That to the many a hornpipe played,
 Whereto they dancen each one with his maid.
 To see these folks make such jouissance,
 Made my heart after the pipe to dance.
 Then to the green-wood they speeden them all,
 To fetchen home May with their musical;
 And home they bring him in a royal throne
 Crowned as king; and his queen attone
 Was Lady Flora, on whom did attend
 A fair flock of fairies, and a fresh bend
 Of lovely nymphs—O that I were there
 To helpen the ladies their May-bush to bear!

Probably the most famous May-pole that ever existed was the one which
gave its name to the parish of St. Andrew-Undershaft. It was of such a
height that it towered above all the houses and even above the church
spire. Chaucer alludes to this mighty pole in the lines:—

 Right well aloft and high ye beare your head,
 As ye would beare the greate shaft of Cornhill.

When this May-pole was not required for festive purposes, it lay
suspended on great iron hooks above the doors of the neighbouring
houses. In the reign of Edward VI., after a sermon preached at the
cross of St. Paul’s against the iniquity of May games, the inhabitants
of these houses in a fit of pious enthusiasm, desiring, doubtless, to
replenish their wood-cellars and to destroy an “idoll” at the same
time, cut the pole in pieces, each man retaining that portion of it
which had been before his house. The May-pole in the Strand was another
celebrated {244} shaft. It was erected at the Restoration, when there
was a revival of the popular sports which the sour-faced Puritans had
so unsparingly condemned. It was 134 ft. high, and was raised with
great ceremony and public rejoicings.

At Helston, in Cornwall, on the 8th of May, called “Furry Day,” may
still be witnessed a survival of the old May Day festivities. Very
early in the morning the young men and maidens of the place go off into
the country to breakfast. About seven o’clock they return bearing green
branches, and decked with flowers, they dance through the streets to
the tune of the “Furry Dance.” At eight o’clock the “Hal-an-Tow” (Heel
and Toe?) song is sung, and dancing and merriment fill the remainder of
the day.

THE HAL-AN-TOW.

 Robin Hood and little John,
   They both are gone to fair O !
 And we will go to the merry green wood,
   To see what they to do there O !
 And for to chase O !
   To chase the buck and doe O !
       With Hal-an-tow,
       Jolly rumble O !

 Chorus: And we were up as soon as any day O !
         And for to fetch the summer home,
         The Summer and the May O !
         For Summer is a come O !
         And Winter is a gone O !

 Where are those Spaniards
   That makes so great a boast O !
 They shall eat the grey goose feather
   And we will eat the roast O !
       In every land O !
       The land where’er we go,
         With Hal-an-tow,
           Jolly rumble O !

               Chorus: And we were up, &c. {245}

 As for St. George O !
   St. George he was a knight O !
 Of all the knights in Christendom
   St. George he is the right O !
       In every land O !
       The land where’er we go,
         With Hal-an-tow,
           Jolly rumble O !
               Chorus: And we were up, &c.

 God bless Aunt Mary Moyses,
   And all her power and might O !
 And send us peace in merry England,
   Both day and night O !
 And send us peace in merry England,
   Both now and evermore O !
       With Hal-an-tow,
         Jolly rumble O !
               Chorus: And we were up, &c.

The custom is popularly attributed to the escape of the town from the
threatened attack of a fiery dragon, who, in days when dragons were
more common than they are now, hung in mid-air over the place, driving
the inhabitants to the greenwood tree for shelter. On his disappearance
the people returned with great rejoicings and to this day commemorate
their fortunate escape. The true explanation is probably that the
festival is simply a survival of the old celebration in honour of
_Flora_.

In some few country villages a May-pole still survives. One such is to
be seen in the little village of Welford, in Gloucestershire, painted
in stripes of red, white, and blue. It was decked with flowers on May
Day not many years ago, owing to the exertions of some of the local
lovers of things ancient; but the genuine spirit of the festival seems
to have entirely disappeared, and the ceremony has not been repeated.

 What’s not destroyed by Time’s relentless hand?
 Where’s Troy? and where’s the May-pole in the Strand?

In the early days of May occur what used to be known as the Gange Days,
on which the ceremony of beating the parish bounds was, and still {246}
is in some places, undertaken, the work of the day being wound up by
a more or less liberal distribution of buns and ale. Sums of money
were occasionally left to provide the refreshments for these parish
perambulations. At Edgcott, in Buckinghamshire, there was an acre of
land called “Gang Monday Land,” the income of which was devoted to the
provision of cakes and ale for those who took part in the business of
the day; and in Clifton Reynes, in the same county, a devise of land
for a like purpose provides that one small loaf, a piece of cheese, and
a pint of ale, should be given to every married person, and half a pint
of ale to every unmarried person, resident in Clifton, when they walked
the parish boundaries in Rogation week.

When Whitsuntide came round, the time arrived for those quaint
festivals to which Ale gave not only his support, but also his name,
and which were known as Whitsun Ales. The Whitsun Ale was a special
form of the Church Ale, to be mentioned anon. It is thus described by
an old writer:—“Two young men of the Parish are yerely chosen by their
last foregoers to be wardens, who, dividing the task, make collection
among the parishioners of whatsoever provision it pleaseth them
voluntarily to bestow. This they employ in brewing, baking, and other
acates[55] against Whitsuntide; upon which holy days the neighbours
meet at the Church-house, and there merrily feed on their owne victuals
contributing some petty portion to the stock, which by many smalls,
groweth to a meetly greatness: for there is entertayned a kind of
emulation between these wardens, who, by his graciousness in gathering,
and good husbandry in expending, can best advance the churche’s profit.
Besides, the neighbour parishes at those times lovingly visit each
one another, and this way frankly spend their money together. The
afternoones are consumed in such exercises as olde and yong folke
(having leisure) doe accustomably weare out the time withall. When the
feast is ended, the wardens yield in their account to the parishioners:
and such money as exceedeth the disbursement is layd up in store, to
defray any extraordinary charges arising in the parish, or imposed on
them for the good of the country, or the prince’s service: neither of
which commonly so gripe but that somewhat still remayneth to cover the
purse’s bottom.”

   [55] acates = purchases.

The Morris Dancers regarded Whitsuntide as their chief festival.
Introduced into this country from Spain, the Morisco or Moorish {247}
Dance had, in the reign of Henry VIII., attained a great popularity.
There seems to have been at that time two principal performers,
Robin Hood and Maid Marian; then there was a friar, a piper, a fool,
and the rank and file of the dancers. In the parish accounts of
Kingston-on-Thames for the year 1537 the Morris Dancers’ wardrobe, then
in the charge of the churchwardens, consisted of “A fryers cote of
russet and a kyrtele weltyd with red cloth, a Mowren’s (Moor’s) cote of
buckram, and four morres daunsars cotes of white fustian spangelid and
two gryne saten cotes, and disardde’s (fool’s) cote of cotton, and six
payre of garters with belles.”

In Elizabethan times the Morris Dance, and indeed every other kind of
picturesque country festivity, may be said to have reached the zenith
of popularity, soon, alas! to be followed by the chilling austerity of
the Puritans, of whom it was so truly said that they “like nothing; no
state, no sex; music, dancing, etc., unlawful even in kings; no kind of
recreation, no kind of entertainment,—no, not so much as hawking; all
are damned.”

 These teach that Dauncing is a Jezabell
 And barley-break the ready way to Hell,
 The Morrice, Idolls; Whitson-ale can bee
 But profane Reliques of a Jubilee.[56]

   [56] Thomas Randal—_Annalia Dubrensia_.

Whitsuntide, with its lengthening days, was specially set apart for
sports and old-fashioned games, and amongst the many meetings for such
purposes, none attained a wider popularity than the Cotswold or Dover’s
Games. Those who are familiar with the country made classic by its
associations with the great Master of English poetry, know well the
green hill, still called Dover’s Hill, which forms an outpost of the
main body of the Cotswolds, and overlooks the smiling vale of Evesham.
On this spot, time out of mind, rural sports and festivities had been
held under the name of the Cotswold Games. “How does your fallow
greyhound, sir?” says Slender to Page, “I heard say he was outrun at
Cotsale.” This was the site chosen by Robert Dover, an attorney of
Barton-on-the-Heath, for the enlargement and perpetuation of those
national sports in which he took so keen an interest, and which he
{248} hoped would counteract the narrow spirit of bigotry which was
beginning in his day to curtail the innocent amusements of the people.
Armed with a formal authority from King James, Dover was so successful
in his organization of the Games that, with a short interregnum during
the Commonwealth days, their popularity continued until well into
the present century. A curious old volume of poems, called _Annalia
Dubrensia_, published in 1636, contains many quaint descriptions of the
Games and their object. Drayton, Ben Jonson, Thomas Randall and others
of lesser note, contributed each a poem to this collection. One of the
contributors thus eulogises the sports and their patron:—

       . . . . . . Oh most famous Greece!
 That for brave Pastimes, wert earth’s Master-piece!
 Had not our English DOVER, thus out-done
 Thy foure games, with his Cotswoldian one.

Dover himself composed the poem which closes the volume. Some of his
motives he thus describes:—

 I’ve heard our fine refined clergy teach,
 Of the commandments, that it is a breach
 To play at any game for gain or coin;
 ’Tis theft they say; men’s goods you do purloin;
 One silly beast another to pursue
 ’Gainst nature is, and fearful to the view,
 And man with man their activeness to try
 Forbidden is—much harm doth come thereby;
 Had we their faith to credit what they say,
 We must believe all sports are ta’en away;
 Whereby I see, instead of active things,
 What harm the same unto our nation brings;
 The pipe and pot are made the only prize
 Which all our spriteful youth do exercise.

 Yet I was bold for better recreation
 T’invent these sports to countercheck that fashion,
 And bless the troope that come our sports to see,
 With hearty thankes and friendly courtesie

{249}

[Illustration: Cotswold Games.]

The nature of the sports may be gathered from an inspection of the
curious old cut taken from the frontispiece of the above-named work.
Dancing, tumbling, wrestling, sword-play, quarter-staff, cudgel play,
casting the hammer, dog-racing, horse-racing, coursing—must have made
up a highly varied programme, while the table in the midst of the field
of view shows, both by its conspicuous position and by the size of
the cups and tankards in use, that the good creatures, meat and ale,
were by no means neglected. The wonderful structure at the top of the
picture represents the wooden castle erected every year, and called
Dover Castle in honour of the founder of the sports. The artist does
not appear to have quite done justice to his subject if we may credit
the account of the Castle given by one of the versifiers:— {250}

 What Ingineere, or cunning Architect
 A Fabricke of such pompe did ere erect?
 I’ve heard men talk, of Castles in the aire,
 Inchanted Cells, Towers, Pageants most faire,
 Fortifications, Trophies, Theaters,
 Laborinths, Puppet-workes, strange Meteores,
 Of those that have their substance wholie spent
 To shew their Puppets dauncing with content;
 Of Egypts Pharoes stately glasen Tower,
 Built by King Ptolomies’ art magick power,
 Of Cheops, Pyramids; of Rhodes Colosse,
 Of Joves Olympick golden Ivorie Bosse.
 These to thy famous works compared will be
 Of small account; like them in no degree.

The figure of the founder occupies a prominent place in the foreground.
He used to appear in clothes that had belonged to King James, and it
is said wore them with much greater dignity than did the King. Dover
seems to have been a remarkable person in more ways than one, as may
be gathered from the following quaint note, to be found in one of the
editions of the _Annalia_:—“He was bred an Attorney, who never try’d
but two causes, _always made up the Difference_.”

The next in order of the country celebrations in which ale formed the
principal drink, were the sheep-shearing feasts, formerly so common,
but now in most places things of the past. Many songs have been
preserved which record these old merry-makings when the day’s work
was done, and the farm labourers were gathered round their master’s
hospitable board. One of these, taken from the Sussex Archæological
Collections, is given below. It is a sample of many.

  Come all my jolly boys, and we’ll together go
  Abroad with our masters, to shear the lamb and ewe.

  And there we must work hard, boys, until our backs do ache,
  And our master he will bring us beer whenever we do lack.

  And then our noble captain doth unto our master say,
 “Come, let us have one bucket of your good Ale, I pray”
  He turns unto our captain, and makes him this reply {252}

 “You shall have the best of beer, I promise, presently,”
  Then out with the bucket pretty Bess she doth come,
  And master says “Mind, mind and see that every man has some.”

  This is some of our pastime while the sheep we do shear,
  And though we are such merry boys, we work hard, I declare;
  And when ’tis night, and we have done, our master is more free,
  And stores us well with good strong beer, and pipes and tobaccee
  So we do sit and drink, we smoke, and sing and roar,
  Till we become more merry far than e’er we were before,
  When all our work is done, and all our sheep are shorn,
  Then home to our Captain, to drink the Ale that’s strong.
  ’Tis a barrel, then, of _hum cup_, which we call the _black ram_,
  And we do sit and swagger, and swear that we are men;
  But yet before ’tis night, I’ll stand you half a crown,
  That if you ha’nt a special care, the _ram_ will knock you down.

[Illustration: The Merry Bagpipes.

The Pleaſant Paſtime betwixt a Jolly Shepherd and a Country Damſel on a
Midſummer-Day in the Morning.

To the tune of _March Boys, &c._

 A Shepherd ſat him under a Thorn
     he pulled out his pipe and began for to play
 It was on a Mid-Summer’s-day in the Morn
     for honour of that Holy-day:
 A Ditty he did chant along
     goes to the tune of Cater-Bordee,
 And this was the burden of his ſong
     if thou wilt pipe lad, I’ll Dance to thee
 To thee, to thee, derry, derry, to thee, &c.

 _Roxburghe Ballads._
]

The Haymakers’ song given below is, or rather was, a great favourite at
festive gatherings during the hay harvest:—

 In the merry month of June,
   In the prime time of the year;
 Down in yonder meadows
   There runs a river clear;
 And many a little fish
   Doth in that river play;
 And many a lad and many a lass,
   Go abroad a-making hay.

 In come the jolly mowers,
   To mow the meadows down;
 With budget and with bottle
   Of ale both stout and brown.
 All labouring men of courage bold
   Come here their strength to try;
 They sweat and blow, and cut and mow,
   For the grass cuts very dry.

