Bartholomew Fair E-Book

Ben Jonson

• Herausgeber: Interactive Media
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

"Bartholomew Fair: A Comedy" by Ben Jonson is set at the bustling Bartholomew Fair in London. It follows various characters, including Quarlous and Winwife, who vie for the hand of Grace Wellborn. The fair becomes a microcosm of society, with merchants, conmen, and gullible visitors. The play satirizes greed, hypocrisy, and the chaos of city life. Amidst the colorful chaos, Jonson explores themes of morality and human folly, creating a vivid portrait of 17th-century urban culture.

Leseprobe

Ben Jonson

Bartholomew Fair: A Comedy

Published by Sovereign

This edition first published in 2023

Copyright © 2023 Sovereign

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 9781787367326

Contents

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

PROLOGUE.

ACT I

ACT II

ACT III

ACT IV

ACT V

EPILOGUE.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

JOHN LITTLEWIT, a Proctor.

ZEAL-OF-THE-LAND BUSY, Suitor to Dame PURECRAFT, a Banbury Man.

WINWIFE, his rival, a Gentleman.

TOM QUARLOUS, companion to WINWIFE, a Gamester.

BARTHOLOMEW COKES, an Esquire of Harrow.

HUMPHREY WASPE, his Man.

ADAM OVERDO, a Justice of Peace.

LANTHORN LEATHERHEAD, a Hobby-Horse Seller (Toyman).

EZECHIEL EDGWORTH, a Cutpurse.

NIGHTINGALE, a Ballad-Singer.

MOONCALF, Tapster to URSULA.

DAN. JORDAN KNOCKEM, a Horse-Courser, and a Ranger of Turnbull.

VAL. CUTTING, a Roarer, or Bully.

CAPTAIN WHIT, a Bawd.

TROUBLE-ALL, a Madman.

BRISTLE,

HAGGISE,}Watchmen.

POCHER, a Beadle.

FILCHER,

SHARKWELL,}Door-keepers to the Puppet-Show.

SOLOMON, LITTLEWIT’S Man.

NORTHERN, a Clothier (a Northern Man).

PUPPY, a Wrestler (a Western Man).

WIN-THE-FIGHT LITTLEWIT.

DAME PURECRAFT, her Mother, and a Widow.

DAME OVERDO.

GRACE WELLBORN, Ward to Justice OVERDO.

JOAN TRASH, a Gingerbread-Woman.

URSULA, a Pig-Woman.

ALICE, Mistress o’ the game.

Costard-Monger, Mousetrap-Man, Corn-Cutter, Watch, Porters, Puppets, Passengers, Mob, Boys, etc.

PROLOGUE.

TO THE KING’S MAJESTY.

Your Majesty is welcome to a Fair;

Such place, such men, such language, and such ware

You must expect: with these, the zealous noise

Of your land’s faction, scandalised at toys,

As babies, hobby-horses, puppet-plays,

And such-like rage, whereof the petulant ways

Yourself have known, and have been vext with long.

These for your sport, without particular wrong,

Or just complaint of any private man,

Who of himself, or shall think well, or can,

The maker doth present: and hopes, to-night

To give you for a fairing, true delight.

THE INDUCTION.

THE STAGE.

Enter the Stage-keeper.

