CHAPTER XVII

THE DOMESTIC LIFE OP SHAKSPERE'S TIME — UI
SN my last lecture I brought before you several personages and matters of that lighter character which we associate with comedy. We had our pleasant merrymaking over Robert Laneham as he reveals himself in his fantastic account of the Kenilworth festivities; we had our quiet smile at George Gascoigne's simple-hearted narration of some of the same events ; and we had our heartier laugh, not unmixed with a certain sense of tragedy, over the witty descent into hell of the rascally Pardoner in old John Heywood's interlude of The Four P's. In other words : bringing together all these terms I have used, — the pleasant merriment, quiet smile of humour, the uproarious laugh tinged with terror which wit produces, — you will observe that in that lecture I endeavoured to set you by the earlier founts of that Eng- lish humour which afterwards leaps out into the fiill stream of Shakspere's comedies. You understand that The Four P's was a late form of the interlude, soon giving into the Ralph Royster Deysler of Nicholas Udall, which we may consider the first completely framed English comedy.
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DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 113
Having endeavoured to put you in sympathy with so much of the sixteenth-century domestic or social life as relates to the kind of comic plays and humourous person- ages which Shakspere's early contemporaries were accus- tomed to see, I wish in the present lecture to pursue the same course with reference to the more serious side of life. I should like to show you, first, what kind of a book people would probably be reading in Shakspere's early time ; secondly, what kind of a sermon the people would hear when they went to church; and thirdly, what kind of a tragedy they would see when they went to the theatre. For this purpose I am going to take occasion to introduce to you three of the most serious, strong and withal beautiful men who ever lived — to wit : Stephen Gosson, Hugh Latimer, and Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst.
You will remember that in the last lecture we left Shakspere in the inn-yard of Warwick listening to a per- formance of The Four PV, in the summer of 1575, when he was a boy of eleven. It was just about this time that a furious debate broke out in England upon the matter of playgoing and plays generally. The quarrel had been smouldering for some years. As early as 1572 Parliament had passed an act which declared that " all Fencers Beare- wardes Comon Players in Enterludes and Minstrels " were " Roges Vacabounds and Sturdye Beggers " unless they belonged to some " Baron of this Realme or to any other honourable Personage of greater Degree." Upon conviction of any one as a "Roge" or " Vacabound" within the meaning of this act, he or she — for the act applied to male and female alike — was for the first offence " to be grevously whipped, and burnte through the gristle of the righte Eare with an hot Yron of the compasse of an Ynche aboute, manifestynge his or her rogyshe kinde of Lyef.'*
114 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
A third offence was punished with death without benefit of clergy or sanctuary.
Three years later — that is, in the same year of the Kenilworth reception — the Corporation of London expelled all players from the city. This severe measure, however, — as often happens, — had an effect precisely opposite to its intent. It increased the evil which it sought to diminish. The players, as I showed in my last lecture, had been accustomed to performing in the yards of the inns about London. But being now banished from the city, they defiantly determined to go on playing as near the city as possible ; and so the players proceeded to erect special buildings for their purpose just outside the city limits. Thus the banishing edict of the London Cor- poration, instead of suppressing the drama, really developed it, and gave us the first theatre-building in England. In the following year three theatres were erected, all within a short distance of the boundaries of London : one was called " The Theatre," one " The Curtain," and a third " The Blackfriars." The latter was built by John Bur- bage, father to that Richard Burbage who was the friend and fellow-actor of Shakspere.
This bold act of the players in setting up gorgeous theatres under the very noses of their worships, the Lon- don burghers, loosed a prodigious flood of debate over the drama which can scarcely be said to have ended even at the present day. The clergy began a furious attack on the stage. In the very next year, 1577, we find Wilcocks preaching a sermon at Paul's Cross in which he ascribed the awful calamity of the plague which had been devas- tating London to this fearful sin of the theatres about the city. " Looke," he cries, " but upon the common playes in London, and see the multitude that flocketh to them ; . . . beholde the sumptuous theatre houses^ a
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Mummer* tnd Scrolling Players of (he Middle Ages in England
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DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 115
continual monument of London's prodigalitie and folly. But I understande they are now forbidden by cause of the plague. . . . The cause of plagues is sinne, if you looke to it well ; and the cause of sinne are playes ; therefore the cause of plagues are playes."
In 1578 John Stockwood preaches a sermon at Paul's Cross — ^which seems to have been a favourite position for the anti-theatrical artillery — in which he mentions by name two of the theatres which had been built a couple of years before. " Wyll not a fylthye playe," says he, " wyth the blast of a Trumpette, sooner call thyther a thousande, than an houres tolling of a Bell bring to the Sermon a hundred ? nay even heare in the Citie, without it be at this place, and some other certaine ordinarie audience, where shall you finde a reasonable companye ? Whereas if you resorte to the Theatre, the Curtayne, and other places of Playes in the Citie, you shall on the Lord's day have these places, with many other that I can not reckon, so full, as possible they can throng. . . . What do I speak of beastelye Playes, against which out of this place every man crieth out ? Have we not houses of purpose built with great charges for the maintenance of them, and that without the liberties, as who should say, then, let them saye what they will say, we will play. I know not how I might with the godly learned especially more discommende the gorgeous Playing place erected in the fieldes, than to terme it, as they please to have it called, a Theatre."
