton's needle losing,And a foul piece of wark!A man I think might make a play,And need no word to this they sayBeing but half a clerk.Soft, let me alone, I will take the chargeThis matter further to enlargeWithin a time short.If ye will mark my toys, and note,I will give ye leave to cut my throatIf I make not good sport.Dame Chat, I say, where be ye? within?Chat.Who have we there maketh such a din?Diccon.Here is a good fellow, maketh no great danger.Chat.What, Diccon? Come near, ye be no stranger.We be fast set at trump, man, hard by the fire;Thou shalt set on the king, if thou come a little nigher.Diccon.Nay, nay, there is no tarrying; I must be gone again.But first for you in counsel I have a word or twain.Chat.Come hither, Doll! Doll, sit down and play this game,And as thou sawest me do, see thou do even the same.There is five trumps besides the queen, the hindmost thou shalt find her.Take heed of Sim Glover's wife, she hath an eye behind her!Now, Diccon, say your will.Diccon.Nay, soft a little yet;I would not tell it my sister, the matter is so great.There I will have you swear by Our Dear Lady of Boulogne,Saint Dunstan, and Saint Dominic, with the three Kings of Cologne,That ye shall keep it secret.Chat.Gog's bread! that will I do!As secret as mine own thought, by God and the devil too!Diccon.Here is Gammer Gurton, your neighbour, a sad and heavy wight:Her goodly fair red cock at home was stole this last night.Chat.Gog's soul! her cock with the yellow legs, that nightly crowed so just?Diccon.That cock is stolen.Chat.What, was he fet out of the hen's roost?Diccon.I cannot tell where the devil he was kept, under key or lock;But Tib hath tickled in Gammer's ear, that you should steal the cock.Chat.Have I, strong whore? by bread and salt!—Diccon.What, soft, I say, be still!Say not one word for all this gear.Chat.By the mass, that I will!I will have the young whore by the head, and the old trot by the throat.Diccon.Not one word, dame Chat, I say; not one word for my coat!Chat.Shall such a beggar's brawl as that, thinkest thou, make me a thief?The pox light on her whore's sides, a pestilence and mischief!Come out, thou hungry needy bitch! O, that my nails be short!Diccon.Gog's bread, woman, hold yourpeace! this gear will else pass sport!I would not for an hundred pound this matter should be known,That I am author of this tale, or have abroad it blown.Did ye not swear ye would be ruled, before the tale I told?I said ye must all secret keep, and ye said sure ye would.Chat.Would you suffer, yourself, Diccon, such a sort to revile you,With slanderous words to blot your name, and so to defile you?Diccon.No, Goodwife Chat, I would be loth such drabs should blot my name;But yet ye must so order all that Diccon bear no blame.Chat.Go to, then, what is your reed? say on your mind, ye shall me rule herein.Diccon.Godamercy to dame Chat! In faith thou must the gear begin.It is twenty pound to a goose-turd, my gammer will not tarry,But hitherward she comes as fast as her legs can her carry,To brawl with you about her cock; for well I heard Tib sayThe cock was roasted in your house to breakfast yesterday;And when ye had the carcase eaten, the feathers ye outflung,And Doll, your maid, the legs she hid a foot-deep in the dung.Chat.O gracious God! my heart it bursts!Diccon.Well, rule yourself a space;And Gammer Gurton when she cometh anon into this place,Then to the quean, let's see, tell her your mind, and spare not.So shall Diccon blameless be; and then, go to, I care not!Chat.Then, whore, beware her throat! I can abide no longer.In faith, old witch, it shall be seen which of us two be stronger!And, Diccon, but at your request, I would not stay one hour.Diccon.Well, keep it till she be here, and then out let it pour!In the meanwhile get you in, and make no words of this.More of this matter within this hour to hear you shall not miss,Because I knew you are my friend, hide it I could not, doubtless.Ye know your harm, see ye be wise about your own business!So fare ye well.Chat.Nay, soft, Diccon, and drink! What, Doll, I say!Bring here a cup of the best ale; let's see, come quickly away!
Hodge,Diccon.