Stage. Gentlemen, have a little patience, they are e’en upon coming, instantly. He that should begin the play, master Littlewit, the proctor, has a stitch new fallen in his black silk stocking; ’twill be drawn up ere you can tell twenty: he plays one o’ the Arches that dwells about the hospital, and he has a very pretty part. But for the whole play, will you have the truth on’t?—I am looking, lest the poet hear me, or his man, master Brome, behind the arras—it is like to be a very conceited scurvy one, in plain English. When’t comes to the Fair once, you were e’en as good go to Virginia, for any thing there is of Smithfield. He has not hit the humours, he does not know them; he has not conversed with the Bartholomew birds, as they say; he has ne’er a sword and buckler-man in his Fair; nor a little Davy, to take toll o’ the bawds there, as in my time; nor a Kindheart, if any body’s teeth should chance to ache in his play; nor a juggler with a well-educated ape, to come over the chain for a king of England, and back again for the prince, and sit still on his arse for the pope and the king of Spain. None of these fine sights! Nor has he the canvas-cut in the night, for a hobby-horse man to creep into his she-neighbour, and take his leap there. Nothing! No: an some writer that I know had had but the penning o’ this matter, he would have made you such a jig-a-jog in the booths, you should have thought an earthquake had been in the Fair! But these master poets, they will have their own absurd courses; they will be informed of nothing. He has (sir reverence) kick’d me three or four times about the tiring-house, I thank him, for but offering to put in with my experience. I’ll be judged by you, gentlemen, now, but for one conceit of mine: would not a fine pomp upon the stage have done well, for a property now? and a punk set under upon her head, with her stern upward, and have been soused by my witty young masters o’ the Inns of Court? What think you of this for a show, now? he will not hear o’ this! I am an ass! I! and yet I kept the stage in master Tarleton’s time, I thank my stars. Ho! an that man had lived to have played in Bartholomew Fair, you should have seen him have come in, and have been cozen’d in the cloth-quarter, so finely! and Adams, the rogue, have leaped and capered upon him, and have dealt his vermin about, as though they had cost him nothing! and then a substantial watch to have stolen in upon them, and taken them away, with mistaking words, as the fashion is in the stage-practice.

Enter the Bookholder with a Scrivener.

Book. How now! what rare discourse are you fallen upon, ha? have you found any familiars here, that you are so free! what’s the business?

Stage. Nothing, but the understanding gentlemen o’ the ground here ask’d my judgment.

Book. Your judgment, rascal! for what? sweeping the stage, or gathering up the broken apples for the bears within? Away, rogue, it’s come to a fine degree in these spectacles, when such a youth as you pretend to a judgment. [Exit Stage-keeper.]—And yet he may, in the most of this matter, i’faith: for the author has writ it just to his meridian, and the scale of the grounded judgments here, his play-fellows in wit.—Gentlemen, [comes forward] not for want of a prologue, but by way of a new one, I am sent out to you here, with a scrivener, and certain articles drawn out in haste between our author and you; which if you please to hear, and as they appear reasonable, to approve of; the play will follow presently.—Read, scribe; give me the counterpane.

Scriv. Articles of agreement, indented, between the spectators or hearers, at the Hope on the Bankside in the county of Surry, on 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.

Imprimis. It is covenanted and agreed, by and between the parties aforesaid, and the said spectators and hearers, as well the curious and envious, as the favouring and judicious, as also the grounded judgments and understandings, do for themselves severally covenant and agree to remain in the places their money or friends have put them in, with patience, for the space of two hours and an half, and somewhat more. In which time the author promiseth to present them by us, with a new sufficient play, called Bartholomew Fair, merry, and as full of noise, as sport: made to delight all, and to offend none; provided they have either the wit or the honesty to think well of themselves.

It is further agreed, that every person here have his or their free-will of censure, to like or dislike at their own charge, the author having now departed with his right: it shall be lawful for any man to judge his sixpen’worth, his twelvepen’worth, so to his eighteen-pence, two shillings, half a crown, to the value of his place; provided always his place get not above his wit. And if he pay for half a dozen, he may censure for all them too, so that he will undertake that they shall be silent. He shall put in for censures here, as they do for lots at the lottery: marry, if he drop but six-pence at the door, and will censure a crown’s-worth, it is thought there is no conscience or justice in that.

It is also agreed, that every man here exercise his own judgment, and not censure by contagion, or upon trust, from another’s voice or face, that site by him, be he never so first in the commission of wit; as also that he be fixed and settled in his censure that what he approves or not approves to-day, he will do the same to-morrow; and if to-morrow, the next day, and so the next week, if need be: and not to be brought about by any that sits on the bench with him, though they indite and arraign plays daily. He that will swear, Jeronimo or Andronicus, are the best plays yet, shall, pass unexcepted at here, as a man whose judgment shews it is constant, and hath stood still these five and twenty or thirty years. Though it be an ignorance it is a virtuous and staid ignorance; and next to truth, a confirmed error does well; such a one the author knows where to find him.