This debate produced many celebrated works. ^ You all remember the Histriomastix of William Prynne, in the time of Charles I, and his celebrated trial before the Star
1 Indeed, it pervaded the religious " the promised tears of repentance
discourses by way of simile as well prove not the tears of the onion
as of denunciation: "I pray upon the theatre." God," runs a quaint exhortation.
ii6 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
Chamber for alleged slanders in that book against the Queen founded upon the part she had taken in a court masque. William Rankin had written a still earlier tirade against the theatre, called the Mirrour of Monsters.
But the most powerful and in many respects the most interesting work against the theatre was Stephen Gosson's Schoole of Abuse ^ entered at Stationers' Hall in 1579. Gosson — a Kent man — had gone up to London and had taken to acting and to writing plays when he was still a mere boy. His prematurity can be inferred from the fkct that he had acted, had produced at least three plays, had seen the error of his course, had resolved to quit playing and expose the abuses of the stage, and had written the Schoole of Abuse for that purpose, all by the time he was twenty-four years of age.
He gives us (in Playes Confuted) a lively account of his own change of mind.
" When I first gave my selfe to the studie of Poetrie, and to set my cunning abroache, by penning Tragedies^ and Comedies in the Citie of London : perceiving such a Gor- dians knot of disorder in every playhouse as would never be loosed without extremitie, I thought it better with Alexander to draw ye sword that should knappe it asunder at one stroke, then to seeke over nicely or gingerly to undoe it, with the losse of my time and wante of successe. This caused mee to . . . geve them a volley of heathen writers. ..."
Gosson dedicated his book to Sir Philip Sidney — very malapropos^ one might judge on other plentiful grounds besides the express testimony we have in a letter of Ed- mund Spenser's to Gabriel Harvey in 1579: **Newe Bookes I heare of none, but only of one that writing a certaine Booke called The Schoole of Abuse y and dedicating it to Maister Sidney, was for hys labor scorned : if at leaste
DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 117
it be in the goodnesse of that nature to scorne. Suche foUie is it, not to regarde aforehande the inclination and qualitie of him, to whom we dedicate oure bookes."
Gosson's book, as I said, was entered at Stationers' Hall in 1579. Now I find it easy to fancy that three or four years after, — for there were replies and counter-replies to the Schoole of Abuse which kept the book alive and talked about for some time, — perhaps on some late sum- mer afternoon of 1582, when William Shakspere was eighteen years old, one of John Shakspere's neighbours who belonged to the anti-theatre party may have dropped into the house in Henley Street with a copy of Gosson's Schoole of Abuse ^ in the hope of rescuing John Shakspere from the fascinations of the drama. For John Shakspere was most likely a lover of playing ; while he had been alderman of Stratford we find that the players of the Earl of Leicester and of the Earl of Worcester had acted in the Guildhall of the town, and records remain of moneys paid to such companies. It is not difficult, therefore, to fancy a family party at John Shakspere's house in, say, 1582, when, after some preliminary discussion of the point, — probably often discussed before, — the neighbour draws forth his volume of Gosson and proceeds to demolish John Shak- spere's arguments, while at the other end of the room William Shakspere is seated, with his keen ears open, say- ing nothing. And so let us follow the good burgher as he reads to Master Shakspere from Gosson's book here and there. The Dedication begins with a quaint story of an anti-climax, and soon acquaints one with one of Gosson's characteristic assemblages of old saws and proverbs mixed with metaphoric inventions of his own :
" Caligula, lying in France with a great army of fight- ing menne, brought all his force on a sudden to the Sea side, as though he intended to cutte over and invade Eng-
ii8 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
lande : when he came to the shore, his Souldiers were presently set in araye, himselfe shipped in a small barke, weyed Ancors, and lanched out ; he had not played long in the Sea, wafting too and fro, at his pleasure, but he returned agayne, stroke sayle, gave allarme to his souldiers in token of battaile, and charged everie man too gather cockles. . . . The title of my book doth promise much, the volume you see is very little : and sithens I can not beare out my foUie by authoritie, like an Emperor, I will crave pardon for my Phrenzie, by submission, as your worshippes too commaunde. The Schoole which I builde is narrowe, and at the first blushe appeareth but a dogge- hole ; yet small cloudes carie water ; slender threedes sowe sure stiches ; little heares have their shadowes ; blunt stones whette knives; from hard rockes, flow soft springes ; the whole worlde is drawen in a mappe ; Homers Iliades in a nutte shell ; a Kings picture in a pennie ; litde chestes may holde greate Treasure ; a fewe Cyphers con- tayne the substance of a rich Merchant; the shorteste Pamphlette may shrowde matter; the hardest heade ' may give light ; and the harshest penne maye sette downe somewhat woorth the reading."