Diccon.Ye see, masters, that one end tapp'd of this my short device!Now must we broach th'other too, before the smoke arise;And by the time they have a while run,I trust ye need not crave it.But look, what lieth in both their hearts, ye are like, sure, to have it.Hodge.Yea, Gog's soul, art alive yet? What, Diccon, dare ich come?Diccon.A man is well hied to trust to thee; I will say nothing but mum;But and ye come any nearer, I pray you see all be sweet!Hodge.Tush, man, is Gammer's nee'le found? that chould gladly weet.Diccon.She may thank thee it is not found, for if you had kept thy standing,The devil he would have fet it out, ev'n, Hodge, at thy commanding.Hodge.Gog's heart! and could he tell nothing where the nee'le might be found?Diccon.Ye foolish dolt, ye were to seek, ere we had got our ground;Therefore his tale so doubtful was that I could not perceive it.Hodge.Then ich see well something was said, chope one day yet to have it.But Diccon, Diccon, did not the devil cry "ho, ho, ho"?Diccon.If thou hadst tarried where thou stood'st, thou wouldst have said so!Hodge.Durst swear of a book, cheard him roar, straight after ich was gone.But tell me, Diccon, what said the knave? let me hear it anon.Diccon.The whoreson talked to me, I know not well of what.One while his tongue it ran and paltered of a cat,Another while he stammered still upon a rat;Last of all, there was nothing but every word, Chat, Chat;But this I well perceived before I would him rid,Between Chat, and the rat, and the cat, the needle is hid.Now whether Gib, our cat, hath eat it in her maw,Or Doctor Rat, our curate, have found it in the straw,Or this dame Chat, your neighbour, hath stolen it, God he knoweth!But by the morrow at this time, we shall learn how the matter goeth.Hodge.Canst not learn to-night, man? seest not what is here?
[Pointing behind to his torn breeches.
Diccon.'Tis not possible to make it sooner appear.Hodge.Alas, Diccon, then chave no shift; but—lest ich tarry too long—Hie me to Sim Glover's shop, there to seek for a thong,Therewith this breech to thatch and tie as ich may.Diccon.To-morrow, Hodge, if we chance to meet, shall see what I will say.
Diccon,Gammer.
Diccon.Now this gear must forward go, for here my Gammer cometh.Be still a while, and say nothing; make here a little romth.Gammer.Good lord! shall never be my luck my nee'le again to spy?Alas, the while! 'tis past my help, where 'tis still it must lie!Diccon.Now, Jesus! Gammer Gurton, what driveth you to this sadness?I fear me, by my conscience, you will sure fall to madness.Gammer.Who is that? What, Diccon? cham lost, man! fie, fie!Diccon.Marry, fie on them that be worthy! but what should be your trouble?Gammer.Alas! the more ich think on it, my sorrow it waxeth double.My goodly tossing spurrier's nee'le chave lost ich wot not where.Diccon.Your nee'le? when?Gammer.My nee'le, alas! ich might full ill it spare,As God himself he knoweth, ne'er one beside chave.Diccon.If this be all, good Gammer, I warrant you all is safe.Gammer.Why, know you any tidings which way my nee'le is gone?Diccon.Yea, that I do, doubtless, as ye shall hear anon,'A see a thing this matter toucheth within these twenty hours,Even at this gate, before my face, by a neighbour of yours.She stooped me down, and up she took up a needle or a pin.I durst be sworn it was even yours, by all my mother's kin.Gammer.It was my nee'le, Diccon, ich wot; for here, even by this post,Ich sat, what time as ich up start, and so my nee'le it lost:Who was it, leve son? speak, ich pray thee, and quickly tell me that!Diccon.A subtle quean as any in this town, your neighbour here, dame Chat.Gammer.Dame Chat, Diccon! Let me be gone, chill thither in post haste.Diccon.Take my counsel yet or ye go, for fear ye walk in waste,It is a murrain crafty drab, and froward to be pleased;And ye take not the better way, our needle yet ye lose [it]:For when she took it up, even here before your doors,"What, soft, dame Chat" (quoth I), "that same is none of yours.""Avaunt" (quoth she), "sir knave! what pratest thou of that I find?I would thou hast kiss'd me I wot where"; she meant, I know, behind;And home she went as brag as it had been a body-louse,And I after, as bold as it had been the goodman of the house.But there and ye had heard her, how she began to scold!The tongue it went on patins, by him that Judas sold!Each other word I was a knave, and you a whore of whores.Because I spake in your behalf, and said the nee'le was yours.Gammer.Gog's bread! and thinks thatthat callet thus to keep my nee'le me fro?Diccon.Let her alone, and she minds none other but even to dress you so.Gammer.By the mass, chill rather spend the coat that is on my back!Thinks the false quean by such a sleight, that chill my nee'le lack?Diccon.Slip not your gear, I counsel you, but of this take good heed:Let not be known I told you of it, how well soever ye speed.Gammer.Chill in, Diccon, and clean apern to take and set before me;And ich may my nee'le once see, chill, sure, remember thee!
Diccon.
Diccon.Here will the sport begin; if these two once may meet,Their cheer, durst lay money, will prove scarcely sweet.My gammer, sure, intends to be upon her bonesWith staves, or with clubs, or else with cobble stones.Dame Chat, on the other side, if she be far behindI am right far deceived; she is given to it of kind.He that may tarry by it awhile, and that but short,I warrant him, trust to it, he shall see all the sport.Into the town will I, my friends to visit there,And hither straight again to see th'end of this gear.In the meantime, fellows, pipe up; your fiddles, I say, take them,And let your friends hear such mirth as ye can make them.