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. Instead of a little Davy to take toll o’ the bawds, the author doth promise a strutting horse-courser, with a leer drunkard, two or three to attend him, in as good equipage as you would wish. And then for Kindheart the tooth-drawer, a fine oily pig-woman with her tapster, to bid you welcome, and a consort of roarers for musick. A wise justice of peace meditant, instead of a juggler with an ape. A civil cutpurse searchant. A sweet singer of new ballads allurant: and as fresh an hypocrite, as ever was broached, rampant. If there be never a servant-monster in the fair, who can help it, he says, nor a nest of antiques? he is loth to make nature afraid in his plays, like those that beget tales, tempests, and such-like drolleries, to mix his head with other men’s heels; let the concupiscence of jigs and dances reign as strong as it will amongst you: yet if the puppets will please any body, they shall be intreated to come in.

In consideration of which, it is finally agreed, by the aforesaid hearers and spectators, That they neither in themselves conceal, nor suffer by them to be concealed, any state-decypherer, or politic pick-lock of the scene so solemnly ridiculous, as to search out, who was meant by the gingerbread-woman, who by the hobby-horse man, who by the costard-monger, 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 concealed statesman by the seller of mouse-traps, 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 pigbroth, or of profaneness, because a madman cries, God quit you, or bless you! In witness whereof, as you have preposterously put to your seals already, 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 observed a special decorum, the place being as dirty as Smithfield, and as stinking every whit.

Howsoever, he prays you to believe, his ware is still the same, else you will make him justly suspect that he that is so loth to look on a baby or an hobby-horse here, would be glad to take up a commodity of them, at any laughter or loss in another place.

[Exeunt.

ACT I

SCENE I.—A Room in LITTLEWIT’S House.

Enter LITTLEWIT with a license in his hand.

Lit. A pretty conceit, and worth the finding! I have such luck to spin out these fine things still, and, like a silk-worm, out of my self. Here’s master Bartholomew Cokes, of Harrow o’ the Hill, in the county of Middlesex, esquire, takes forth his license to marry mistress Grace Wellborn, of the said place and county: and when does he take it forth? to-day! the four and twentieth of August! Bartholomew-day! Bartholomew upon Bartholomew! there’s the device! who would have marked such a leap-frog chance now! A very . . . less than ames-ace, on two dice! Well, go thy ways, John Littlewit, proctor John Littlewit: one of the pretty wits of Paul’s, the Littlewit of London, so thou art called, and something beside. When a quirk or a quiblin does ’scape thee, and thou dost not watch and apprehend it, and bring it afore the constable of conceit, (there now, I speak quib too,) let them carry thee out o’ the archdeacon’s court into his kitchen, and make a Jack of thee, instead of a John. There I am again la!—

Enter Mrs. LITTLEWIT.

Win, good-morrow, Win; ay, marry, Win, now you look finely indeed, Win! this cap does convince! You’d not have worn it, Win, nor have 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.

Mrs. Lit. Come indeed la, you are such a fool still!

Lit. No, but half a one, Win, you are the t’other half: man and wife make one fool, Win. Good! Is there the proctor, or doctor indeed, in 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, not a grain of right mustard amongst them all. They may stand for places, or so, again the next wit-fall, and pay two-pence in a quart more for their canary than other men. But give me the man can start up a justice of wit out of six shillings beer, and give the law to all the poets and poet-suckers in town:—because they are the player’s gossips! ’Slid! other men have wives as fine as the players, and as well drest. Come hither, Win!

[Kisses her.

Enter WINWIFE.

Winw. Why, how now, master Littlewit! measuring of lips, or moulding of kisses? which is it?

Lit. Troth, I am a little taken with my Win’s dressing here: does it not fine, master Winwife? How do you apprehend, sir? she would not have worn this habit. I challenge all Cheapside to shew 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.