He now proceeds to attack poetry, music, and the drama, — which, he says, all hang together, — and begins with a blast against the poets. Presently he is gotten into this strain : " I must confesse that Poets are the whetstones of wit, notwithstanding that wit is dearly bought : where honey and gall are mixed, it will be hard to sever the one from the other. The deceitfull Phisi- tion giveth sweete Syrropes to make his poyson goe down the smoother: the Juggler casteth a mist to worke the closer : the Syrens Song is the Saylers wrack : the Fowler's whistle, the birdes death : the wholesome bayte, the fishes bane : the Harpies have Virgins' faces and
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DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 119
vultures Talentes : Hyena speakes like a friend, and de- voures like a Foe : the calmest seas hide dangerous Rockes : the Woolf jettes in Weathers felles : many good sen- tences are spoken by DanuSy to shadowe his knavery : and written by Poets, as ornamentes to beautifye their woorkes, and sette theyr trumperie too sale without suspect."
He now assembles a most surprising number of an- cient stories and sayings in support of his doctrine. As, for example : " Anacharsis beeing demanded of a Greeke, whether they had not instruments of Musick, or Schooles of Poetrie in Scythiay answered, yes, and that without vice, as though it were either impossible, or incredible, that no abuse should be learned where such lessons are taught, and such schooles maintained.
" Salust in describing the nurture of Semproniay says. . . . She was taught . . . both Greek and Latine, she could versifie, sing, and daunce, better than became an honest woman. . . .
" But . . . as by Anarcharsis^ report the Scythians did it without offence: so one Swalowe brings not Summer. . . . Hee that goes to Sea, must smel of the ship ; and that sayles into Poets wil savour of Pitch.
" Tiberius the Emperour sawe somewhat, when he judged Scaurus to death for writing a Tragidie : AugustuSy when hee banished Ovid ; And Nero when he charged Lucan, to put up his pipes, to stay his penne and write no
more."
And now, since " Poetrie and pyping have alwaies bene so united togither," a further screed against music :
"Instruments" are "used in battaile, not to tickle the eare but to teach every souldier when to strike and when to stay, when to flye, and when to followe. Chiron by singing to his instrument, quencheth A chiles fiirye ; Terpandrus with his notes, layeth the tempest, and
I20 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
pacifies the tumult at Laced^emon; Homer with his Musicke cured the sick Souldiers in the Grecian Campe, and purged every man's Tent of the Plague. Thinke you that those miracles coulde bee brought with playing of Daunces, Dumpes, Pavins, Galiardes, Measures Fan- eyes, or new streynes ? They never came where this grew, nor knew what it meant. Pythagorus bequeathes them a clookebagge, and condemnes them for foob that judge musicke by sounde and eare. If you will bee good Scholars, and profite well in the Arte of Musicke, shutte your Fidels in their cases, and looke up to heaven : the order of the spheres, the unfallible motion of the Planets, the juste course of the yeere, and varietie of seasons, the Concorde of the Elementes and their qualydes, Fyre, Water, Ayre, Earth, Heate, Colde, Moysture and Drought concurring togeather to the constitution of earthly bodies and sustenance of every creature. The politike Lawes in well governed common wealthes, that treade downe the prowde, and upholde the meeke, the love of the King and his subjectes, the Father and his childe, the Lord and his Slave, the Maister and his Man . . . are excellent mais- ters too showe you that this is right Musicke, this perfect harmony. . . . Terpandrus when he ended the brabbles at Lacedaemon, neyther pyped Rogero nor Turkelony^ but reckning up the commodities of friendship, and fruites of debate, putting them in mind of Lycurgus lawes, taught them too treade a better measure. . . .
" The Argives appointed by their lawes great punish- ments for such as placed above 7 strings upon any instrument. . . . Plutarch is of opinion that the instru- ments of 3 strings which were used before their time passed al that have followed since. It was an old law and long kept that no man shoulde according to his owne humor, adde or diminish, in matters concerning that Art, but walk in the paths of their predecessors.
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" As Poetrie and Piping are Cosen germans : so piping and playing are of great affinity, and all three chayned in linkes of abuse. . . . Cookes did never shewe more crafte in their junckets to vanquish the taste, nor Painters in shadowes to allure the eye, then Poets in Theaters to wounde the conscience. ... I judge cookes and Painters the better hearing, for the one extendeth his arte no far- ther then to the tongue, palate and nose, the other to the eye ; and both are ended in outwarde sense, which is common to us with bruite beasts. But these by the privie entries of the eare, slip downe into the hart, and with gunshotte of affliction gaule the minde, where reason and vertue should rule the roste."
He now goes on to describe behaviour at the theatres in those days : " In Rome when Plaies or Pageants are showne : Ovid chargeth his Pilgrims, to crepe close to the Saintes, whom they serve, and shew their double diligence to lifte the Gentlewomens roabes from the grounde . . . to sweepe Moates from their Kirtles, ... to lay their handes at their backs for an easie staye . . . too prayse that, whiche they commende ; too lyke everything that pleaseth them ; to presente them Pomegranates to picke as they syt ; and when all is done to waite on them man- nerly too their houses."