Gratitude to the Giver of all good things has been the mainspring of
rejoicings that in nearly all nations have celebrated the safe {253}
ingathering of the fruits of the earth. In England the festival is
known by the expressive title of the Harvest Home. An ancient ballad
expresses _The Farmer’s Delight in the Merry Harvest_:—

 Come all my Lads and Lasses
   Let us together go,
 To the pleasant Corn-field,
   Our courage for to show,
 With sickle and with knapsack,
   So well we clean our Land,
 The Farmer crys work on Boys
   Here’s Beer at your command.
 In a good old Leather Bottle,
   Of ale that is so brown,
 We’ll cut and strip together,
   Until the Sun goes down;
 Every morning Sun,
   The small Birds they do sing;
 The Echoes of their Harmony,
   Do make the Wood to ring.
 Young Nanny she came to me,
   Some wheat-seed for to lase.[57]
 She is a pretty Creature,
   I must speak in her Praise:
 I wish she was some keeper,
   She is my whole delight
 In the Groves and Forests,
   To range both Day and Night.
 Thus the industrious Farmer
   By the Sweat of his Brow
 He labours and endeavours
   To make his Barley Mow.
 Sir John produces Liquor,
   ’Tis very often said,
 Good Beer makes Good Blood
   Good Blood makes pretty maid. {254}
 When Harvest it is over
   And the Corn secure from Harm
 And for to go to Market,
   We must thrash in the Barn.
 The Flail which we do handle
   So stoutly we do swing,
 And after Harvest Supper,
   So merry we will sing:
 With good Success to the Farmer,
   Or else we are to blame,
 I wish them Health and Happiness,
   Till Harvest comes again.

Beer has always been _the_ drink in the harvest field.

 Beneath some shelt’ring heap of yellow corn
 Rests the hoop’d keg, and friendly cooling horn,
 That mocks alike the goblet’s brittle frame,
 It’s costlier potions, and its nobler name.
 To Mary first the brimming draught is given,
 By toil made welcome as the dews of heaven,
 And never lip that press’d its homely edge,
 Had kinder blessings or a heartier pledge.

   [57] To lase or lease, provincial term for “to glean.”

In most parts of England the grain last cut was brought home in the
Hock Cart or Horkey Cart. The name “Horkey,” is probably a corruption
of “Hock,” and is equivalent to the German _hoch_, the allusion being
to the wain piled _high_ with sheaves. The cart decked with ribbons
and surmounted with a sheaf dressed up to represent a woman—perhaps
Ceres, goddess of the harvest; the horses pranked out in gay trappings;
a crowd of labourers and all the youthful inhabitants of the village
hurrahing in the wake presented such a scene as that described by
Herrick in his poem of the _Hock Cart_:—

 Come, sons of summer, by whose toile
 We are the Lords of wine and oile;
 By whose tough labours and rough hands
 We rip up first, then reap our lands,
 Crown’d with the ears of corne, now come,
 And, to the pipe, sing harvest home.
 Come forth, my Lord, and see the cart,
 Drest up with all the country art. {255}
 See here a maukin, there a sheet
 As spotless pure as it is sweet;
 The horses, mares, and frisking fillies,
 Clad all in linen white as lillies,
 The harvest swaines and wenches bound
 For joy to see the hock-cart crown’d.
 About the cart heare how the rout
 Of rural younglings raise the shout,
 Pressing before, some coming after,
 Those with a shout and these with laughter.
 Some blesse the cart; some kisse the sheaves
 Some prank them up with oaken leaves;
 Some cross the fill-horse; some with great
 Devotion stroak the home-borne wheat;
 While other rusticks, lesse attent
 To prayers than to merryment,
 Run after with their breeches rent.

A verse was sung to start the hock-cart on its way; generally some
thing of this kind:—

 Harvest home, harvest home,
 We have ploughed, we have sowed;
 We have reaped, we have mowed,
 We have brought home every load,
       Hip, hip, hip, harvest home!

In Hampshire it was years ago the custom at the end of harvest to
send to the harvest-field a large bottle containing seven or eight
gallons of strong beer; and the head carter, while the beer was being
discussed, said or sang the lines:—

 Well ploughed—well sowed,
 Well reaped—well mowed,
     Well carried, and
 Never a load overthro’d.

He then raised his hand, and all cheered. This was called the custom of
the Hollowing Bottle. {256}

For a description of the harvest-home supper we may again turn to
Herrick:—

 Well, on, brave boyes, to your Lord’s hearth
 Glittering with fire, where, for your mirth,
 You shall see first the large and cheefe
 Foundation of your feast, fat beefe;
 With upper stories, mutton, veale,
 And bacon, which makes full the meale;
 With severall dishes standing by,
 As here a custard, there a pie,
 And here all-tempting frumentie.
 And for to make the merry cheer,
 If smirking wine be wanting here,
 There’s that which drowns all care, stout beer,
 Which freely drink to your lord’s health,
 Then to the plough, the commonwealth,
 Next to your flails, your fans, your vats;
 Then to the maids with wheaten hats;
 To the rough sickle and the crooked scythe,
 Drink, frolic, boys, till all be blithe.

Robert Bloomfield alludes to the horkey-beer as to a brew specially
prepared for the occasion:—

 And Farmer Cheerum went, good man,
   And broach’d the horkey-beer,
 And sich a mort of folks began
   To eat up our good cheer.

When supper was finished the horkey-beer was freely sent about the
board, with the effect noticed by old Lydgate in his _Story of
Thebes_:—“They were in silence for a tyme tyl good ale gan arise.”—Slow
tongues are loosened, and the time is passed in songs and mirth.

The following extracts are taken from old Suffolk songs which have
descended from father to son for generations. They are typical of many
more that might be given:—

       Here’s a health to our master,
         The founder of the feast!
       God bless his endeavours
         And send him increase. {257}
       Now our harvest is ended
         And supper is past,
       Here’s our mistress’ good health
         In a full flowing glass!
       She is a good woman,—
         She prepared us good cheer;
       Come all my brave boys,
         And drink off your beer.

 Drink, my boys, drink until you come unto me,
 The longer we sit, my boys, the merrier shall we be!

 In yon green wood there lies an old fox,
 Close by his den you may catch him, or no;
 Ten thousand to one you catch him, or no.
 His beard and his brush are all of one colour,—
           (_Takes the glass and empties it off._)
 I am sorry, kind sir, that your glass is no fuller.
 ’Tis down the red lane! ’tis down the red lane!
 So merrily hunt the fox down the red lane!”

There is another version of these concluding lines:—

 Down the red lane there lives an old fox,
 There does he sit a-mumping his chops:
 Catch him, boys, catch him, catch if you can;
 ’Tis twenty to one if you catch him or Nan.

The red lane is the throat, and the fox is the tongue.

A favourite old Norfolk harvest-home song was “The Pye upon the Pear
Tree Top,” the following version of which is taken from Mr. Rye’s
admirable _History of Norfolk_:—

 The pye upon the pear-tree top,
     (_The singer holds up a glass of beer_)
 The pear-tree top—the pear-tree top,
 I hold you a crown she is coming down.
     (_Brings down the glass slowly_)
 She is coming down, she is coming down,
 I hold you a crown she is come down.
     (_Offers the glass to his right-hand neighbour._) {258}
 She _is_ come down, she _is_ come down,
 So lift up your elbow, and hold up your chin,
 And let your neighbour joggle it in.

The drinker then tries to drink, and his neighbour tries to prevent him.

During the evening one of the reapers, who had been chosen as “lord,”
would retire from the table, and, putting on a kind of mummer’s garb,
return, calling “Lar-gess.” He then carried a hat or plate round and
collected money to prolong the jollification at the village alehouse.

A laughable custom prevalent at Sussex harvest-homes, was the
following: Each person at the table—perhaps twenty or thirty men—had
to drink, without spilling, a glass of ale placed on the top of a tall
hat; when he had finished, he must toss the glass up in the air and
catch it in the hat as it fell. Sometimes a man would fail four or five
times, and at length get too drunk even to try. Meantime the company
kept up the refrain:—

 I’ve been to London, I’ve been to Dover,
 I’ve been a rambling, boys, all the world over,
 Over, over, over and over,
 Drink up the liquor and turn the bowl over.

These lines were sung over and over again, getting louder at the
critical moments. If the drinker’s effort was crowned with success the
fourth line was changed to—

 The liquor’s drinked up, and the bowl is turned over,

while ill success was greeted by—

 The liquor’s drinked up, and the bowl _ain’t_ turned over.

Another Sussex custom practised not many years ago, and perhaps still,
at harvest-home suppers consisted in a harvester sticking a lighted
candle in a glass of beer and drinking the beer while he held the
candle in position with his nose. The company meantime sing a song, of
which the chorus runs—

 Your nose’s alight, your nose’s alight,
 Your hair’s alight, your hair’s alight,
 Your hair’s alight, afire. {259}

Frequently the greasy candle would slip from between the nose and the
rim of the glass, really bringing about a conflagration of hair or
eyebrows.

In Scotland a dish always to be met with at harvest home, or
_Kirn_-suppers, as they are called, is composed of porridge, strong ale
and whisky. Had such dish as this been found at Sabine harvest-homes,
well might Horace have exclaimed, “_O dura messorum ilia!_” Much the
same course of feasting, strong-ale drinking, and singing is observed
as at the English festival—

           —the frothing bickers,[58] soon as filled,
 Are drained, and to the gauntrees[59] oft return.

   [58] The beakers.

   [59] The frame supporting the barrel.

Such were some of the principal ceremonies connected with the
harvest-home. It is to be regretted that such observances are now
comparatively rare. The kindly association of master and man at these
and such-like gatherings, did much to keep alive a mutual spirit of
good will, and to grease the wheels of toil, and it is to be feared
that such feelings when once lost cannot easily be recalled. Bloomfield
well describes this peculiarity of former times, which to that extent,
at any rate, may be called the “good old days”:—

 Here, once a year, distinction lowers its crest,
 The master, servant, and the merry guest,
 Are equal all; and round the happy ring,
 The reaper’s eyes exulting glances fling;
 And, warmed with gratitude, he quits his place,
 With sun-burnt hands, and ale-enlivened face,
 Refills the jug his honored host to tend,
 To serve at once the master and the friend;
 Proud thus to meet his smiles, to share his tale,
 His nuts, his conversation, and his Ale.

Last of all the great festivals of the year comes Christmas, celebrated
from early ages with feasting and hearty boisterous merriment. In
olden times the closing days of the old year, and the opening days
of the new, were devoted to holiday-making. From Christmas Day to
Twelfth Night was one long Saturnalia of feasting, dancing, and {260}
wassailing. One of the chief ceremonies of the time was the bringing
in of the Yule Log on Christmas Eve. Escorted by troops of shouting
men and boys, and greeted with strains of village minstrelsy, the
yule log was drawn from its resting place, lighted in the great hall
fireplace with some of the charred fragments of the last Christmas log,
and consumed as a token of hospitality and good cheer. Herrick thus
describes the ceremony:—

 Come, bring with a noise, my merry, merry boys,
   The Christmas log to the firing,
 While my good Dame she—bids ye all be free,
   And drink to your heart’s desiring.

 With the last year’s brand—light the new block, and
   For good success in his spending,
 On your psaltries play—that sweet luck may
   Come while the log is teending.[60]

 Drink now the strong beare, cut the white loafe here,
   The while the meat is a-shredding,
 For the rare mince-pie, and the plums stand by,
   To fill the paste that’s a-kneeding.

   [60] Blazing.

As an accompaniment to the yule log, an immense candle, called the Yule
Candle, shed its light upon the scene of merriment, and neighbours all
began

 To quaff brown Ale foam’d high from tall stone jugs
 And pledge deep healths in oft-replenished mugs.

The custom of wassailing the fruit trees has been already mentioned.
In some counties the practice extends to the field and pastures, and a
song is still sung on Christmas Eve in Hampshire, of which the chorus
is:—

 Apples and pears with right good corn,
 Come in plenty to every one,
 Eat and drink good cake and hot ale,
 Give Earth to drink and she’ll not fail.

{261}

The time-honoured amusement appropriate to Christmas Eve was provided
by the Mummers and the Lord of Misrule.

The Mummers (or Maskers, as the name imports) were to be found in every
village. They dressed themselves to represent various characters, and
the chief pageant exhibited by them was a version of the national
legend of St. George and the Dragon. The principal characters of course
were the gallant Knight, and as close a copy of the Dragon as the wit
and ingenuity of the village could contrive; then there was Old Father
Christmas, the Turk, the Maiden, and a Doctor with a huge box of pills
ready to execute any repairs rendered necessary by the internecine
fury of the Knight, the Turk, and the Dragon. The performance varied a
good deal according to the fancy of the performers, but in all places
there seems to have been a set form of recitation in verse describing
the various antics of the players. The Lord of Misrule, or Master of
Merry Disports, was elected as Master of the Ceremonies, and his term
of office extended from All-hallow Eve to Candlemas Day. He directed
the revels, exercised full power and authority over high and low in
the ordering of the festivities, and played the wit and fool with what
skill nature had endowed him.

And so in mirth and jollity the evening rolls away, and Christmas Day
appears. Sir Roger de Coverley says, or at any rate the _Spectator_
reports that he said: “I have often thought it happens very well that
Christmas should fall out in the middle of winter. It is the most dead,
uncomfortable time of the year, when the poor people would suffer very
much from their poverty and cold, if they had not good cheer, warm
fires, and Christmas gambols to support them. I love to rejoice their
poor hearts at this season, and to see the whole village merry in my
great hall. I allow a double quantity of malt to my small beer, and set
it a-running for twelve days for everyone that calls for it.”

From _Round about our Coal Fire_ it may be gathered that “an English
Gentleman at the opening of the great day (_i.e._, on Christmas day
in the morning) had all his tenants and neighbours enter his hall by
daybreak. The strong beer was broached, and the black jack went merrily
about with toast, nutmeg, and good Cheshire Cheese.”

It may not be generally known that the _Old English Gentleman_ is but
a version of a very similar song published in 1600, in a book entitled
_Le Prince d’Amour_. The earlier song contains the following verse
relating to our subject:— {262}

 With an old fashion when Christmas was come
 To call in all his neighbours with a bagpipe or drum.
 And good cheer enough to furnish out every old rome,
 And beer and ale would make a cat speak and a wise man dumb
           Like an old Courtier of Queens,
           And the Queen’s old Courtier.

On Christmas Day, and indeed during all the Christmas holidays,
the tables were spread from morn till eve; sirloins of beef, mince
pies and foaming ale formed the chief ingredients of the feast. In
many places, in the houses of the great, the ceremonious custom was
observed of bringing in the boar’s head on a dish of costly plate, the
whole company following in procession, chanting the well-known lines
beginning:—

 Caput apri defero,
 Reddens laudes Domino.

