Michael Gruber - The Book of Air and Shadows

Saith he then it must be through your mother we are cosens for never was there such a name in Warwickshire & I say yes my mother was Arden born. At that he smyles & clapps me upon my backe & carries me to the table & calls for my pleasoure & the pot-boy bringeth us ale, but Mr Waley calls for canary though he wast not asked & calls some varlets he knows & a trull over & proffers them from his jack of wine. Now W.S. speakes me direct but I can not make out a word in three that he sayes, so strange are his accentes; seeing this he makes a halt saying thou wast not Warwick-bred & I say nay but born in London and passed my youth in Titchfield & he says he hast been oft at Titchfield a-visiting my lord of Southhampton & this he says in as plain a Hampshire voice as could have ben mine uncle Matthew, which amaz’d me much. But after I bethought me, he hath ben a playere, ’tis his arte to ape the speache of anie man.

Next we spake of our families and found that his dam was bred ancientlie from Sir Walter Arden of Park Hall as soe wase mine but his hath descent through Thomas that gentlemans eldest son not Richard as mine was & this contenteth hym much & I tell howe my grand-sire wase hanged for papistrie but they sayde traisoun & hee looketh grave sayinge aye mine nuncle was served soe in the olde quenes tyme. Soe wee further converse, hym demanding of me my storie & I tell hym it pretty much in truth, of my lyfe as a boy and prentice in the foundrie, & of the grete gonnes & the Dutch warres; nor have I ne’er met a man so content to heare another man out in fulle; for men chiefly love to tell of them selves & paint them selves out in finer colours than wast in lyfe; but hym not. Herein I spake but the trewth for Mr Piggott saith if wouldst tell a grete lye, guard it close with a thousand trew tales, so that it shalbe passed amongst theyre number. Bye now Mr Wales hath drunk a pint & more of beste canary & wase drunk withal & commenced to rail at W.S. sayinge he hath not employment these manie weekes with players less skilled than he uzed in his roome & W.S. saith nay, hath not Mr Burbadge manie tymes warned thee? If thou attend the play-house as full o’canary as yon butt so you stumble and misremember your lines thou shalt lose thy place; and thou hast soe done; and thou hast indeed lost place, as wase promised; & I can do naught for thee, but here’s an angelet for thee thou wast a goode Portia once. Yet Mr Wales spurns the coin; saith he, thou vain scut Ile see thee hangd & broke & e’en nowe are the snares set for thee that will & then I kick him in his ankle-bone & he cry out & draw or tries to & I serve hym a blow on’s heade with a stone-jack & down goes he in blodd. Now those friends he lately wined make to start affray with me & I stand to draw but W.S. calls sacke & safron cakes for the table & speakes so sweetlie & jestinglie to these low fellowes that they are assuaged & he has a wench & pot-boy to carry off Mr Wales to a settle & payeth alle & then he carries me out of that place saying let us goe to a more quiet howse for I wishe to speake further with thee.

Soe down Bishopsgate we walke, then on Cornhill & West Cheap toward Paul’s & again he quaeres mee upon my lyfe & I doe as best I am able, recalling manie thinges I have forgot & when I tell how I wase late a smuckler he halts & hath me saye agen that worde which he sware he never before heard & writes it that moment with a wad penselle in a littel booke he carries & seems as well-pleazed as if he found a shillinge in the myre of the waye. Arrive at the sign of the Mer-mayde on Friday Street hard bye Paul’s & were manie there that knew W.S. & greeted hym with affectioun & after greeting alle moste courteouslie he brought me to a corner bye the fyre that was I thinke his accustomed place: for the pot-boy brought hym smalle beere without the asking & a jack for mee as well & he presses mee agen to speake of my lyfe especially that at sea: & when he heard I wase on the Sea Adventurer & was wracked upon Bermoothes Isle he was much excited & plaisure shon on his face & takes up his little booke again & wrote much in it as I spake. He desired to know of the Carribans, theyre character & customes & did they eat the fleshe of men, & I sware hym I never met a Carriban in my lyfe, there are none in the Bermoothes: but I spake much of how we builded boates and scaped oure prison of that Isle & sayled to Virginia safe & of the Indians which the Englishe there living saye doe eat mens fleshe & are verie fierce salvages. He sayde he had reade accountes of this before now; but it were best to heere it from lips of one who was there & again questioned me upon the ship-wracke, viz: how the mariners comported & how the passengares of quality, did they waile & crie oute in feare of the present perils & I tell hym how oure boatswaine cursed Governour Thom. Gates when he ventured upon the deck in the midst of the storm & chased hym down a hatch-waye with a rope’s ende; for which the Admiral cried he should be whipped but was not for the ship strook upon the rock soon after.