Here follows a lively picture of theatre manners in Shakspere's time. "In our assemblies at playes in London^ you shale see suche heaving and shooving, suche ytching and shouldering, too sitte by women ; suche care for their garments that they bee not trode on. Such eyes to their lappes, that no chippes light in them ; such pillowes to their backes that they take no hurt ; such masking in their ears, I knowe not what; such giving them Pippins to passe the time ; . • . such smiling, such winking, and such manning them home when the sportes are ended, that it is a right Comedie to marke their behavior. . . • I looke
122 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
still when Players should cast me their Gauntlets, and challenge a combate ... as though I made them Lords of this misrule. . . . There are more houses than Parishe churches, more maydes then Maulkin, more wayes to the woode then one, and more causes in nature than Efficients. The carpenter rayseth not his frame without tooles, nor the Devill his woork without instrumentes ; were not Players the meane, to make these assemblyes, such multi- tudes wold hardly be drawne in so narowe roome. . . . The abuses of plaies cannot be shown because they passe the degrees of the instrument, reach of the Plummet, sight of the minds, and for trial are never brought to the touch- stone. . . . The very hyerlings of some of our Flayers, which stand at reversion of VI. S. by the weeke, get under Gentlemen's noses in sutes of silke," (and) " look askance over the shoulder at every man of whom the Sunday be- fore they begged an almes.
" Meantime, if Players bee called to accounte for the abuses that growe by their assemblyes, I would not have them to answere, as Pilades did for the Theaters of Rome, when they were complayned on; and Augustus waxed angry: 97//J resort Caesar is good for thecy for heere wc keepe thousandes of idle heds occupyed^ which else peradven- ture would brue some mischief e. A fit cloud to cover their abuse, and not unlike to the starting-hole that Lucimus found, who, like a greedy serveiour, beeing sente into France to governe the countrie, robbed them and spoyled them of all their Treasure with unreasonable taskes ; at the last when his cruelties was so loudely cryed out on that every man hearde it ; and all his packing did savour so strong, that Augustus smelt it ; he brought the good Emperour into his house, flapped him in the mouth with a smoth lye, and tolde him that for his sake and the safetie of Rome, hee gathered those riches, the better to impover-
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ish the Country for rysing in Armes and so holde the poore Frenchmennes' Noses to the Grindstone for ever after. A bad excuse is better, they say, than none at all. Hee, because the Frenchman paid tribute every moneth, into XIII Moneths divided theyeere : these because they are allowed to play every Sunday, make IIII or V Sun- days at least every weeke. . . . [All beasts have some wisdom ; instances : ] The Crane is said to rest upon one leg, and holding up the other, keepe a Pebble in her clawe, which as sone as the senses are bound by approache of sleep falles to the ground and . . . makes her awake, whereby shee is ever ready to prevent her enemies. . . . But wee [are always] running most greedily to those places where we are soonest overthrowne.
" I cannot lyken our Affection better than to an Arrowe, which getting lybertie, with winges is carryed beyonde our reache ; kepte in the Quiver, it is still at commaundment : or to a Dogge, let him slippe, he is straight out of sight, holde him in the Lease, hee never stirres : or to a colte, give him the bridle, he flinges aboute ; raine him hard, and you may rule him : Or to a ship, hoyst the sayles it runnes on head ; let fall the An- cour, all is well : Or to Pandoraes boxe, lift uppe the lidde, out flyes the Devill ; shut it up fast, it cannot hurt us.
" Let us but shut up our eares to Poets, Pypers and Players, pull our feete back from resort to Theaters, and turne away our eyes from beholding of vanitie, the great- est storme of abuse will be overblowen, and a fayre path troden to amendment of life. Were not we so foolish to taste every drugge, and buy every trifle. Players would shut in their shoppes, and carry their trashe to some other Countrie. . . . Now if any man aske me why myselfe have penned Comedyes in time paste, and inveigh so eagerly against them here, let him know that semel insani-
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nimus omnes ; I have sinned, and am sorry for my fault : hee runnes farre that never turnes, better late than never. . . . Thus sith I have in my voyage suffred wrack with UlisseSy and wringing-wet scrambled with life to the shore, stand for mee Nausicad with all thy traine till I wipe the blot from my forehead, and with sweet springs wash away the salt froath that cleaves too my soule. . . .
" This have I set downe of the abuses of Poets, Pypers and Players which bringe us too pleasure, slouth, sleepe, sinne, and without repentance to death and the Devill : which I have not confirmed by authoritie of the Scriptures, because they are not able to stand uppe in the sight of God : and sithens they dare not abide the field, where the word of God dooth bidde them battayle, but runne to Antiquityes. ... I have given them a volley of prophane writers to beginne the skirmishe, and doone my indevour to beate them from their holdes with their owne weapons."
Before I leave Gosson I cannot resist giving you a snatch of his poetry, which is comical enough and yet shows through all the crookedness of metaphor and thought a certain strength of feeling and nimbleness of fancy which give one a solid liking for this evidently earnest, pure-hearted and straight-souled man. This poem is not in the Schoole of Abuse^ but is found disconnected in a work by another author of the period. I give only a part of it :
O what is man ? Or whereof might he vaunt ?
From earth and ayre and ashes fyrst he came.
His fickle state his courage ought to daunt :
His lyfe shall flit when most he trustes the same. • • •
A lame and loathsome lymping legged wight
That dayly doth God's froune and furie fcele ;
A crooked cripple, voyde of all delight,
That haleth after him an haulting heele
And from Hierusalem on stilts doth reele.