The custom still observed at Queen’s College, Oxford, of bringing in
the boar’s head at Christmas is said to have arisen from the adventure
of a student of that house in far-off legendary days, who, according
to the wont of students in those distant times, was walking abroad
studying his Aristotle, when a wild boar, who happened to be in the
neighbourhood, whether annoyed at having his lair disturbed, or out
of mere malice, charged down upon him with open mouth. However, the
student’s presence of mind did not desert him; with a loud cry of
“Græcum est” he thrust the volume down the throat of the monster, who,
choked by the tough morsel, then and there expired.

Turning from the tables of the great to the cottage of the humble, we
find a description of the effect of Old Father Christmas’s approach
upon the labourer’s home in Bampfylde’s _Sonnet on Christmas_:—

 With footstep slow, in furry pall yclad,
 His brows enreathed with holly never sere,
 Old Christmas comes, to close the waned year,
 And aye the shepherd’s heart to make right glad,
 Who, when his teeming flocks are homeward had,
 To blazing hearth repairs, and nut-brown beer,
 And views well pleased the ruddy prattlers dear
 Hug the grey mongrel; meanwhile maid and lad
 Squabble for roasted crabs—Thee, Sire, we hail, {263}
 Whether thine aged limbs thou dost enshroud,
 In vest of snowy white, and hoary veil,
 Or wrap’st thy visage in a sable cloud:
 Thee we proclaim with mirth and cheer, nor fail
 To greet thee well with many a carol loud.

It is the practice in many parts of Cumberland at Christmas to roast
apples before the fire on a string, and hold under them a bowl of
spiced or mulled ale. The apples roast on until they drop into the ale.

Many an ancient Christmas carol tells of the joviality which at that
time reigned supreme. The following example is taken from a collection
of rare old songs and carols:—

 Mye boyes come here
 Theres capital cheere
 ’Tis Christmas tyme, let myrthe goe rounde
 With a flaggon of ale, by tyme well brown’d.

 Drink boyes drinke
 And never thinke
 Of crustie old tyme, his scythe and his glasse,
 He cannot, nor dare not, this waye passe.

 Drinke and be wise
 Till red Phœbus arise
 And banish colde care from the good waning year:
 The Old year he shall dye, mid plenty of cheere.

 My boyes, come passe
 Your empty glasse,
 And fill them with Ale, as the world is of strife
 And toaste to the widow, the maide and the wife.

 Come drink success
 You cannot do less,
 To the new coming yere, may it be loaded with funne
 And ne’er bring us worse than the old one has done.

{264}

Another verse from a good old song specially celebrates our theme—

     Come, help us to raise
     Loud songs to the praise
     Of good old England pleasures:
 To the Christmas cheer,
 And the foaming Beer.
 And the buttery’s solid treasures.

Many pages might be compiled of these old English carols, all in praise
of the same theme, the roast beef and good ale of Old England; but one
more quotation must suffice. It is from _Poor Robin’s Almanack_ (1695):—

 Now, thrice welscome, Christmas!
   Which brings us good cheer;
 Mince pies and plum-pudding—
   Strong Ale and strong Beer;
 But as for curmudgeons
   Who will not be free,
 I wish they may die
   On a two-legged tree.

And so the cycle of the waning year is nearly completed. Midst sounds
of revelry and mirth the old year is dying, and dying hard, and New
Year’s Eve comes round again. The principal customs of New Year’s Eve
have been already described, being inextricably blended with those
appropriate to New Year’s Day.

One scene more; a custom of very ancient origin and still observed.
An ivy-mantled tower, from which to-night, at all events, the moping
owl has been driven, for within are lights and the sounds of busy
preparation. Those who are about to perform the last offices for the
dying year are here assembled, and a great brown bowl of foaming ale
passes from hand to hand. The old church clock, not bating one jot of
his accustomed space from stroke to stroke, for all the impatience of
listeners in many a house and cottage near, but deliberately, and with
a solemnity befitting the occasion, tolls out the hour of midnight. A
moment’s pause; but ere the last echo of its brazen tongue has died
upon the ear, a merry peal of clashing music bursts from the ancient
pile, carrying over hill and dale, over flood and field, on the rapid
wings of {265} sound, the tidings that the old year is dead and the
new year reigns in his place.

As we gaze back on these old scenes of fun and frolic, their rougher
outlines perchance softened by distance, their true-heartiness and
geniality shining through the golden mist of time, which of us will be
found to deny that in some respects the old was better?

 Happy the age and harmless were the days,
   For then true love and amity were found,
 When every village did a May-pole raise,
   And Whitsun ales and May-games did abound.

{266}

CHAPTER X.

 “And then satten some and songe at the Ale.”
                                        _The Vision of Piers Ploughman._

 Be mine each morn with eager appetite
 And hunger undissembled to repair
 To friendly buttery; there on smoking crust
 And foaming Ale to banquet unrestrained;
 Material breakfast! Thus in ancient days
 Our ancestors robust with liberal cups
 Usher’d the morn, unlike the squeamish sons
 Of modern times.
                                              _Panegyric on Oxford Ale._

_THE ALES. — ALE AT BREAKFAST. — BEQUESTS OF ALE. — DRINKING CUSTOMS. —
A SERMON ON MALT. — EXCESSES OF THE CLERGY. — ANECDOTES._

So far we have only considered those merry-makings which were peculiar
to certain seasons of the year. It need hardly be said that there were
also a number of festivals in which ale figured as the chief beverage,
in no way related to any particular day, and these, together with a
variety of curious customs connected with ale and beer, will be now
treated of.

Prominent among the many convivial meetings indulged in by our
ancestors were the _Ales_, at which, as their name indicates, malt
liquor was largely consumed. Such a feast is referred to in Chaucer:

 “And make him grete feestes atte _nale_.”

And in _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, Launce says to Speed, “Thou hast not
so much charity in thee as to go to the _Ale_ with a Christian.”

Ben Jonson also mentions Wakes and Ales in his _Tale of a Tub_:— {267}

 And all the neighbourhood from old records
 Of antique proverbs, drawn from Whitson-lords,
 And their authorities at Wakes and Ales,
 With country precedents and old wives’ tales,
 We bring you now to show what different things
 The cotes of clowns are from the courts of kings.

Of Ales there were several kinds—Church-Ales, Bride-Ales, Scot-Ales and
many others. The Church-Ales, of which the Easter-Ales and Whitsun-Ales
and Wakes were varieties, must be considered the most important of
this class of festival. The grotesque carvings on many old churches
have been considered by some to represent the humours of these curious
gatherings. Their origin is no doubt to be traced to the Agapæ, or
Love Feasts of the early Christian Church. Stubbe, in his _Anatomie of
Abuses_ (1585), gives the following account of the manner and intent
of these Ales: “In certain townes where dronken Bacchus beares swaie,
against Christmas and Easter, Whitsondaie, or some other tyme, the
churchwardens of every Parishe provide half a score or twentie quarters
of mault, whereof some they buy of the churche-stocke and some is given
them of the Parishioners themselves, everye one conferring somewhat,
according to his abilitie; whiche maulte being made into very strong
beere or ale, is sette to sale, either in the church or some other
place assigned to that purpose. Then when this is set abroche, well is
he that can gete the soonest to it, and spend the most at it. In this
kinde of practise they continue sixe weekes, a quarter of a yeare,
yea, halfe a year together. That money, they say, is to repaire their
churches and chappels with, to buye bookes for service, cuppes for
the celebration of the Sacrament, surplesses for Sir John, and other
necessaries. And they maintain extraordinarie charges in their Parish
besides.”

The account contains some obvious exaggerations. Stubbe was one
of those of whom the Earl of Dorset might have said as he said of
Prynne,—“My Lords, when God made all His works, He looked upon
them and saw that they were good; this gentleman, the devil having
put spectacles on his nose, says that all is bad.” It will not do
for Macaulay’s New Zealander in looking through the files of old
newspapers, discovered in the ruins of the British Museum, to accept
every statement of the modern teetotal platform as representing an
actual fact.

Carew gives an account of the matter which probably represents the
actual state of the case:—“Touching Church-Ales: these be mine {268}
assertions, if not my proofs:—Of things induced by our forefathers,
some were instituted to a good use, and perverted to a bad; again, some
were both naught in the invention and so continued in the practice. Now
that Church Ales ought to be sorted in the better rank of these twaine,
may be gathered from their causes and effects, which I thus raffe up
together:—entertaining of Christian love; conforming of men’s behaviour
to a civil conversation; compounding of controversies; appeasing of
quarrels; raising a store, which might be converted partlie to good
and goodlie uses, as relieving all sorts of poor people; repairing of
bridges, amending of highways, and partlie for the Prince’s service,
by defraying, at an instant, such rates and taxes as the magistrate
imposeth for the countrie’s defence. Briefly, they do tend to an
instructing of the mind by amiable conference, and an enabling of the
bodie by commendable exercise.”

The curious old Indenture of pre-Reformation times given below, is
an agreement between the inhabitants of the parishes of Elvarton,
Thurlaston, and Ambaston of the one part, and the good folk of Okebrook
of the other part, by John, Abbot of the Dale, Ralph Saucheverell,
Esqre., John Bradshaw, and Henry Tithell. It provides that—“the
inhabitants, as well of the said Parish of Elvarton, as of the town of
Okebrook, shall brew four Ales, and every ale of one quarter of malt,
and at their own costs and charges, betwixt this and the feast of St.
John Baptist next coming. And that every inhabitant of the said town of
Okebrook shall be at the several Ales; and every husband and his wife
shall pay two pence, every cottager one penny; and all the inhabitants
of Elvarton, Thurlaston and Ambaston shall have and receive all the
profits and advantages coming of the said Ales to the use and behoof
of the said Church of Elvarton; and that the inhabitants of the said
towns of Elvarton, Thurlaston, and Ambaston, shall brew eight Ales
betwixt this and the feast of St. John the Baptist; at the which Ales,
and every one of them, the inhabitants of Okebrook shall come and pay
as before rehearsed: and if he be away at one Ale, to pay at t’oder Ale
for both, or else to send his money. And the inhabitants of Okebrook
shall carry all manner of Tymber being in the Dale wood now felled,
that the said Prestchyrch of the said towns of Elvarton, Thurlaston,
and Ambaston shall occupye to the use and profit of the said Church.”
Shakspere mentions these festivals in _Pericles_:

 It hath been sung at festivals,
 On ember eves and holy ales; {269}

and an old writer (1544) speaks of “keapinge of Church-Ales, in the
whiche with leapynge, dansynge and kyssynge they maynteyne the profett
of their Church.”

The Church-Ale was usually celebrated in a house known as the Church
House, which was either hired for the festival, or was a house to
which the parishioners had a right to resort upon occasions of this
character. By an old lease, mentioned in Worsley’s _History of the Isle
of Wight_, a house, called the Church House held by the inhabitants
of Whitwell, parishioners of Gatcombe, of the Lord of the Manor, was
demised by them to John Brode on condition “that, if the Quarter shall
need at any time to make a _Quarter-Ale_ or _Church-Ale_, for the
maintenance of the Chapel, it shall be lawful for them to have the use
of the s^d house, with all the rooms, both above and beneath, during
their Ale.”

Considerable sums were raised by these means. The parish books of
Kingston-upon-Thames show that in the year 1526 the proceeds of the
Church-Ale amounted to £7 15s., and an ancient church book of Great
Marlow contains the entry in the year 1592, “Received of the torchmen,
for the profytte of the Whitsun Ale £5.”

No doubt some amount of abuse and excess occurred upon these occasions.
Many writers of the sixteenth century stigmatise the Church-Ales
and Wakes as the sources of “gluttonie and drunkenness,” and other
evils; and Harrison, writing in 1587, states as of a subject for
congratulation, that “The superfluous numbers of idle wakes,
church-ales, helpe-ales, and soule-ales, called also dirge ales, with
the heathenish rioting at bride-ales, are well diminished.” Some,
however, were found to uphold them. Pierce, Bishop of Bath and Wells,
writes in answer to an inquiry of Archbishop Laud, that “Church-Ales
were when the people went from afternoon prayers on Sundays to their
lawful sports and pastimes in the churchyard, or in the neighbourhood,
or in some public-house, where they drank and made merry. By the
benevolence of the people at these pastimes, many poor parishes have
cast their bells and beautified their churches, and raised stock for
the poor.”

The Puritan movement was, of course, strongly opposed to all these
festivals, and the influence of these “unco’ righteous” folk in the
year 1631, procured an order from Judge Richardson, putting an end to
all such gatherings in the county of Somerset, whereupon, on report
being made to the King, an order was made annulling the decree of the
Judge, and seventy-two of the most orthodox and able of the clergy of
the county certified that “on these days (which generally fell on a
Sunday) {270} the service of God was more solemnly performed, and the
services better attended than on other days.”

A previous attempt by the Justices of the Peace to suppress these
gatherings seems to have been equally unsuccessful. In 1596, John
and Alexander Popham, George Sydenham, and seven other Justices of
Bridgewater, ordered that no Church-Ale, Clerk’s-Ale, or tippling
should be suffered; but the decree seems to have been disregarded. A
custom somewhat similar to the Church-Ale was that of “drinking ale at
the Church stile.” Ale and in some cases food as well, were consumed on
certain occasions on the parish account. Pepys, under date April 14,
1661, mentions that “After dinner we all went to the Church stile (at
Walthamstow) and there eat and drank;” and a writer in the _Gentleman’s
Magazine_ (November, 1852) states that in an old book of parish
accounts belonging to Warrington the entry occurs: “Nov. 5, 1688. Paid
for drink at the Church steele, 13s.”

Clerk-Ales, or lesser Church-Ales, were held for the maintenance of
the parish clerk. Bishop Pierce, from whom we have before quoted,
says of them that “in poor country parishes, where the wages of the
clerk were but small, the people thinking it unfit that the clerk
should duly attend at the church, and not gain by his office, sent
him in provision, and then came on Sundays and feasted with him; by
which means he _sold more Ale_, and tasted more of the liberality of
the people, than their quarterly payments would have amounted to in
many years; and since these have been put down, many ministers have
complained to me (says his Lordship) that they were afraid they should
have no parish clerks.”