Winw. None in the earth, master Littlewit.

[Kisses her.

Lit. I envy no man my delicates, sir.

Winw. Alas, you have the garden where they grow still! A wife here with a strawberry breath, cherry lips, apricot cheeks, and a soft velvet head, like a melicotton.

Lit. Good, i’faith! now dulness upon me, that I had not that before him, that I should not light on’t as well as he! velvet head!

Winw. But my taste, master Littlewit, tends to fruit of a later kind; the sober matron, your wife’s mother.

Lit. Ay, we know you are a suitor, sir; Win and I both wish you well: By this license here, would you had her, that your two names were as fast in it as here are a couple! Win would fain have a fine young father-i’-law, with a feather; that her mother might hood it and chain it with mistress Overdo. But you do not take the right course, master Winwife.

Winw. No, master Littlewit, why?

Lit. You are not mad enough.

Winw. How! is madness a right course?

Lit. I say nothing, but I wink upon Win. You have a friend, one master Quarlous, comes here sometimes.

Winw. Why, he makes no love to her, does he?

Lit. Not a tokenworth that ever I saw, I assure you: but—

Winw. What?

Lit. He is the more mad-cap of the two. You do not apprehend me.

Mrs. Lit. You have a hot coal in your mouth, now, you cannot hold.

Lit. Let me out with it, dear Win.

Mrs. Lit. I’ll tell him myself.

Lit. Do, and take all the thanks, and much good do thy pretty heart, Win.

Mrs. Lit. Sir, my mother has had her nativity-water cast lately by the cunning-men in Cow-lane, and they have 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.

Lit. Ay, but it must be a gentleman madman.

Mrs. Lit. Yes, so the t’other man of Moorfields says.

Winw. But does she believe them?

Lit. Yes, and has been at Bedlam twice since every day, to inquire if any gentleman be there, or to come there mad.

Winw. Why, this is a confederacy, a mere piece of practice upon her by these impostors.

Lit. I tell her so; or else, say I, that they mean some young madcap gentleman; for the devil can equivocate as well as a shop keeper: and therefore would I advise you to be a little madder than master Quarlous hereafter.

Winw. Where is she, stirring yet?

Lit. Stirring! yes, and studying an old elder come from Banbury, a suitor that puts in here at meal tide, to praise the painful brethren, or pray that the sweet singers may be restored; says a grace as long as his breath lasts him! Some time the spirit is so strong with him, it gets quite out of him, and then my mother, or Win, are fain to fetch it again with malmsey or aqua cœlestis.

Mrs. Lit. Yes, indeed, we have such a tedious life with him for his diet, and his clothes too! he breaks his buttons, and cracks seams at every saying he sobs out.

Lit. He cannot abide my vocation, he says.

Mrs. Lit. No; he told my mother, a proctor was a claw of the beast, and that she had little less than committed abomination in marrying me so as she has done.

Lit. Every line, he says, that a proctor writes, when it comes to be read in the bishop’s court, is a long black hair, kemb’d out of the tail of Antichrist.

Winw. When came this proselyte?

Lit. Some three days since.

Enter QUARLOUS.

Quar. O sir, have you ta’en soil here? It’s well a man may reach you after three hours’ running yet! What an unmerciful companion art thou, to quit thy lodging at such ungentlemanly hours! none but a scattered covey of fidlers, or one of these rag-rakers in dunghills, or some marrow-bone man at most, would have been up when thou wert gone abroad, by all description. I pray thee what ailest thou, thou canst not sleep? hast thou thorns in thy eye-lids, or thistles in thy bed?

Winw. I cannot tell: it seems you had neither in your feet, that took this pain to find me.

Quar. No, an I had, all the lime hounds o’ the city should have drawn after you by the scent rather. Master John Littlewit! God save you, sir. ’Twas a hot night with some of us, last night, John: shall we pluck a hair of the same wolf to-day, proctor John?

Lit. Do you remember, master Quarlous, what we discoursed on last night?