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A wretch of wrath, a sop in sorow sowst, A bruised barke with billowes all bedowst. . . • The wreathed haire of perfect golden wire. The cristall eyes, the shining Angel's face. That kindles coales to set the heart on fyre. When we doe think to runne a royalle race. Shall sodeynly be gauled with disgrace. Our goodes, our beautie, and our brave aray That seem to set our heartes on heygh for aye ; Much like the tender floure in fragrant feelde Whose sugred sap sweet smelling savours yeelde ; Though we therein doc dayly lay our lust. By dint of death shall vanish unto dust.
Now I find no difficulty in fancying that this tirade against the theatres had much the same effisct on young Will Shakspere as banishment had upon the London players. At eighteen, to be told that a thing is dangerous is to resolve to do it. Very likely young Will Shakspere lay awake much of the night after he had heard Gosson's eloquence.
The result of his meditations was told, possibly, to Anne Hathaway next day. It may be that he went over to her house, and after they two got a quiet moment to- gether he startled the girl by informing her that he had determined to see London. Of course Anne wept, and entreated him not to go ; but the fire burnt in him, and go he must. Then suddenly Anne Hathaway 's demeanour changes : she consents, and with a certain air of mysterious resolution helps him to get away.
So imagine him arriving late on a Saturday night in the great city of London, a lonesome boy of eighteen, with no definite aim, no palpable money, wondering, now that he is here, why he is here, desolate over the utter uncon- cern with which people pass him by, yet not without a
126 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
sense that he has that in him which might work changes in these matters. He goes to the Belle Savage Inn on Lud- gate Hill. The yard of this inn had been a famous place for plays before the theatres were put up; but the land- lord now descants mournfully to his young guest on the loss of custom he has suffered since those driving days when the performances kept his tapsters busy.
On the next morning — being Sunday — Shakspere determines to hear a London sermon in the forenoon, before going to the Blackfriars Theatre in the aftemoon. For this purpose he walks over to Paul's Cross. This famous spot, from which so many great sermons were preached in those days, was an open space near the cathe- dral where great crowds assembled on Sunday to hear the popular preachers of the time. The audience stood, or sat on their horses or mules, in the open air during the sermon. In bad weather they would adjourn to what was called the " Shrouds," which seems to have been a sort of covered place adjoining the walls of the cathedraL
Shakspere, therefore, with so many thoughts in his soul that the world seems too small for them, stations himself in the crowd and listens to the sermon.
Instead of giving you the discourse which young Shak- spere might actually have heard on that day at Paul's Cross, it will extend the range of my presentation considerably if you will allow me to substitute a sermon — or rather some representative extracts from several sermons — of Hugh Latimer, dating some thirty years previous. This grand man had indeed preached at Paul's Cross, — where our young Shakspere is now standing, — about thirty-three years before, to great crowds of people. I cannot resist bringing him before you, because Latimer is one of those men whose names we all know so well that we do not know them at all. Every school-boy learns that Latimer
Preaching before ihe King at Paul's Cross in 1610 From a ran ntgraviHg
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DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 127
was burned at the stake in the reign of Queen Mary ; but few men except specialists ever read a sermon of Latimer's. It happened that in the year 1548 Latimer, then a man of great renown and favour, was invited by King Edward VI to preach seven sermons before him and the court, one on each Friday during Lent. Latimer was used to addressing kings from the pulpit : fifteen years before he had preached to Henry VIII and had not hesi- tated to declare his mind very plainly upon some points wherein he differed from that monarch. But here now in 1549 we find him preaching in King Edward's garden at Westminster, where the King had caused a pulpit to be set up for him in the open air so that more people could hear him. Latimer was now nearly sixty years old, and these sermons, which are nearly extempore, have the most touching flavour of that mingled authority and sweetness which is won by a strong man who has lived and who knows whereof he speaks. I find in them, too, a tender- ness and earnestness which makes one feel as if they were infused with some prophetic sense of the terrible fate which awaited him. It was in truth but about six years before the good old Latimer, instead of preaching to a king in his garden, was burning in the fire at Oxford.
I wish to give you the seventh of this set of sermons substantially as Latimer preached it. Before doing so let me present you with a passage or two from the other six, taken here and there, to illustrate Bishop Latimer's methods of preaching as well as to exhibit sundry touches of the manners of the time.
Here, for example, is one from the third sermon which shows that the sturdy old man had the strength and adroit- ness of Mr. Moody in turning to use all manner of homely illustrations, and in making good-humoured points in his own fevour. After relating in this sermon how a certain
I30 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
defence of it, and hartelye abhorreth it, and will beleve in the death of christ, and be conformable thereunto, Ego absoho voSy quod he. Now sayeth thys gentylman, his mule was absolved. The preacher absolved but such as were sorye, and dyd repente. Be lyke then she dyd repent her stumblynge, hys Mule was wiser then he a greate deale. I speake not of worldely wysedom, for therein he is to wyse, yes, he is so wyse, that wyse men marvayle howe he came truly by the tenth part of that he hath. But in wisdome which consisteth In rebus deiy In rebus salutisy in godlye matters and appartaynyng to our salvacion, in this wysdome he is as blynd as a beatel. They be, ^anquam equus et MuluSy in quibus non est intel- lectus. Like Horses and Mules that have no under- standynge. If it were true that the Mule repented hyr of her stumbling I thynke she was better absolved than he. I praye God stop his mouth, or els to open it to speke bet- ter, and more to hys glory."