There is a tradition well known in the Vale of the Warwickshire Avon,
which connects the name of Shakspere with the Whitsun-Ale. It is
related that the ale of Bidford was in Shakspere’s day famed for its
potency, and that on the occasion of a Whitsun-Ale held at that place,
young Shakspere and some of his friends attended it, having accepted
a challenge of the Bidford men to try their powers as ale-drinkers.
The Bidfordians proved the better men, and the others endeavoured to
return to Stratford. They had not gone far, however, when, overcome
by the fumes of the ale, they were forced to rest under a crab-tree
about a mile out of Bidford. Here sleep overcame them, and their nap
lasted from Saturday night till Monday morning, when they were aroused
by a labourer who was on his way to his work. Shakspere’s companions
urged him to return and renew the contest, but he refused. “I have had
enough” he said; “I have drunk with {271}

 “Piping Pebworth, dancing Marston,
  Haunted Hillbro’, hungry Grafton,
  Dudging Exhall, papist Wixford,
  Beggarly Broom, and drunken Bidford.”

These villages are all visible from the spot where the Bard’s long
sleep is related to have taken place, and it is said retained
their characteristics until very recently. The Crab, long known as
“Shakspere’s Crab,” was cut down some time in the early part of
this century by the Lady of the Manor, who is said to have given
the somewhat Irish reason for this act of Vandalism, that the tree
was gradually being demolished by curiosity hunters. A new crab has
recently been planted upon the spot, and will, it is to be hoped, hand
down to future generations the memory of the Poet’s youthful escapade.

The term Christian-Ale was in all probability used to denote some kind
of Church or Whitsun Ale. The expression is to be found in a curious
old pamphlet entitled “The Virgins’ Complaint for the loss of their
sweethearts in the present wars . . . presented to the House of Commons
in the names and behalfes of all Damsels both of Country and City,
Jan. 29, 1642, by sundry Virgins of the City of London,” in which
occurs this passage: “Since the departure of the lusty young gentlemen,
and courtiers, and cavaliers, and the ablest prentices and handsome
journeymen, with whom we had used to walk to Islington and Pimlico to
eat Cakes and drink Christian-Ale on holy daies.”

Somewhat akin to Church-Ales were the guild-feasts held by the old
fraternities. The records of the ancient guild at Lynn Regis, in
Norfolk (Rye’s _Hist. of Norfolk_), show that in the time of Richard
II. the annual election of officers of the fraternity was followed by
“a guild-feast,” in which great quantities of ale were consumed. An
alderman’s allowance of ale, “while it lasteth,” was two gallons, a
steward had one gallon, and the dean and clerk a pottle each. The feast
was apparently prolonged night after night, till all the ale brewed
for the occasion was expended, and those brethren who from any urgent
cause were absent, had a gallon of ale reserved for them. Before the
carouse commenced, the guild-light was lit, and the clerk read prayers.
Anybody who “jangled” during prayer-time, or who fell asleep over his
ale afterwards, was liable to a fine.

A curious old custom of a similar nature to the Whitsun-Ale is recorded
in Curll’s _Miscellanies_. It was observed at Newnton, in Wiltshire,
and was intended to preserve the memory of a donation from {272} King
Athelstan of a common, and a house for the hayward (the hay keeper).
“Upon every Trinity Sunday, the parishioners being come to the door of
the hayward’s house, the door was struck thrice, in honour of the Holy
Trinity; they then entered. The bell was rung; after which, silence
being ordered, they read their prayers aforesaid. Then was a ghirland
of flowers made upon a hoop, brought forth by a maid of the town upon
her neck; and a young man (a bachelor) of another parish, first saluted
her three times in honour of the Trinity, in respect of God the Father.
Then she put the ghirland upon his neck and kissed him three times
in honour of the Trinity, particularly God the Son. Then he put the
ghirland on her neck again, and kissed her three times, in respect
of the Holy Trinity, particularly the Holy Ghost. Then he took the
ghirland from her neck, and, by the custom, gave her a penny at least.
The method of giving this ghirland was from house to house annually,
till it came round. In the evening every commoner sent his supper up
to this house, which was called the Eale-house; and having before laid
in there equally a stock of malt which was brewed in the house, they
supped together; and what was left was given to the poor.”

Thoroton, in his _Nottinghamshire_, gives an account of a shepherd who
kept ale to sell _in_ the Church of Thorpe. He was the sole inhabitant
of a village depopulated by inclosure. Besides the _Ales_ already
mentioned, there were Bid-Ales, Bride-Ales, Give-Ales, Cuckoo-Ales,
Help-Ales, Tithe-Ales, Leet-Ales, Lamb-Ales, Midsummer-Ales,
Scot-Ales, and Weddyn-Ales. Some of these are sufficiently explained
by their names. Bid-Ales, or Bede-Ales, and Scot-Ales have been
mentioned in Chapter V. Bride-Ale, also called Bride-bush, Bride-wain
and Bride-stake, was the custom of the bride selling ale on the
wedding-day, for which she received by way of contribution any sum or
present which her friends chose to give her. In the _Christen State of
Matrimony_ (1545) we read: “When they come home from the church, then
beginneth excesse of eatyng and drynking, and as much is waisted in one
daye as were sufficient for the two newe-married folkes halfe a yeare
to lyve upon.” Modern wedding breakfasts and the presents given to the
happy pair are, doubtless, descendants of this old custom. In Norway
at the present day, a peasant’s wedding is celebrated with much the
same ceremony as the old English Bride-Ale. Ale is handed round to the
guests, and they are each expected to contribute, according to their
ability, to form a purse to assist the bride in commencing housekeeping.

Regulations were made in some places to restrain the excesses {273}
attending on the keeping of Bride-Ales. In the Court Rolls of Hales
Owen is an entry:—“A payne ye made that no person or persons that shall
brewe any weddyn ale to sell, shall not brewe aboue twelve stryke of
mault at the most, and that the said persons so marryed shall not keep
nor have above eyght messe of persons at hys dinner within the burrowe,
and before hys brydall daye he shall keep no unlawful games in hys
house, nor out of hys house on payne of 20s.”

The old custom of Cuckoo-Ale appears to have been only of local
observance. In Shropshire the advent of the first cuckoo was celebrated
by general feasting amongst the working classes; as soon as his first
note was heard, even if early in the day, the men would leave their
work and spend the rest of the day in mirth and jollity.

The Tithe-Ale was a repast of bread, cheese and ale, provided by the
recipient of the tithe and enjoyed by the tithe-payers. At Cumnor, in
Berkshire, a curious custom of this kind still obtains. On Christmas
Day, after evening service, the parishioners who are liable to pay
tithe, repair in a body to the vicarage and are there entertained on
bread and cheese and ale. This is not by any means considered in the
light of a benefaction on the part of the vicar, but is demanded as a
right by the tithe-payers, and even the quantity of the good things
which the vicar is to give is strictly specified. He must brew four
bushels of malt in ale and small beer, he must provide two bushels
of wheat for bread making, and half a hundred-weight of cheese; and
whatever remains unconsumed is given to the poor. Leet-Ales, in some
parts of England, denoted the dinner given at the Court Leet of a Manor
to the jury and customary tenants. Another somewhat similar custom
was known by the name of Drink-lean, and was a festive day kept by
the tenants and vassals of the Lord of the Manor, or, as some say, a
potation of ale provided by the tenants for the entertainment of the
Lord or his steward. The origin of the term is not known; it probably
has no connection with the effect which a lover of old ale said that
beverage had upon him. “I always find it makes me lean,” said he.
“Lean!” cries his friend, in amazement; “why, I always thought ale made
folks fat.” “That may be,” was the reply, “but it makes me lean, for
all that—against a lamp-post.”

Another variety of the Ale was called Mary-Ale, and was a feast held
in honour of the Virgin Mary. Foot-Ales seem to have meant not so much
feasts as sums of money paid to purchase ale on a man’s entering a new
situation. We still talk of a man “paying his footing.”

A short consideration may now be devoted to the use of ale in former
{274} times in the household. It is easy to picture to oneself the
English squire or yeoman of old times, an article of whose creed it was
that

 “Old England’s cheer is beef and beer,
  Soup-meagre is Gallia’s boast,”

as he sat in his hard, uncompromising chair before the fire on a
winter’s evening, with perhaps a few of his cronies gathered round him,
quaffing their bright March beer or mellow old October as they talked
and ruminated in turns on the crops, the market or the hunt. It is not,
however, so easy for the degenerate sons of modern days to realise the
mighty draughts of ale taken at breakfast, soon after daylight. Yet,
before the introduction of tea and coffee, ale was the morning drink
in the palace of the king as in the cottage of the labourer. In 1512
the breakfast of the Earl and Countess of Northumberland on a fast-day
in Lent was “a loaf of bread, two manchetts (_i.e._, rolls of fine
wheat), a quart of beer, a quart of wine, two pieces of salt fish, six
bawned herrings, four white herrings, or a dish of sprats.” On flesh
days “half a chyne of mutton or a chyne of boiled beef” was substituted
for the fish. In the same household, the boys, “my lord Percy and
Mr. Thomas Percy,” were allowed “half a loaf of household bread, a
manchett, a pottle (2 quarts) of beer and three mutton bones boiled.”
“My lady’s gentlewoman” seems to have been a rather thirsty soul; she
was allowed for breakfast “a loaf of bread, a pottle of beer and three
mutton bones boiled.” Even the two children in the nursery were brought
up on this diet of beer; their breakfast consisted of “a manchett,
a quart of beer, a dish of butter, a piece of salt fish and a dish
of sprats.” The _liveries_, or evening meal, produced even a greater
supply of malt liquor. My Lord and Lady then had “two manchetts, a loaf
of bread, a _gallon_ of beer and a quart of wine.”

The allowance of food and drink made from the Court to Maids of
Honour and other attendants, was called the _bouche of Court_, a name
corrupted into the _bouge of Court_, and “to have bouge of Court”
signified to have meat and drink free. In the Ordinances, of Eltham,
17 Henry VIII., Maids of Honour of the Queen are each allowed for
breakfast “one chet lofe, one manchet, _two gallons of ale_, dim’
pitcher of wine.” Lady Lucy, one of the Maids of Honour in the same
reign, was allowed for breakfast—a chine of beef, a loaf, and a gallon
of ale; for dinner—a piece of boiled beef, a slice of roast meat and a
gallon of ale; and for supper—porridge, mutton, a loaf and a gallon of
ale. {275}

Queen Elizabeth’s breakfast seems frequently to have consisted of
little else but ale and bread. In the household accounts for the year
1576, are to be found certain items of her diet. One morning it is
“Cheate and mancheate 6d., ale and beare 3½d., wine 1 pint. 7d:”
another day it is bread as before, “ale and beare 10½d., wine, 7d;”
and considering the prices of the times, the amount of ale represented
by these figures must have been very considerable. Even well into last
century ale was a common drink for breakfast among those who affected
the manners of the old school. Applebie’s Journal, under date September
11th, 1731, makes mention of “an old gentleman near ninety, who has a
florid and vigorous constitution, and tells us the difference between
the manners of the present age, and that in which he spent his youth.
With regard to _eating_ in his time, _Breakfast_ consisted of good
hams, cold sirloin, and good beer, succeeded with wholesome exercise,
which sent them home hungry and ready for dinner.”

In an old song, _Advice to Bachelors; or, the Married Man’s
Lamentations_, occurs this verse:—

 If I but for my breakfast ask
   then doth she laugh and jeer;
 Perhaps give me a hard dry crust
   and strong four shilling beer;
 She tells me that is good enough
   for such a rogue as me;
 And if I do but seem to pout
   then hey, boys, flap goes she.

Between breakfast and dinner there was generally a “nunchion”[61] (noon
draught), a word curious from its having been confounded with lunch,
which signifies a large piece or hunch of bread. When uneducated people
speak of their “nunchions,” they are unconsciously using a more correct
form of word than more refined persons when they speak of “luncheon.”
On any occasion when a drink between meals was needed, it was called
a “russin,” as in the lines of the old poem, _The Land of Cockaigne_
(thirteenth century):—

 In Cockaigne is met and drink,
 Without care, how, or swink,
 The met is trie (choice), the drink is clere,
 To none, _russin_ and sopper. {276}

An evening draught in the religious houses was called a “potatio.”
When the afternoon reading was finished, the monks proceeded “_ad
potationem_” (_i.e._, to take their evening draught of ale).

   [61] From _noon_, and _schenchen_, to pour out.

Ale, generous ale, was the beverage with which all meals alike were
washed down; and ale and beer were in old times considered as having
a peculiar suitability to the stomach of an Englishman. A letter from
John Stile to Henry VIII. (1512) on the condition of the army in France
bears witness to this common notion. “And hyt plese your grace,” he
writes, “the greteyst lacke of vytuals, that ys here ys of bere, for
your subjectys had lyver for to drynk bere than wyne or sydere, for the
hote wynys dothe burne theym, and the syder dothe caste theym yn dysese
and sekenysys.”

The custom of women resorting to ale-houses and taking provisions with
them wherewith to make a common feast, seems to have been an early
form of the modern picnic. In one of the Chester Miracle Plays Noah is
represented as being greatly annoyed at finding his wife eating and
drinking with her gossips in an ale-house when it is time to be getting
into the Ark. Several women meet together, and one of them proposes to
the others an _al fresco_ entertainment of this character.

The ale is recommended in these lines:—

 I know a draught of merry-go-downe,
 The best it is in all thys towne,
 But yet wold I not for my gowne,
 My husband it wyst, ye may me trust.

One of the women says, “God might send me a strype or two, if my
husband should see me here.” “Nay,” said Alice, “she that is afraid had
better go home; I fear no man.”

 And ich off them will sumwhat bryng,
 Gosse, pygge, or capon’s wing,
 Pastes off pigeons, or sum other thyng.
 Ech of them brought forth their dysch,
 Sum brought flesh and sum fysh.

Nor was the “mery-go-downe” forgotten. On going home these revellers
represent to their husbands that they have been _to church_.

It may be gathered from Dean Swift’s satirical advice to servants that
ale and beer in his day formed the principal dinner beverages in polite
society. In his directions to the butler, he tells him, “If any one
{277} desires a glass of bottled ale, first shake the bottle, to see
if anything be in it; then taste it, to see what liquor it is, that you
may not be mistaken; and, lastly, wipe the mouth of the bottle with the
palm of your hand, to show your cleanliness.

“If any one calls for small beer towards the end of the dinner, do
not give yourself the trouble of going down to the cellar, but gather
the droppings and leavings out of the several cups and glasses and
salvers into one; but turn your back to the company, for fear of being
observed. On the contrary, when any one calls for ale towards the end
of dinner, fill the largest tankard cup topful, by which you will have
the greatest part left to oblige your fellow-servants without the sin
of stealing from your master.”