Now as I tolde this tayle, W.S. calls to some who came in or were there alreadie: come & heere this tayle, this is my cosen who hath been to the New World & hath ben ship-wracked &c. Soon had we a goode company about us, sitting & standing. Some did not beleeve me thinking my tale a mere fardel of lyes such as mariners tell; yet W.S. spake up to these sayeing nay the man speakes fayre for there are no dragons nor monsters, nor yet water-spoutes, nor anie fantastique thinge, but onlie such perrils as shippes meet in theyre voyages; further saith he, I have read an accounte of the verie wrack of which he speakes & agrees in all particulares.

Thus was I justified before that assemblie. After mye tale was done, they sit about & talk, & this talk such as I nevere before heard & it is hard to recall for it is the jesting sorte that sticks not to the minde. Or not my minde. It was verie bawdy, all prickes & cuntes, but disguized in othere & innocente speeche, & they said not a worde but another would twist that word into one lyke it & yet again & again, so that I never knew what they meant. This they account Witt: & one of these Mr Johnson can shew Witt in Latin & Greek & did so but few there comprehended his meaninges: yet laughed all the same & rated hym for a dull pedant. He is an other maker of wicked plaies thought greate by these wretches & seconde onlie to W.S.: except in his owne reckoninges first. A prowd conceited man & I thinke an arrant papiste & rayles much gainst the reformed faith & preacheres. W.S. now boastes of me that I wase in Flanderes fighting Don Spainiard & Mr Johnson saies he too was & quaeres me close what battels & seiges was I in & under what commander & when. Soe I answer hym; but when he findeth I was with the gonnes, he says pish that is not soldiers woork but mere cartage & dunnage & tells how he trayled his pyke before Flushinge & Zutfen & it was clare it ben a tale they all had hearde before & they mocketh hym & make witt of his pyke & sayde he had pricked more Flanders maydes than Spainiards with it; by which I thinke they meant his privy member. W.S. listeneth mainlie but when he speaketh all give hym attencioun. Thus, Mr Johnson vaunting his witte largelie with many Latin tagges & drinking largelie too & hadde a meate pye & bye & bye he lifts haunch & letts a great blaste of winde & W.S. upon the instant saies, so speakes a Batchelor of Artes, list well & learne; and all laugh, even Mr Johnson. But I did not understand the jest.

Houres so passed I think til it grew neare darke without & W.S. saith to me Dick I have business at Black-Fryares playe-howse wilt come with me for I wish to speake privilie to you more. So I go with him & he asks of me what I will now for my trade, shal I goe back to sea? Quoth I nay I am done with it having been wracked soe & done with my travells nor have I taste anie more for warre, but to have some place whereat I could be sure of my meate & my bed a-nights & a goode fyre & make my fortune; for I had it in mynde to wed one daie. He saies what canst doe to earne thy bread Dick, besydes warre & smuckling & making of cannones? I sayde I wase clever with numbers & mought fynde worke as surveyoure of landes an I could fynde me a maistre. But here we come to the playe-howse after the play has done & the audience still comes forth, many rich-dressed in furs and brocades but also the common sorte & we must press through a croude of litters carriers horses servants groomes &c. who await. So through the greate room all ablaze with candels but one is snuffing them all ready & we pass to a smale room behinde the stage where are some men, one all in black velvet verie fine with paint still on’s face; and two otheres apparent marchants & one little scriveninge sorte; & two stout fellowes armed with hangers & of these one hath no eares & t’other but one eie. By name, as I learned, the first, Dick Burbage, playere; John Hemmynge, a sharer in the Playeres company; Henry Watkins, a sharer in the Housekeeping company; Nicholas Pusey, who kept the purse of the King’s Men Company & the accompte booke. Spade & Wyatt are the two men-at-armes, Spade hath the one eye. Save the laste pair, all these stood quarrelling calling each-other rogues cheateres &c.