Again, in the fifth sermon he is boldly exposing the then common practice of taking bribes in office, selling appointments, and the like. " One wyl say, peradventure, you speake unsemelye ... so to be agaynste the offi- cers, for takynge of rewardes. ... Ye consyder not the matter to the bottome. Theyr offices be bought for great sommes, nowe howe shall they receyve theyr money agayne but by brybynge. . . . Some of them gave CC poundes, some vC pounde, some II M pounde. And how shal they gather up thys money agayne but by healpynge themselves in theyre office? . . . If thei bei, thei must needes sel, for it is wittily spoken. Vendere jure potest y emerat ille priusy he may lawefully sel it, he bought it before. . . . Ommia venelia. Al thinges bought for money. I mervaile the ground gapes not and devours us. . . . Ther was a patron in England that had a bene-
DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 131
fice fallen into hys hande and a good brother of mine came unto hym and brought hym XXX Apples in a dysh and gave them hys man to carrye them to hys mayster. . . . This man commeth to his mayster and presented hym wyth the dyshe of Apples, sayinge. Syr suche a man hathe sente you a dyshe of frute, and desyreth you to be good unto hym for such a benefyce. Tushe tushe, quod he, thys is no apple matter. I wyll none of hys apples. . . .' The man came to the pryest agayne, and toulde him what hys mayster sayed. Then quod the priest, desyre hym yet to prove one of them for my sake, he shal find them much better then they loke for. He cutte one of them and founde ten peces of golde in it. Mary quod he, thys is a good apple. The pryest standyng not farre of, herynge what the Gentleman sayed, cryed out and answered, they are all one apples I warrante you syr, they grewe all on one tree, and have all one taste. Well, he is a good fellowe, let hym have it, quod the patrone," etc.
It is evidence of the venality of this time that the honest bishop's denunciation did not much to impress his audience, for presently I find him exclaiming, " It is taken for a laughynge matter, wel, I wyl gooe on."
And then he does " gooe on," with a vengeance. His sermons were, as I said, mostly extempore, and we there- fore find them often prolix and wordy. But he can tell a story in a few right English terms when he comes to it. Listen to this, for example, as a model of concise narra- tion. He is " going on," in the same strain of attack upon bribery. It has, he continues, even gotten in the courts, among judges and juries. " I can tell," he cries, " where one man slew another, in a tounship, and was attached upon the same, XII men were impaneled, the man hadde frendes, the Shryve laboured the bench, the
132 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
XII men stacke at it and sayed, except he woulde dis- burse XII crownes they woulde fynde hym gyltye.
" Meanes were found that the XII crownes was payed. The quest commes in and sayes not giltye. Here was a not gyltye for XII crownes. And some of the bench were hanged, thei were wul served. . . . Crownes? If theyr crownes were shaven to the shoulders they were served wel inoughe."
Again, in the sixth sermon he is stoutly upholding the good of preaching : you must be saved by preaching, you must come to church, he says ; better come with a bad motive than not come at all ; and so he adds a story in his quaint old way :
" I had rather ye shoulde come of a naughtye mynde, to heare the worde of God, for noveltye, or for curioside to heare some pastime, then to be awaye. I had rather ye shoulde come as the tale is by the Gentel-woman of Lon- don : one of her neyghbours mette her in the streate, and sayed mestres, whither go ye? Mary sayed she, I am goynge to S. Tomas of Acres to the sermon, I coulde not slepe al thys laste night, and I am goynge now thether, I never fayled of a good nap there ; and so I had rather ye should a napping to the sermons than not to go at al. For with what mind so ever ye come, thoughe ye come for an ill purpose, yet peradventure ye may chaunce to be caught or ye go, the preacher may chaunce to catche you on hys hoke."
It would seem that his noble auditory was sometimes noisy ; and he does not hesitate to rebuke them. For example, in the sixth sermon I find him suddenly breaking away from his matter to speak as follows :
" I remember nowe a saying of Sayncte Chrisostome, and peradventure it myght come here after in better place, but yet I wyll take it, whiles it commeth to my
Bishop Ladmer
J
DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 133
mind. The saying is this. Et loquentum eum audierunt in silentioyferinon locutionis non interrumpentes. They harde hym, sayeth he, in Silence, not interruptynge the order of his preachynge. He meanes they hard hym quietely, with- out any shovelynge of feete or walkynge up and downe. Suerly it is an yl mysordar, that folke shalbe walkyng up and down in the sermon tyme (as I have sene in this place thys Lente) and there shalbe suche bussynge and bussynge in the preachers eare that it maketh hym often tymes to forget hys matter. O let us consider the Kynges Maies- tyes goodnes, Thys place was prepared for banketynge of the bodye, and hys Maiestye hath made it a place for the comforte of the soule. . . . Consider where ye be, fyrst ye oughte to have a reverence to Godds word, and thoughe it be preached by pore men, yet it is the same worde that oure Savioure spoke. . . . Heare in silence, as Chrisostom sayeth. It maye chance that sume in the companye may fall sicke, or be diseased, if therbe any suche, let them go away, with silence, let them leave their salutacions till they come in the courte, let them departe with silence."