In the seventeenth century there lived an interesting person named
John Bigg, better known as the Dinton Hermit, who subsisted chiefly
on bread and ale supplied him by his friends. He only begged one
thing—leather—with which he patched his shoes in innumerable
places. A portrait of him is to be seen in Lipscombe’s _History of
Buckinghamshire_. Two leather bottles hang at his girdle, the one for
ale, the other for small beer.

Many records are in existence illustrative of the custom of
distributing ale for charitable purposes. The following instances are
selected from a collection of _Old English Customs and various Bequests
and Charities_.

“At Piddle Hinton, Dorsetshire. An ancient custom is for the Rector
to give away, on Old Christmas Day, annually, a pound of bread, a
pint of ale, and a mince pie to every poor person in the parish. This
distribution is regularly made by the Rector to upwards of 300 persons.”

“At Swaffham Bulbeck, Cambridgeshire. Before the enclosure, the tenant
of the Abbey Farm in this parish, during those years in which the open
field land was under tillage, used to give a slice of cake and a glass
of ale to all parishioners who applied for it.”

“At Giggleswick, Yorkshire. By the will of William Clapham (1603)
4s. 4d. was left towards a potation for the poor scholars of the
Freeschool there on St. George’s Day; and the custom was formerly to
give figs, bread, and ale.”

“At Edgcott, Buckinghamshire. Robert Marcham, Esq., pays the overseers
£3 a year, a rent charge upon an acre of land.” This was formerly
distributed to the tenants in the shape of two cakes each, and as much
beer as they could drink at the time.

“At St. Giles’, Norwich. By the will of John Ballestin, 1584, the {278}
rent from three tenements was to be distributed to the poor in the
following manner: viz., that in the week before Christmas, the week
before Michaelmas, and the week after Easter, in the Church of St.
Giles, the Minister should request the poor people, all that should
receive or have need of alms, to come to Church, and pray for the
preservation of the Prince, &c.; that the poor should place themselves
four and four together, all that should be above the age of eleven
years, and that every four of them should have set before them a
twopenny wheat loaf, a gallon of best beer, and four pounds of beef and
broth.”

“At Prince’s Risborough, Buckinghamshire. Up to 1813, a Bull and a
boar, a sack of Wheat, and a sack of Malt were given away to the poor
by the Lord of the Manor, every Christmas morning about six o’clock.”

In many houses small beer was always kept to dispense in charity, Ben
Jonson, in _The Alchemist_, describes a mean, stingy person as—

               . . one who could keep
 The buttery-hatch still locked, and save the chippings,
 Sell the _dole_ beer to aqua vitæ men.

Visitors at Leicester’s Hospital, Warwick, may have noticed a huge
copper beer-tankard reposing on a shelf. This great cup holds six
quarts, and is filled with strong ale thrice a year on _gaudy_ days,
and passed round among the old brethren, pensioners of the house.

In the fourteenth century there was a custom for one of the fishermen
engaged upon the river Thames to present a salmon to the Abbot of
Westminster once a year. The fisherman who bore the tribute had that
day a right to sit at the prior’s table, and might demand bread and ale
of the cellarer; the cellarer on his part might take from the fish’s
tail as much as he could with “four fingers and his thumb erect.”

Superstitious observances were rife in former times. The Roman augurs
observed the flight of birds, and scrutinised the palpitating vitals
of fresh slain victims, thinking thereby to steal a march upon the
future. Our ancestors would draw omens from the barking of dogs, the
cries of wild fowl, or from the manner in which beer, accidentally
spilt from the cup, distributed itself upon the floor. Melton, in his
_Astrolagaster_, observes that “if the beere fall next a man it is a
signe of good luck.”

The customs and ceremonies attending the actual consumption of ale and
other liquors now require some few words. First in order stands the old
custom of pledging, which was in origin distinct from {279} toasting
or health-drinking. William of Malmesbury says that the treacherous
murder of King Edward while drinking a horn of wine presented to him
by his stepmother Elfrida, gave rise to the old custom of pledging. A
person before drinking would ask one who sat next to him whether he
would _pledge_ him. The other thereupon drew his sword and held it over
the drinker as a _pledge_ to him that no secret foe should strike him
in an unguarded moment while he drained the bowl. Others have referred
the origin of the custom to the treachery of the Danes, who would take
advantage of the attitude of a man when drinking a horn of ale or mead,
to stab him unawares. Be the origin what it may, the custom prevailed
for many centuries, and was one of the things noted by that lively and
inquisitive French physician, Stephen Perlin, who visited England about
the middle of the sixteenth century. Amongst many other entertaining
observations made by him is the following:—“The English, one with the
other, are joyous, and are very fond of music; they are also great
drinkers, . . . and they will say to you usually at table, ‘Goude
chere,’ and they will also say to you more than one hundred times,
‘Drind oui,’ and you will reply to them in their language, “I plaigui’
(‘I pledge you’).”

[Illustration: Health-Drinking.]

The custom of health-drinking seems to have been at one time or another
common to all European nations. The Romans had their _commissationes_,
or drinking bouts, and their “_bene te, bene tibi_.” Our own immediate
ancestors the Saxons, as we have already seen, observed the custom of
health-drinking with their “Wacht heil” and “Drinc heil.” {280} The
picture of an Anglo-Saxon dinner-party is taken from a MS., supposed to
be of the tenth century (Tiberius, c. vi., fol. 5, v.). The peculiar
weapons borne by the attendants are, no doubt, spits from which the
guests are carving meat. The preceding illustration occurs in Alfric’s
version of Genesis (MS. Cotton. Claudius, B. IV., fol. 36, v.) and
represents Abraham’s feast at the birth of his child.

[Illustration: Anglo-Saxons Feasting and Health-Drinking.]

The Danes, also, were great health-drinkers. It is recorded that
previous to the invasion of England by these ravaging pirates of the
North, in the reign of Sweyne, that monarch gave a great banquet on his
accession to the throne. First, the ale-horns were filled and emptied
in memory of the dead King Harold; the next draught was in honour of
Christ, and the third of St. Michael the Archangel. A writer of the
year 1623 thus describes the ceremonies of health-drinking as practised
at that time:—“He that begins the health first uncovering his head, he
takes a full cup in his hand, and setting his countenance with a grave
aspect, he craves for audience; silence being once obtained, he begins
to breathe out the name, peradventure, of some honourable personage,
whose health, is drunk to, and he that pledges must likewise off with
his cap, kiss his fingers, and bow himself in sign of a reverent
acceptance. When the leader sees his follower thus prepared, he sups
up his broth, turns the bottom of the cup upward, and, in ostentation
of his dexterity, gives the cup a fillip to make it cry _twango_. And
thus the first scene is acted. The cup being newly replenished to the
breadth of a hair, he that is the pledger must now begin his part; and
{281} thus it goes round throughout the whole company.” To prove that
each person had drunk off his measure, he had to turn the glass over
his thumb, and if so much liquor remained as to make more than a drop
which would stand on the nail of his thumb without running off, he had
to drink off another bumper. This latter practice went by the name
of _supernaculm_, and is mentioned in an old ballad, _The Winchester
Wedding_:—

 Then Phillip began her health,
 And turn’d a beer-glass o’er his thumb,
 But Jenkin was reckoned for drinking,
 The best in Christendom.

The author of _Memoires d’Angleterre_ (1698) mentions the absolute
universality of this practice of health-drinking amongst the English.
“To drink at table,” he writes, “without drinking to the health of some
one in especial, would be considered drinking on the sly, and as an act
of incivility. There are in this proceeding two principal and singular
grimaces, which are universally observed. . . .” The person whose
health is drunk must remain as inactive as a statue while the drinker
drinks, after which the second grimace is “to make him an _inclinabo_,
at the risk of dipping his periwig in the gravy. . . . I confess that
when a foreigner first sees these manners he thinks them laughable.”
And yet one would have thought that a Frenchman’s familiarity with
toasting would have rendered the proceeding not so singular an one
after all, for that custom was carried to an extreme in his own
nation, among the choice spirits of which it was not unusual to give a
toast which necessitated the drinking of a glass to each letter of a
mistress’s name, as illustrated in the lines:—

 Six fois je m’en vas boire au beau nom de Cloris,
 Cloris, le seul desire de ma chaste pensée.

Space forbids that we should go very fully into all these old drinking
customs, though some of them are fantastic and curious enough. One
or two more, however, may be mentioned. In Elizabethan times it was
customary for hard drinkers to put some inflammable substance on the
surface of their liquor, and so to swallow the draught and the blazing
fragment at a gulp. This was called flap-dragoning, and the fiery
morsel was known as a flap-dragon. Shakspere has many allusions to
this practice. Falstaff says of Prince Hal, that he “drinks off {282}
candle-ends for flap-dragons.” And in _Winter’s Tale_ an instance of
the verb occurs in the passage, “But to make an end of the ship; to
see how the sea flap-dragoned it.” The captain in _Rowley’s Match at
Midnight_ asserts that his corporal “was lately choked at Delf by
swallowing a flap-dragon.”

The term hob-nob as denoting pot-companionship, has been said by some
to be a corruption of “Habbe or nabbe?” _i.e._, Will you have or not
have (a drink)? Others suggest a more whimsical derivation. It is said
that the Maids of Honour of the Tudor Court, who we have seen were
ale-ladies, if they cannot be called ale-knights, frequently liked
their beer warm, and had it placed upon the hob of the grate “to take
the chill off.” It was therefore natural for their attendants to ask
the question, “From the hob or not from the hob?” which in process of
time became “Hob or nob?”

The above remarks on drinking customs lead to the consideration of the
extravagant drinking and eating of days gone by. Our ancestors, both
Saxon and Dane, were tremendous drinkers, and their sole amusement
after the labours of the day seems to have been drinking down mighty
draughts of ale and mead, and getting themselves under the table as
quickly as possible. An ancient anecdote is told of a Saxon bishop,
who invited a Dane to his house for the purpose of making him drunk.
After dinner “the tables were taken away, and they passed the rest
of the day until evening in drinking.” The cupbearer manages matters
in such a manner that the Dane’s turn comes round much oftener than
that of the others, as, indeed, “the bishop had directed him,” and
the desired end is at last attained. Whether Iago was right when he
gave to the English the palm in drinking over “your Dane, your German,
and your swag-bellied Hollander,” and whether one taught the other
his own particular drinking vices, we cannot stop now to inquire. The
English were always famed for their love of strong ale, and passing
over the intervening centuries and coming down to the Tudor period,
many instances could be quoted from contemporary writers showing the
proneness of our ancestors to drench deep thought in tankards of the
nappy nut-brown ale. Stubbe, in his _Anatomie of Abuses_ (1585), says
that the ale-houses in London were crowded from morning to night with
inveterate drunkards, whose only care was how to get as much heady ale
into their carcases as possible. Ale, strong ale, was all the cry;
one who could not or would not quaff of the strongest was counted a
milksop, {284} while he who could drink longest of it without (or
rather before), getting tipsy, was the king of the company. It must
have been of such an one that Herrick wrote—

 Tap, better known than trusted, as we hear,
 Sold his old mother’s spectacles for beer,
 And not unlikely, rather too than fail,
 He’ll sell her eyes and nose for beer and ale.

The love for the strong and the contempt for the small is illustrated
in the well-known lines of the old song:—

 He who drinks small beer, goes to bed sober,
 Falls as the leaves do fall, that fall in October;
 He who drinks strong ale, goes to bed mellow,
 Lives as he ought to live, and dies a jolly fellow.

Such was the love of strong ale in the sixteenth century that a term
was actually invented to describe madness produced by excessive
ale-drinking. A writer in the year 1598 affords us an instance of
the word in question, when he says that “to arrest a man that hath
no likeness to a horse is flat lunasie or _alecie_.” Harrison, whom
we have frequently had occasion to quote, in speaking of the heavy
ale-drinking of his days, though the ale was then “more thick and
fulsome” than the beer, says, “Certes I know some ale-knights so much
addicted thereunto, that they will not cease from morow until even to
visit the same, clensing house after house, till they either fall quite
under the boord, or else, not daring to stirre from their stooles, sit
still pinking with their narrow eies as halfe sleeping, till the fume
of their adversarie be digested that he may go to it afresh.”

[Illustration: The Ale-Wives’ Invitation to Married Men and Bachelors:

Shewing

How a good fellow is ſlighted when he is brought to Poverty.

 Therefore take my Counſel and Ale-wives don’t truſt.
 For when you have waſted and ſpent all you have
 Then out of doors ſhe will you headlong thruſt,
 Calling you raſcal and ſhirking Knave,
 But ſo long as you have money, come early or late
 You ſhall have her command, or elſe her maid Kate.
                                    To a new tune, or _Digbys Farewell._

A Ballad ſuppoſed to be ſung by a young man who, having ſpent his money
in Ale-houſes, offers ſome advice on the ſubject.

 “And thus all young men, you plainly may ſee
  This ſong it will learn you good huſbands to be.”
                                           _Collec. Eng. Ballads._
]

Herrick has left us an epigram upon a person of the class described by
Harrison:—

 Spunge makes his boast that he’s the onely man,
 Can hold of beere and ale an ocean;
 Is this his glory? then his triumph’s poore;
 I know the Tunne of Hidleberge holds more.

Profuseness in drinking was accompanied with enormous gluttony in
eating. At one of the feasts of the Court of King James I.—

 They served up venison, salmon, and wild boars,
 By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores. {285}
 Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard,
 Muttons and fatted beeves, and bacon swine;
 Herons, and bitterns, peacocks, swan, and bustard.
 Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeon, and in fine,
 Plum puddings, pancakes, apple pie and custard.
 And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine,
 With mead, and _Ale_, and cider of our own.

This, however, was only a mild repetition of some of the prodigious
feasts of former days. On the enthronement of George Nevile as
archbishop of York, in the reign of Edward IV., the following was the
list of eatables which furnished the tables:—104 oxen, 6 wild bulls,
1,000 sheep, 304 calves, 304 swine, 400 swans, 2,000 geese, 1,000
capons, 2,000 pigs, many thousand of various small birds such as quail,
plovers, &c., 4,000 cold venison pasties, 500 stags, 608 pike and
bream, 12 porpoises and seals, and many other delicacies. These solids
were washed down with 300 tuns of ale and 100 tuns of wine and “one
pynt of hypocrass.”