Again, here is an extract which gives us a cunning re- minder of the theological arguments common in those days, and of Latimer's adroitness in this particular. He is preaching of the time when the Saviour went into Simon Peter's boat and told him to put forth from the shore. His opponents, it seems, had made an argument of the Pope's supremacy founded upon the fact that Christ chose Simon Peter's boat rather than any other, and spoke to Peter in the singular number instead of addressing other disciples. Here is the bishop's treatment of that argu- ment, in which, besides his polemic skill, come out some pleasant touches of life in those days.
" Wei, he commes to Simons bote, and why rather to
134 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
Simon's bote then an other. I wyl aunswere, as I find in experience in my selfe. I came hither to-day from Lam- beth in a whirry and when I came to take my bote, the water men came about me, as the maner is, and he wold have me, and he wold have me. I toke one of them. Nowe ye wyll aske me why I came in yat bote, rather then in another, because I woulde go into that that I se stande nexte me, it stode more commodiouslye for me. And so did Christe by Simon's bote. It stode nerer for him, he sawe a better seate in it. A good natural rea- son. . . .
" It foloweth in the text due in altum. Here comes in the supremitye of the Byshoppe of Rome. . . . And their argumente is thys : he spake to Peter onelye, and he spake to hym in the singular number, ergo he gave him such a preeminence above the rest. A goodly argument, I wene it be a sillogismus, in quern terra pontus. I will make a lyke argument, Oure Savioure Christe sayed to ludas, whan he was about to betraye hym quod faeis fae citius. Nowe, whan he spake to Peter ther were none of his dis- ciples by, but James and John, but whan he spake to ludas they were al present. Wei, he sayd unto him, — quod faeis fae eitius. Spede thy busines, yat thou hast in thy heade, do it. . . . He spake in the singular number to him, ergo he gave him some preeminence. By like he made him a Cardinall, and it mighte fill wel be, for they have folowed ludas ever syns. Here is as good a grounde for the Coledge of Cardinalles, as the other is for the supremitie of the Bishop of Rome. , Oure Saviour Christ (say they) spake onely to Peter for preeminence, because he was chiefe of the Apostles, and you can shewe none other cause. Ergo thys is the cause why he spake to hym in the singular number. I dare say there is never a whir-
DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 135
riman at Westminster brydge, but he can answere to thys, and gyve a natural! reason for it.
" He knoweth that one man is able to shove the bote, but one man was not able to caste out the nettes, and there- fore he sayed in the plural nomber, luxate retia : Louse youre riettes? and he sayed in the syngular number to Peter, launch out the bote, why ? because he was able to do it."
But I have too long delayed to present you some con- nected discourse of Latimer's. For this purpose I have selected the seventh sermon, which I give substantially, though excising at least half. It is often really comical, in reading these sermons, to see the good bishop forget his point, and go feeling about, with all sorts of odd sayings and makeweight sentences, until he can find the track again. This seventh sermon was preached by Bishop Latimer just three hundred and thirty years ago last Fri- day two weeks, being the Good Friday sermon with which he closed his series before the young King Edward VI. Observe how it is all so good and grandmotherly and wise : every sentence has spectacles on its nose, with many an occasional gleam of the deep old eyes peering over. Thus he begins :
" ^ae cunque scripta sunty nostram doctrinam scripta sunt. Al thynges yat be written, thei be written to be our doctrine. By occasion of thys texte (most honorable audience) I have walked thys Lente in the brode filde of scripture and used my libertie, and intreated of such mat- ters as I thought mete for thys auditory. I have had a do wyth many estates, even with the highest of all, I have entreated of the dutye of Kynges, of the dutye of maies- trates, and ludges, of the dutye of prelates, allowyng that yat is good, and disalowyng the contrary. I have taught
136 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
that we are all synners, I thinke there is none of us al, neither precher, nor hearer, but we maye be amended and redresse our lyves. We maye all saye, yea all the packe of us, peccavimus cum patribus nostris.
" This day is commonlye called good Fryday, although everi day ought to be with us good fryday. Yet this day we ar accustomed specially to have a commemoration and remembrance of the passion of our Saviour Jesu Christ. This daye we have in memory hys bitter Passion and death, which is the remedy of our syn. . . .
" The place that I wyll intreat of is in the XXVI Chapiter of saynte Matthewe, Howbeit, as I intreate of it I wyll borrowe parte of Saynte Marke and saynt Luke, for they have somewhat that Saynt Matthew hath not, and especially Luke. The texte is. Tunc cum venisset Jesus in villam quae dicitur-gethsemani. Then when Jesus came — some have in villam^ some in agrum^ some in praedium. But it is all one, when Christ came into a Graunge, into a peace of land, into a fielde, it makes no matter, cal it what ye wyl, at what tyme he had come into an honest mans house and ther eaten hys pascquall lambe and instituted and celebrate the lordes supper, and sette furth the blessed communion, then when this was done, he toke his way to the place where he knewe ludas would come. It was a solitary place and thither he wente with hys leaven Apostles. For ludas the twelfte was a boute his busines, he was occupied aboute his marchandise and was provyd- yng among the byshoppes and preistes, to come with an imbushment of Jewes to take our saviour lesus Christ.