Nor were the clergy behind the laity in their devotion to good living.
In Saxon times the frequent directions to the monks and friars to
abstain from excess in eating and drinking, from haunting ale-houses
and from acting the ale-scop or gleeman at such places, all tell their
own tale. The frequency with which from that period the intemperance
of the clergy called forth the rebukes of their superiors and the
satire of the writers of the day, show that matters did not mend much
as mediæval times advanced. Friar Tuck, as depicted in _Ivanhoe_, is
probably a type of many a jolly monk of his day. For his drink is
assigned “a but of sack, a rumlet of malvoisie, and three hogsheads of
ale of the first strike. And if,” continues the King, “that will not
quench thy thirst, thou must come to court, and be acquainted with my
butler.” Chaucer describes his monk as a free liver and a jolly good
fellow, whose sentiments with regard to the duties of his order are
shown in the lines:—

 The reule of seynt Maure or of seint Beneyt,
 Bycause that it was old and somdel streyt,
 This ilke monk let olde things pace,
 And held after the newe world the space.

The Friar, too, who “knew the taverns well in every town,” may be taken
as a true portrait of a prominent figure of the times. It is recorded
that the Abbey of Aberbrothwick expended annually 9,000 {286} bushels
of malt in ale-brewing, and a popular satire, perpetuated by Sir Walter
Scott on the monks of Melrose, declares that—

 The monks of Melrose made fat kail
   On Fridays when they fasted;
 And neither wanted beef nor ale,
   So long as their neighbours’ lasted.

The names of some of the drinks in vogue are exceedingly suggestive; we
read of Bishop, Cardinal, Lawn Sleeves, Pope, and others of a similar
character.

The Glutton-masses of the secular clergy, as described by Henry in his
_History of England_, “were celebrated five times a year, in honour of
the Virgin Mary, in this manner. Early in the morning the people of the
parish assembled in the church, loaded with ample stores of meats and
drinks of all kinds. As soon as mass ended, the feast began, in which
the clergy and laity engaged with equal ardour. The church was turned
into a tavern, and became a scene of excessive riot and intemperance.
The priests and people of different parishes entered into formal
contests, which of them should have the greatest glutton mass, _i.e._,
which of them should devour the greatest quantity of meat and drink in
honour of the Holy Virgin.”

The Tudor period seems to have produced but little amendment in this
respect. Satirists of the day make constant allusion to the fondness of
ecclesiastics, both exalted and humble, for strong drink and every kind
of sensual indulgence. Skelton, in _Colin Clout_, speaking of the angry
disputes of churchmen when under the influence of drink, says:—

 Such logic men will chop,
 And in their fury hop
 When the good ale-sop
 Doth dance in their foretop.

In the old Comedy of _Gammer Gurton’s Needle_, already referred to,
the parson is wanted, and the old Gammer gives the boy the following
directions for finding him:—

 Hence swithe to Doctor Rat, hye thee that thou were gone,
 And pray him come speke with me, cham not well at ease,
 Shall find him at his chamber, or els at Mother Bees,
 Els seek him at _Hobfilcher’s_ shop; for as charde it reported
 There _is the best Ale in the Town, and now is most resorted_.

{287}

The boy goes forth to seek him as he is ordered; and when he returns,
Gammer thus inquires:—

 _Gammer_:
   “Where did’st thou finde him, Boy? was he not wher I told thee?”

 _Cock_:
   “Yes, yes, even at _Hobfilcher’s_ house, by him that bought and
            sold me:
    A _cup of ale_ had in his hand, and a _crab_ lay in the fier . .”

Drunkenness amongst the clergy was probably at this period too
common for much mention of it to be made in the various records of
ecclesiastical offences. An occasional prosecution, however, seems to
have been instituted before the Ordinary. One such may be found in the
Records of the Ecclesiastical Court of Chester, 1575, where the Vicar
of Whalley is charged with being “a common dronker and ale-knight.”

The time has happily gone by when a Swift could write of

 “Three or four parsons full of October,
  Three or four squires between drunk and sober,”

or a Pope of “a parson much bemused with beer,” or when the following
old Ballad could be supposed to give a true picture of the habits of
village clergymen:—

THE PARSON.

  A parson who had the remarkable foible
  Of minding the bottle much more than the Bible,
  Was deemed by his neighbours to be less perplex’d
  In handling a tankard than handling a text.

  Perch’d up in his pulpit, one Sunday, he cry’d,
 “Make patience, my dearly beloved, your guide,
  And in your distresses, your troubles, your crosses,
  Remember the patience of Job in his losses.”

  The parson had got a stout cask of beer,
  By way of a present—no matter from where—
  Suffice it to know, it was toothsome and good,
  And he lov’d it as well as he did his own blood. {288}

  While he the church service in haste rambled o’er,
  The hogs found a way thro’ his old cellar door,
  And by the strong scent to the beer barrel led
  Had knock’d out the spiggot or cock from its head.

  Out spurted the liquor abroad on the ground,
  The unbidden guests quaffed it merrily round,
  Nor from their diversion and merriment ceas’d
  Till ev’ry hog there was as drunk as a beast.

  And now the grave lecture and prayers at an end,
  He brings along with him a neighbouring friend,
  To be a partaker of Sunday’s good cheer,
  And taste the delightful October brew’d beer.

  The dinner was ready, the things were laid snug,
 “Here, wife,” says the parson, “go fetch us a mug,”
  But a mug of what?—he had scarce time to tell her,
  When, “yonder,” says she, “are the hogs in the cellar.

  To be sure they got in when we’re at prayers,”
 “To be sure you’re a fool,” said he, “get you down stairs,
  And bring what I bid you, and see what’s the matter.
  For now I myself hear a grunting and clatter.”

  She went, and returned with sorrowful face,
  In suitable phrases related the case,
  He rav’d like a madman about in the room,
  And then beat his wife and the hogs with the broom.

 “Lord, husband,” said she, “what a coil you keep here,
  About a poor beggarly barrel of beer.
  You should, ‘_in your troubles, mischances, and crosses,
  Remember the patience of Job in his losses_.’”

 “A plague upon Job,” cried the priest in his rage,
 “That beer, I dare say, was near ten years of age;
  But you’re a poor ignorant jade like _his_ wife;
  For Job never had such a cask in his life.”

A curious tale is related of one Mr. Dod, who had a country living near
Cambridge. Being impressed by the intemperance then prevalent in the
University, he on one occasion preached a very vigorous condemnatory
sermon on the vice of drunkenness. Soon after, several of the {289}
undergraduates, who were disporting themselves at some little distance
from the town, perceived Mr. Dod jogging along towards them on his old
horse. Annoyed at the sermon on drinking, which had probably seemed
to them as directed specially against themselves, the undergraduates
rapidly consulted together, and determined in revenge to make the old
man preach a sermon from a text of their own choosing. At first he
declined, but his persecutors were inexorable, and he was forced to
submit with the best grace he could. “Well, gentlemen,” he said, “as
you are thus urgent for my compliance, pray what is the subject I am
to handle?” They answered, “Sir, the word _malt_; and, for want of a
better, here, Sir, is your pulpit,” pointing to the stump of a hollow
tree that stood by. Whereupon the venerable man mounted the rostrum,
and spoke as follows:—

“Beloved,

“I am a little man, come at a short warning,—to deliver a brief
discourse,—upon a small subject,—to a thin congregation, and from an
unworthly pulpit.

“Beloved, my text is—

 “M A L T,

“Which cannot be divided into words, it being but one; nor into
syllables, it being but one: therefore, of necessity, I must reduce it
into letters, which I find to be these,

 “M—A—L—T.

“M—my beloved, is Moral. A—is Allegorical. L—is Literal, T—is
Theological.

“The moral is set forth to teach you drunkards good manners, therefore:
M—my Masters. A—All of you. L—Listen. T—to my Text.

“The allegorical is when one thing is spoken, and another is intended:
the thing expressed is MALT; the thing signified is the oil of Malt,
which you Bacchanals make: M—your Meat. A—your Apparel. L—your liberty.
T—your Text.

“The Literal is according to the letter: M—Much. A—Ale. L—Little.
T—Thrift.

“The Theological is according to the effects it produces, which I find
to consist of two kinds. The first respects this life, the second, that
which is to come.

“The effects it produces in this world are in some: M—Murder.
A—Adultery. L—Licentious Lives. T—Treason. {290}

“The effects consequent in the world to come are: M—Misery. A—Anguish.
L—Lamentation. T—Torment.

“Thus, sirs, having briefly opened and explained my short text, give me
leave to make a little use and improvement of the foregoing. First, by
way of exhortation: M—My Masters. A—All of you. L—Look for. T—Torment.

“Now to wind up the whole and draw to a close, take with you the
characteristics of a drunkard. A drunkard is the annoyance of modesty,
the spoil of civility, his own shame, his children’s curse, his
neighbour’s scoff, the alehouse man’s benefactor, the devil’s drudge, a
walking swill-bowl, the picture of a beast, and monster of a man.”

There was a curious custom in vogue at the beginning of the seventeenth
century known as “muggling.” It was thus described by Young, in
_England’s Bane_: “I have seen a company amongst the very woods and
forests drinking for a muggle. Sixe determined to try their strengths
who could drinke most glasses for the muggle. The first drinkes a
glasse of a pint, the second two, the next three, and so every one
multiplieth till the last taketh sixe. Then the first beginneth againe
and taketh seven, and in this manner they drinke thrice a peece round,
every man taking a glasse more than his fellow, so that he that dranke
least, which was the first, dranke one and twenty pints, and the sixth
man thirty-six.” So great was the ale-drinking at this time, that the
headache brought on by it was known by the common expression, “the
ale passion,” and one in liquor was said to have been “kicked by the
brewer’s horse.”

One or two instances, only, of the drinking songs popular in
olden times can be given here. The _Merry Fellows_, a song of the
Restoration, well illustrates the old idea that merriness must be
accompanied with potations “pottle deep”:—

 Now, since we’re met, let’s merry, merry be,
   In spite of all our foes;
 And he that will not merry be,
   We’ll pull him by the nose.

     _Chorus._ Let him be merry, merry there,
                 While we’re all merry, merry here;
              For who can know where he shall go,
                 To be merry another year. {291}

 He that will not merry, merry be,
   With a generous bowl and a toast,
 May he in Bridewell be shut up,
   And fast bound to a post.
             Let him, &c.

 He that will not merry, merry be,
   And take his glass in course,
 May he be obliged to drink small beer,
   Ne’er a penny in his purse.
             Let him, &c.

 He that will not merry, merry be
   With a company of jolly boys,
 May he be plagued with a scolding wife
   To confound him with her noise.
             Let him, &c.

 He that will not merry, merry be,
   With his sweetheart by his side,
 Let him be laid in the cold church-yard
   With a head-stone for his bride.
             Let him, &c.

Cobblers have already been mentioned as devotees of strong malt drinks,
and many a cozier’s catch celebrates this propensity. Here is one:—

 Come, sit we here by the fire-side,
   And roundly drink we here,
 Till that we see our cheeks ale-dyed,
   And noses tanned with beer.

Shoemakers and cobblers used to call a red-herring a pheasant, and in
the same inflated style term half a pint of beer half a gallon, and a
pint of beer a gallon, much after the manner of Caleb Balderstone in
_The Bride of Lammermoor_.

Tinkers, too, swore by Ceres and not by Bacchus, as Herrick shows in
his _Tinker’s Song_.

 Along, come along,
 Let’s meet in a throng
   Here of tinkers; {292}

 And quaff up a bowl,
 As big as a cowl,
   To beer-drinkers.

 The pole of the hop
 Place in the ale shop,
   To bethwack us,
 If ever we think
 So much as to drink
   Unto Bacchus.

 Who frolic will be
 For little cost, he
   Must not vary
 From beer-broth at all
 So much as to call
   For canary.

Last century may be said to have brought the vice of heavy drinking to
its highest pitch. Statesmen, Judges, dignitaries of the Church—all
joined in the riotous living of the time. The usual allowance for a
_moderate_ man at dinner seems to have been two bottles of port. Men
were known as two-bottle men, three and four-bottle men, and even in
some instances _six-bottle men_. Lord Eldon, who was himself inclined
to get a little merry after dinner, relates an amusing story in his
_Anecdote Book_, which is illustrative of the habits of the day. He
tells how Jemmy Boswell, Dr. Johnson’s Biographer, while on assize, so
exceeded the bounds of moderation one evening, that he was found by
his friends lying on the pavement very drunk. His comrades, of whom
Lord Eldon (then Mr. Scott) was one, subscribed a guinea amongst them,
and sent Boswell a bogus brief, instructing him to move the Court
the next day for a writ of _Quare adhæsit pavimento_. Much to the
astonishment of the learned Judge who presided, Mr. Boswell actually
made the application in due course. The whole court was convulsed with
laughter, and the unfortunate counsel, turning this way and that in his
perplexity, knew not what to make of it. At last a learned friend came
to his assistance. “My lord,” he said, “Mr. Boswell _adhæsit pavimento_
last night; there was no moving him for some time. At length he was
carried to bed, and has been dreaming of what happened to himself.”
Where such manners prevailed in the {293} upper ranks of life, the
lower orders were not likely to be more sober. As a matter of fact,
gin ran riot amongst the working classes in the great centres of
population, spreading corruption of morals and ruin of health on every
side.

One more instance of a huge drinker may be given: One Jedediah Buxton
was curious enough in his drinking habits to calculate the number of
pints of ale or strong beer that he had drunk free of cost to himself
since he was twelve years of age, and the names of the gentlemen at
whose houses he had consumed them. The list began with the Duke of
Kingston, 2,130 pints; Duke of Norfolk, 266 pints; Duke of Leeds, 232,
and so on through a long list, of which it need only be said the total
amounted to 5,116 pints or _winds_, as he termed them, because, he
said, he never took more than one wind, or breath, to a pint and two
to a quart. Surely this man deserves to rank among the curiosities
of the subject. Happily times have changed and drunkenness, we may
hope, will soon cease to be counted a national vice. Bearing in mind
the excesses to which drinking was carried in the last century, it
cannot be denied that much progress has been made in the direction of
moderation; and that the habits of the whole people—slow and difficult
as such habits are to change—have undergone a very marked improvement.
Ere the next century has had time to grow from youth to old age, it may
be impossible to find in any rank of the population a man who could say
of an evening’s amusement like the old Scotch Shepherd, “It was a grand
treat, for before the end o’t there was na ane of us able to bite his
ain thoomb!”

{294}

CHAPTER XI.

 ’Tis Ale, immortal Ale I sing!
 Bid all the Muses throng!
 Bid them awake each slumbering string,
 Till the loud chords responsive ring
   To swell the lofty song!
                                    _Brasenose College Shrovetide Poem._

 These venerable ancient song inditers
 Soar’d many a pitch above our modern writers;
 Our numbers may be more refin’d than those,
 But what we’ve gained in verse we’ve lost in prose;
 Their words no shuffling double meaning knew,
 Their speech was homely, but their hearts were true.
                                                                 _Rowe._

_OLD BALLADS, SONGS AND VERSES RELATING TO ALE AND BEER._

Long ago, in the merry days when the chilling influence of Puritanism
had not yet put an end to the majority of our sports and pastimes, and
when anyone who had ventured to speak of a May-pole as a “Stinckyng
Idoll” would most likely have been ducked in the nearest pond as a
proper reward for his calumny, the lower orders of England were far
more musical than at present; and there existed a great demand for
ballads to be sung at village merry-makings, ale-house gatherings,
and during the long winter evenings which would have been dull indeed
without the cheering influence of song. {295}

Of the quaint old ballads, written mostly in the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries, a splendid collection was made by the Earl of
Oxford (born in 1661), to whom we are also indebted for the Harleian
MSS., now in the British Museum. These ballads are known as the
_Roxburghe Collection_, and a selection of them is given in this
chapter, together with facsimile reproductions of the curious woodcuts
with which the originals are adorned.[62]

   [62] Most of the Roxburghe Ballads have been reprinted by the Ballad
   Society, and for the very scanty information we have been able to
   gather concerning them we are in a great measure indebted to the
   Editors of these reprints. Our illustrations have been taken in
   every case from the original ballads, and are, we believe, the only
   exact facsimile reproductions in existence.

The most important ballad connected with the subject of ale and beer
is _Sir John Barley-corne_, of which there are many versions. It seems
very probable that the original is not in existence, for at a very
early date songs bearing the same name, and containing in effect the
same words, were known both in the North of England and in the West
Country. In later editions of Sir John Barley-corne old printers seem
to have frequently varied the text, and in recent times Burns has
recast the verses of the old ballad.

The version given below is the oldest in the _Roxburghe Collection_,
and must have been written at some time previous to the reign of
James I. To anyone who has perused these pages so far, the pretty
allegory contained in the ballad will not require explanation, but it
may be well to point out that Sir John is the grain of barley which
the farmer, the maltster, the miller, and the brewer do their best
to destroy. However, after having forced Sir John to go through the
various processes of agriculture, malting, and brewing, a friend,
Thomas Good-ale, comes to the poor fellow’s assistance with mickle
might, and takes “their tongues away, their legs or else their sight.”
The illustration is taken from a later version.

SIR JOHN BARLEY-CORNE.

 A pleasant new Ballad to sing both even and morne
 Of the bloody Murther of Sir John Barley-corne.

 To the tune of _Shall I lye beyond thee_. {296}

 As I went through the North countrey,
   I heard a merry greeting,
 A pleasant toy and full of joy,
   two noblemen were meeting.

 And as they walkèd for to sport,
   upon a summer’s day,
 Then with another nobleman,
   they went to make a fray.

 Whose name was Sir John Barley-corne;
   he dwelt down in a dale;
 Who had a kinsman dwelt him nigh,
   they cal’d him Thomas Good-ale.

 Another namèd Richard Beere
   was ready at that time,
 Another worthy Knight was there,
   call’d Sir William White-wine.

 Some of them fought in a Blacke-Jack,
   some of them in a Can;
 But the chiefest in a blacke-pot,
   like a worthy alderman. {297}

 Sir Barly-corn fought in a Boule,
   who wonne the victorie;
 And made them all to fume and swear
   that Barly-corne should die.

 Some said Kill him some said Drown
   others wisht to hang him hie—
 For as many as follow Barly-corne,
   shall surely beggers die.

 Then with a plough they plow’d him up,
   and thus they did devise,
 To burie him quicke within the earth,
   and swore he should not rise.

 With harrowes strong they combèd him,
   and burst clods on his head,
 A joyful banquet then was made,
   when Barly-corne was dead.

 He rested still within the earth,
   till raine from skies did fall,
 Then he grew up in branches greene,
   which sore amaz’d them all.

 And so grew up till midsommer,
   which made them all afeard;
 For he was sprouted up on hie
   and got a goodly beard.

 Then he grew till S. James’s-tide,
   his countenance was wan,
 For he was growne unto his strength,
   and thus became a man.

 With hookes and sickles keene
   into the field they hide,
 They cut his legs off by the knees,
   and made him wounds full wide. {298}

 Thus bloodily they cut him downe,
   from place where he did stand,
 And like a thiefe for treachery,
   they bound him in a band.

 So then they tooke him up againe,
   according to his kind,
 And packt him up in severall stackes
   to wither with the wind.

 And with a pitchforke that was sharpe,
   they rent him to the heart;
 And like a thiefe for treason vile,
   they bound him in a cart.

 And tending him with weapons strong,
   unto the towne they hie,
 And straight they mowed him in a mow,
   and there they let him lie.

 Then he lay groning by the wals,
   till all his wounds were sore,
 At length they tooke him up againe,
   and cast him on the floore.

 They hyrèd two with holly clubs,
   to beat on him at once,
 They thwackèd so on Barly-corne
   that flesh fell from his bones.

 And then they tooke him up againe,
   to fulfill women’s minde,
 They dusted and they sifted him,
   till he was almost blind.

 And then they knit him in a sacke,
   which grievèd him full sore,
 They steep’d him in a Fat, God-wot,
   for three days space and more. {299}

 Then they took him up againe,
   and laid him for to drie,
 They cast him on a chamber floore,
   and swore that he should die.

 They rubbèd him and stirrèd him,
   and still they did him turne
 The malt-man swore that he should die,
   his body he would burne.

 They spightfully tooke him up againe
   and threw him on a Kill;
 So dried him there with fire hot,
   and thus they wrought their will.

 Then they brought him to the mill
   and there they burst his bones,
 The miller swore to murther him,
   betwixt a paire of stones.

 Then they tooke him up againe
   and serv’d him worse then that;
 For with hot scalding liquor store,
   they washt him in a Fat.

 But not content with this, God-wot,
   they did him mickle harme,
 With threatening words they promisèd,
   to beat him into barme.

 And lying in this danger deep,
   for feare that he should quarrell,
 They tooke him straight out of the fat
   and tunn’d him in a barrell.

 And then they set a tap to him,
   even thus his death begun,
 They drew out every dram of blood,
   whilst any drop would run. {300}

 Some brought jacks, upon their backes,
   some brought bill and bow,
 And every man his weapon had
   Barly-corne to overthrow.

 When Sir John Good-ale heard of this,
   he came with mickle might,
 And there he tooke their tongues away,
   their legs, or else their sight.

 And thus Sir John in each respect,
   so paid them all their hire,
 That some lay sleeping by the way,
   some tumbling in the mire.

 Some lay groning by the wals,
   some in the streets downe right,
 The best of them did scarcely know
   what they had done ore-night.

 All you good wives that brew good Ale,
   God turne from you all teene,
 But if you put too much water in
   the devill put out your eyne!

“Printed for John Wright and are to be sold at his Shop in Guilt Spurre
Street at the sign of the Bible.”

Another version commences:—

 There were two brothers liv’d under yon hill,
 As it might be you and I;
 And one of them did solemnly swear
 That Sir John Barley-corn should die.

Burns’ ballad commences:—

 There went three Kings into the East,
 Three Kings both great and high,
 And they have sworn a solemn oath
 John Barleycorn should die, {301}

and ends—

 Then let us toast John Barleycorn,
 Each man a glass in hand,
 And may his great posterity
 Ne’er fail in old Scotland.

Burns, no doubt, founded his ballad on the West Country _Sir John
Barleycorn_, which, according to Robert Bell, in his annotated edition
of ancient ballads, can set up a better claim to antiquity than any
copy in the _Roxburghe Collection_. It commences thus:—

 There came three men out of the West
   Their victory to try;
 And they have taken solemn oath,
   Poor Barleycorn should die.

This, by the way, reads like the origin of a teetotal movement.

Printed on the same sheet as the _Sir John Barley-corne_ of the
_Roxburghe Collection_ is another old ballad of probably the same
date, the author of which is unknown. It has no illustration, and is
entitled:—

 A new Ballad for you to looke on,
 How mault doth deale with everyone.

 To the tune of _Triumph and Joy_.

 Mas Mault he is a genleman,
 And hath beene since the world began,
 I never knew yet any man,
     That could match with Master Mault, Sir,
 I never knew any match Mault but once,
 The Miller with his grinding stones,
 He laid them so close that he crusht his bones;
     You never knew the like, Sir.
 Mault, Mault, thou art a flowre;
 Thou art beloved in every bowre,
 Thou canst not be missing one halfe howre;
     You never saw the like, Sir.
 For laying of his stones so close
 Mault gave the Miller a copper nose,
 Saying, Thou and I will never be foes,
     But unto thee I sticke, Sir. {302}
 Mault gave the miller such a blow,
 That from his horse he fell full low;
 He taught him his master Mault for to know;
     You never saw the like, Sir,
 Our hostesse maid she was to blame,
 She stole Master Mault away from her dame,
 And in her belly she hid the same,
     You never saw the like, Sir.
 So when the Mault did worke in her head,
 Twice a day she would be sped,
 At night she could not goe to bed,
     Nor scarce stand on her feet, Sir.
 Then came in the Master Smith,
 And said that Mault he was a thief;
 But Mault gave him such a dash in the teeth,
     You never saw the like, Sir.
 For when his iron was hot and red,
 He had such an ach all in his head,
 The Smith was faine to get him to bed,
     For then he was very Sicke, Sir.
 The carpender came a peece to square,
 He bad Mault come out if he dare,
 He would empty his belly and beat his sides bare,
     That he knew not where to sit, Sir.
 To fire he went, with an arme full of chips,
 Mault hit him right betweene his lips,
 And made him lame in both his hips;
     You never saw the like, Sir.
 The shooe-maker sitting upon his seat,
 With Master Mault he began to fret,
 He said he would the Knave so beat,
     You never saw the like, Sir.

The writer, in a number of verses, then shows how “Mas Mault” deals
with the shoemaker, the weaver, the tailor, the tinker, and the sailor,
including the chapman, a person of interest to us as the retailer of
such ballads as these.

 Then came the Chapman travelling by,
 And said, ‘my Masters I will be w’ ye, {303}
 Indeed, Master Mault, my mouth is dry,
     I will gnaw you with my teeth, Sir.
 The chapman he laid on apace,
 Till store of blood came in his face,
 But Mault brought him in such a case,
     You never saw the like, Sir.

Several other persons are then dealt with, and the ballad ends with the
lines:—

 Thus of my song I will make an end
 And pray my hostesse to be my friend,
 To give me some drink now my money is spend,
     Then Mault and I am quite, Sir.

The tune to which this ballad is to be sung is probably the same as the
old air _Greene Sleeves_.

A song near akin to the foregoing, also showing the effects of barley
wine, is _The Little Barley Corn_. It is evidently of the time of
Charles I., from the allusions it contains to the King’s great Porter,
and to Banks, whose performing horse is mentioned.

THE LITTLE BARLEY-CORN.

 Whose properties and vertues here
 Shall plainly to the world appeare;
 To make you merry all the yeere.

 To the tune of _Stingo_.

{304}

 Come, and doe not musing stand,
   if thou the truth discerne;
 But take a full cup in thy hand
   and thus begin to learne,
 Not of the earth nor of the ayre,
   at evening or at morne,—
 But joviall boys your Christmas keep
   _with the Little Barley-corn_.

 It is the cunningst alchymist
   that e’re was in the land;
 ’Twill change your mettle when it list,
   in turning of a hand.
 Your blushing gold to silver wan,
   your silver into brasse,—
 ’Twill turn a taylor to a man,
   _and a man into an asse_.

 ’Twill make a poore man rich to hang
   a sign before his doore;
 And those that doe the pitcher bang,
   though rich, ’twill make them poor,
 ’Twill make the silliest poorest snake
   the King’s great Porter scorne;
 ’Twill make the stoutest lubber weak,
   _this little Barley-Corn_.

 It hath more shifts than Lambe ere had,
   or _Hocus-pocus_ too;
 It will good fellowes shew more sport
   then _Bankes_ his horse could doe;
 ’Twill play you faire above the boord,
   unlesse you take good heed,
 And fell you, though you were a Lord,
   _and justify the deed_.

 It lends more yeeres unto old age,
   than ere was lent by nature;
 It makes the poet’s fancy rage,
   more than Castalian water. {305}
 ’Twill make a huntsman chase a fox,
   and never winde his horne;
 ’Twill cheer a tinker in the stockes,
   _this little barley-corn_.

 It is the only Will o’ th’ Wisp
   which leades men from the way;
 ’Twill make the tongue-ti’d lawyer lisp,
   and nought but (hic up) say.
 ’Twill make the Steward droope and stoop,
   his bils he then will scorne,
 And at each post cast his reckoning up,
   _this little barley-corn_.

 ’Twill make a man grow jealous soone,
   whose pretty wife goes trim,
 And raile at the deceiving moone
   for making hornes at him:
 ’Twill make the maidens trimly dance,
   and take it in no scorne,
 And helpe them to a friend by chance,
   _this little barley-corn_.

 It is the neatest serving-man,
   to entertaine a friend;
 It will doe more than money can
   all jarring suits to end:
 There’s life in it, and it is here,
   ’tis here within this cup;
 Then take your liquor, doe not spare,
   _but cleare carouse it up_.

To this ballad there is a second part to much the same effect. We give
the illustration and a few verses. Both parts are in the _Roxburghe
Collection_.

 The Second Part of the Little Barley-corne
 That cheereth the heart both evening and morne.

 _To the same tune._

{306}

 If sicknesse come, this physick take,
   it from your heart will set it;
 If feare incroach, take more of it,
   your head will soone forget it;
 Apollo, and the Muses nine,
   doe take it in no scorne;
 There’s no such stuffe to passe the time
   _as the little Barley-corne_.

 ’Twill make a weeping widdow laugh
   and soone incline to pleasure;
 ’Twill make an old man leave his staffe
   and dance a youthful measure:
 And though your clothes be nere so bad
   all ragged rent and torne,
 Against the cold you may be clad
   _with the little Barley-corne_.
 Thus the Barley-Corne hath power
   even for to change our nature,
 And make a shrew, within an houre,
   prove a kind-hearted creature:
 And therefore here, I say againe,
   let no man tak’t in scorne,
 That I the vertues doe proclaime
   _of the little Barley-corne_.”

 Printed at London for E. B.

The following song in praise of ale is taken from _London
Chanticleers_, a rude sketch of a play printed in 1659, but evidently
much older. The {307} reference to being “without hops” in the verse
vii. is noticeable. It will be remembered that the ale which our
forefathers drank was made without hops, which “pernicious weeds” were
only used in the “Dutchman’s strong beere.”

I.

 Submit, Bunch of Grapes,
 To the strong Barley ear;
 The weak wine no longer
 The laurel shall wear.

II.

 Sack, and all drinks else,
 Desist from the strife:
 Ale’s the only Aqua Vitæ,
 And liquor of life.

III.

 Then come my boon fellows,
 Let’s drink it around;
 It keeps us from grave,
 Though it lays us on ground.

IIII.

 Ale’s a Physician,
 No Mountebank Bragger:
 Can cure the chill Ague,
 Though it be with the Stagger.

V.

 Ale’s a strong Wrestler,
 Flings all it hath met;
 And makes the ground slippery,
 Though it be not wet.

VI.

 Ale is both Ceres
 And good Neptune too;
 Ale’s froth was the sea,
 From which Venus grew.

VII.

 Ale is immortal:
 And be there no stops
 In bonny lad’s quaffing,
 Can live without hops.

{308}

VIII.

 Then come my boon fellows,
 Let’s drink it around:
 It keeps us from grave,
 Though it lays us on ground.

The ballad entitled the _Merry Hoastess_ is probably of an earlier date
than 1664. It bears the initials T. R., and was, perhaps, composed by
Thomas Randal. The tune to which it was sung is a capital one, and is
to be found in Mr. William Chappell’s _Popular Music_. This ballad is
in the first volume of the _Roxburghe Collection_.

THE MERRY HOASTESS

or

A pretty new Ditty, compos’d by an Hoastess that lives in the City,

 To wrong such an Hoastess it were a great Pitty,
 By reason she caused this pretty new Ditty.

 To the tune of _Buffcoat has no fellow_.

{309}

 Come all that loves good company,
   and hearken to my ditty,
 ’Tis of a lovely Hoastess fine,
   that lives in London City;
 Which sells good ale, nappy and stale,
   and alwayes thus sings she,
 My ale was tunn’d, when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 Her ale is lively, strong and stout,
   if you please but to taste;
 It is well brew’d you need not fear,
   but I pray you make no waste:
 It is lovely brown, the best in town,
   and alwayes thus sings she,
 My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 The gayest lady with her fan,
   doth love such nappy ale,
 Both city maids and country girls
   that carries the milking pail:
 Will take a touch and not think much
   to sing so merrily,
 My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 Both lord and esquire hath a desire
   unto it night and day,
 For a quart or two be it old or new,
   and for it they will pay,
 With pipe in hand, they may her command
   to sing most merrily,
 My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 You’r welcome all brave gentlemen,
   if you please to come in,
 To take a cup I do intend,
   and a health for to begin:
 To all the merry joval blades,
   that will sing for company,
 My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee. {310}

 Here’s a health to all brave Englishmen,
   that loves this cup of ale;
 Let every man fill up his can,
   and see that none do fail;
 ’Tis very good to nourish the blood,
   and make you sing with me,
 My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

SECOND PART.

 The bonny Scot will lay a plot
   to get a handsome tutch
 Of this my ale, so good and stale,
   so will the cunning Dutch:
 They will take a part with all their heart,
   to sing this tune with me,
 My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 It will make the Irish cry A-hone!
   if they but take their fill,
 And put them all quite out of tune
   let them use their chiefest skill. {311}

 So strong and stout it will hold out
   in any company,
 For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 The Welchman on St. David’s day
   will cry, Cots plutter a nail,
 Hur will hur ferry quite away,
   from off that nappy ale;
 It makes hur foes with hur red nose,
   hur seldom can agree,
 But my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 The Spaniard stout will have a bout,
   ’cause he hath store of gold,
 Till at the last, he is laid fast,
   my ale doth him so hold:
 His ponyard strong is laid along,
   yet he is good company,
 For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 There’s never a tradesman in England,
   that can my ale deny,
 The weaver, taylor and glover
   delights it for to buy,
 Small money they do take away,
   if that they drink with me,
 For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 There is Smug the honest Blacksmith,
   he seldom can pass be,
 Because a spark lies in his throat
   which makes him very dry:
 But my old ale tells him his tale,
   so finely we agree,
 For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 The brewer, baker and butcher,
   as well as all the rest, {312}
 Both night and day will watch where they
   may find ale of the best:
 And the gentle craft will come full oft,
   to drink a cup with me,
 For my ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

 So to conclude good fellows all,
   I bid you all adieu,
 If that you love a cup of ale,
   take rather old than new,
 For if you come where I do dwell,
   and chance to drink with me,
 My ale was tunn’d when I was young,
   and a little above my knee.

The following poem in praise of Yorkshire Ale was written in the
seventeenth century. The author is given on the title page as “G. M.
Gent.” The little volume, somewhat rare nowadays, was printed at York
in 1697, by F. White, for Francis Hildyard, at the sign of the Bible in
Stone Gate.

THE PRAISE OF YORKSHIRE ALE

 Wherein is enumerated several sorts of Drink, and a Description of
 the Humors of most sorts of Drunkards. To Which is added, a Yorkshire
 Dialogue, in its pure natural Dialect, as it is now commonly spoken in
 the North parts of Yorkshire.

  Bacchus having called a Parliament of late,
  For to consult about some things of state,
  Nearly concerning the honour of his Court
  To the Sun, behind th’ Exchange, they did resort:
  Where being met, and many things that time
  Concerning the Adulterating Wine,
  And other liquors; selling of Ale in Muggs,
  Silver Tankards, Black-Pots, and little Jugs:
  Stronge Beer in Rabits, and cheating penny cans,
  Three pipes for two pence and such like Trepans:
  Vintners’ small bottles, silver-mouthed black Jacks, {313}
  And many other things were there debated,
  And Bills passed upon the cases stated;
  And all things ready for Adjournment, then
  Stood up one of the Northern countrymen,
  A boon good fellow, and lover of strong Ale,
  Whose tongue well steep’d in Sack begun this Tale.
 “My bully Rocks, I’ve been experienced long
  In most of liquors, which are counted strong;
  Of Claret, White-wine and Canary Sack,
  Renish and Malago, I’ve had no lack,
  Sider, Perry, Metheglin, and Sherbet,
  Coffee and Mead, with Punch and Chocolet:
  Rum and Tea, Azora wine, Mederry,
  Vin-de-Paree, Brag, wine with Rosemary:
  Stepony, Usquebath, besides all these,
  Aqua Cœlestis Cinnamon, Heart’s ease;
  Brave Rosa Solis, and other Liquors fine,
  Rasberry Wine, Pur-royal, and Shampine,
  Malmsey and Viper-wine, all these I pass;
  Frontineack; with excellent Ipocras:
 “Tent, Muskatine, Brandy and Alicant
  Of all these liquors I’ve had no scant,
  And several others; but none do I find,
  Like humming Northern Ale to pleas my mind,
  It’s pleasant to the taste, strong and mellow,
  He that affects it not, is no boon fellow.
 “It warms in winter, in summer opes the pores,
  ’Twill make a Sovereign Salve ’gainst cuts and sores;
  It ripens wit, exhillerates the mind,
  Makes friends of foes, and foes of friends full kind;
  It’s physical for old men, warms their blood,
  Its spirits makes the Coward’s courage good:
  The tatter’d Beggar being warmed with Ale,
  Nor rain, hail, frost, nor snow can him assail,
  He’s a good man with him can then compare,
  It makes a Prentise great as the Lord Mayor;
  The Labouring man, that toiles all day full sore,
  A pot of ale at night, doth him restore, {314}
  And makes him all his toil and paines forget,
  And for another day’s work, hee’s then fit.
 “Oh the rare virtues of this Barly Broth;
  To rich and poor it’s Meat Drink and Cloth.”
  The Court here stopt him, and the Prince did say,
 “Where can we find this Nectar, I thee pray,”
  The boon good fellow answered, “I can tell,
  North Allerton in Yorkshire doth excell
  All England, nay all Europe for strong Ale,
  If thither we adjourn we shall not fail
  To taste such humming stuff, as, I dare say,
  Your Highness never tasted to this day.”

Bacchus’ Court then adjourns to North Allerton, and imbibes the noble
ale kept at Madame Bradley’s, with this result:—

 For arguments some were and learned discourses,
 Som talk’d of greyhounds, som of running horses,
 Som talk’d of hounds, and some of Cock o’ th game,
 Som nought but hawks, and setting dogs did name,
 Som talk’d of Battels, Sieges and great wars,
 And what great Wounds and cutts they had and scars,
 Some there were all for drinking healths about,
 Others did rub the table with their Snout
 Some broke the pipes, and round about them threw,
 Some smoak’d tobacco till their nose was blew.
 Some called for victuals others for a crust,
 Some op’d their Buttons and were like to bust,
 Som challeng’d all the people that were there
 And some with strange invented oaths did sweer,
 Some fill’d the room with noise yet could not speak,
 One word of English, Latine, French and Greek
 Some burnt their Hats, others the Windowes broke,
 Some cry’d more liquor we are like to choke,
        *       *       *       *       * {315}
 Lame gouty men did dance about so sprightly,
 A boy of fifteen scarce could skip so lightly,
 Old crampy Capts. that scarce a sword could draw,
 Swore now they’d keep the King of France in awe,
 And new commissions get to raise more men,
 For now they swore they were grown young again;
 Off went their Perriwigs, Coats and Rapers,
 Out went the candles, Noses for Tapers
 Serv’d to give light, while they did daunce around,
 Drinking full healthes with caps upon the ground:
 This moved Bacchus presently to call
 For a great jug which held about five quarts,
 And filling to the Brim; come here my hearts
 Said he, wee’l drink about this merry health,
 To th’ honour of the Town, their state, their wealth,
 And for the sake of this good nappy ale,
 Of my great favour it shall never fail,

Bacchus and his party having once tasted the ale, drink all the casks
out—

           then out they pull’d the Taps
 And stuck the Spiddocks finely in their hats,

The Court then adjourns to Easingwold—

 With Nanny Driffield there to drink a glass
 For Bacchus having heard of her strong ale,
 He swore by Jupiter, he would not fail
 To have a merry bout if he did find
 Her nappy ale to please his princely Mind;

Bacchus is so delighted with the ale that he grants her letters patent.

 Bacchus Prince of good fellows; To all to whom
 These our brave letters Pattents shall now come,
 Whereas wee’ve been informed now of late,
 That Nanny Driffield our great court and state
 For many years last past has much advanced
 By her strong humming ale. . . .
        *       *       *       *       * {316}
 This land-lady unto the noble state,
 And honour of a countess we create;
 And by our merry fuddling subjects, she
 Countess of Stingo henceforth call’d shall be.

Some townsmen then come in, and a contest is arranged between the
ale-drinkers and the wine-drinkers, in which the latter are of course
worsted.

1

 Colonus and Bacchus did meet
 Each one to commend his own liquor;
 The Juice of the Grape was sweet;
 But Barly Oyle ran down the quicker;
 Colonus did challenge the Gods,
 To fight in defence of his Barley,
 But Bacchus perceiving the odds,
 Desir’d a friendly parley.

2

 They drunk full Bumpers about,
 And Bacchus an health did begin,
 The Bacchanalians gave a great shout,
 The Colonians then thronged fast in:
 They drunk double Tankards around,
 Till the Grape Boyes begun for to glore,
 The Rusticks neer flinch’d their ground,
 Till Bacchus fell down to the Floor.

3

 Colonus did heartily laugh,
 And about the God they did daunce,
 Full pots about they did quaff:
 Whilest Bacchus lay still in a Trance;
 The grape boyes were beat out of play,
 And at length poor Bacchus did rise;
 To Colonus he yielded the day,
 So the Rusticks obtainèd the Prize.

Bacchus, on coming to, adjourns his court to York, where they again
taste—

 Both from North Allerton and Easingwold,
 From Sutton, Thirke, likewise from Rascal Town,
 . . . Ale also that’s called Knocker-down—
        *       *       *       *       * {317}
 They tasted all; And swore they were full glad,
 Such Stingoe, Nappy, pure ale they had found,
 Let’s loose no time said they but drink around.

The Yorkshire Ale, however, proves too strong for Bacchus and his
Court, and a final adjournment South is made, though—

     Bacchus swore to come he would not fail
 To glut himself with Yorkshire nappy ale.
 It is so pleasant, mellow too and fine,
 That Bacchus swore hee’d never more drink wine.

Those who wish to peruse the “Yorkshire Dialogue in its pure natural
Dialect” are referred to the British Museum.

In the _Roxburghe Collection_ are nineteen ballads by Lawrence Price,
a celebrated writer of the time of Charles I. He wrote chap-books,
riddles, and political squibs in rhyme. The following rollicking
drinking song is from his pen. Only one copy of it is known to be in
existence.

GOOD ALE FOR MY MONEY.

 The Good-fellowes resolution of strong Ale,
 That cures his nose from looking pale.

 To the tune of _The Countrey Lasse_.

{318}

 Be merry my friends, and list a while
   unto a merry jest,
 It may from you produce a smile
   when you hear it exprest,
 Of a younge man lately married,
   which was a boone good fellow,
 This song in ’s head he alwaies carried,
   when drinke had made him mellow,
 I cannot go home, nor I will not go home
   its long of the oyle of Barly;
 Ile tarry all night for my delight,
   and go home in the morning early.

 No tapster stout, or Vintner fine
   quoth he shall euer get
 One groat out of this purse of mine
   to pay his master’s debt:
 Why should I deal with sharking Rookes,
   that seeke poore gulls to cozen,
 To giue twelue pence for a quart of wine,
   of ale ’twill buy a dozen.
         ’Twill make me sing, I cannot, &c.

 The old renowned Ipocrist
   and Raspie doth excell,
 But neuer any wine could yet
   my honour please to swell,
 The Rhenish wine or Muskadine,
   sweet Malmsie is too fulsome
 No giue me a cup of Barlie broth,
   for that is very wholesome,
         ’Twill make me sing, I cannot, &c.

 Hot waters ar to me as death,
   and soone the head oreturneth,
 And Nectar hath so strong a breath
   Canary when it burneth,
 It cures no paine but breaks the braine,
   and raps out oaths and curses,
 And makes men part with heauiy heart,
   but light it makes their purses,
         I cannot go home, &c. {319}

 Some say Metheglin beares the name,
   with Perry and sweet Sider,
 ’Twill bring the body out of frame,
   and reach the belly wider