" And when he was come into this felde, or grandge, this village, or ferme place, which was called Gethsemani, there was a Garden, sayth Luke, into the whych he goeth and leves VIII of hys disciples without ; howbeit, he ap- poynted them what they shold do. He sayth, Sedete hicy
DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 137
donee vadam illucy et orem. Sit you here whiles I go yon- der and prai.
" Heelefte them there and take no more with him but III, Peter, James and John, to teach us that a solitari place is mete for prayer. . . . He toke Peter, James and John into thys garden. And why dyd he take them wyth hym rather then other? mary those that he had taken before, to whom he had reveled in the hyl the trans- figuracion and declaracion of his deitye, to se ye revelacion of ye maiestye of his godhead : now in the garden he reveled to the same ye infirmity of his manhood ; because they had tasted of the swete, he would thei should taste also of the sower. . . . And he began to be heavy in hys mynd. . . . And as the soule is more precious then the bodye even so is the paine of the soule more grevous then the paynes of the body. Therfore ther is another which writteth, horror mortis gravior ipsa morte. The horrour and ugsomnes of death is sorer than death it selfe. This is the moste grevous paine that ever christ suffered, even this pang that he suffered in the garden. It is the most notable place one of them in the whole storie of ye pas- sion, when he sayed, Anima mea tristis est usque ad mortem. My soule is heavy to death. There was offered unto him nowe the Image of death, the Image, the sence, the felynge of hell, for death and hell go both together.
" I wyll entreate of thys Image of hell, whyche is death. Truelye no manne can shewe it perfectlye, yet I wyl do the best I can to make you understand ye grevouse panges that oure Savioure Christe was in when he was in the garden ; as mans power is not able to beare it, so no mans tong is able to expresse it. Paynters painte death lyke a man without skin, and a body having nothing but bones. And hel they paint it horible flames of brening fier ; they bungell somwhat at it, thei come no thing nere
138 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
it. But thys is no true payntynge. No paynter can paynte hel unlesse he could paynte the torment and con- demnation both of body and soule. . . . Death and hel take unto them this evill favoured face of fine and thor- ough sinne. Synne was their mother. . . . Therefore they must have suche an Image as their mother sinne would geve them. An ugsome thing and an horrible Image must it nedes be that is brought in by such a thyng so hated of God, yea this face of death and hell is so terri- ble, that suche as hath bene wycked men had rather be hanged than abyde it. As Achitophell that traytoure to David lyke an ambyciouse wretche thought to have come to higher promotion and therefore conspired with Absolom against hys maiester David. He when he sawe hys coun- sayle take no place, goes and hanges hym selfe, in contem- plation of thys evyl favored face of death. ludas also when he came wyth bushementes to take his maister Christe in beholdyng thys horrible face hanged himselfe.
" Yea the electe people of God, the faythful havinge the beholdynge of thys face, (though God hath always pre- served them, suche a good God he is to them that beleve in hym, that he wyll not suffer them to be tempted above that, that they have bene able to beare) yet for all that, there is nothynge that they complaine more sore then of thys horrour of death. Go to Job. What sayeth he ? Pereat dies in quo natus sum^ suspendium elegit anima mea. Wo worth ye day that I was born in, my soule wolde be hanged, saying in his panges almooste he wyste not what. Thys was when wyth the eye of hys conscience, and the inwarde man he behelde the horrour of death and hel, not for any bodylye payne that he suffred, for when he hadde byles, botches, blaynes, and scabbes, he suffered them pacientlye. . . . Kynge David also sayed, in contempla- tion of thys ugsome face : Laboravi in genitu meo. I have
DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 139
been sore vexed with sighyng and mourning. . . . Ther be some writers that saies Peter, lames and lohn, were in thys felynge at the same tyme, and that Peter when he sayed : Exi a me domine quia homo peccator sum^ did taste some part of it he was so astonyshed, he wist not what to saye. It was not longe that they were in thys anguyshe, some sayes longer, some shorter, but Christ was ready to comforte them, and sayed to Peter. Ne timeas. Be not afraid. A frend of myne tolde me of a certayne woman, that was XVIII yeares together in it. I knewe a man myself Bilney, litle Bilney, that blessed martyr of GOD, what tyme he had hys fagott, and was come agayne to Cambrydge hadde suche conflyctes, wythin hym selfe, beholdynge thys Image of death, that hys frendes were afrayed to lette hym be alone, they were fayne to be wyth hym daye and nyght, and comforted hym, as they coulde, but no comfortes would serve. As for the comfortable places of scripture to brynge theym unto hym, it was as though a man would runne hym throughe the herte wyth a sweard. Yet afterwarde for all thys he was revived, and toke his death pacientlye, and dyed wel againste the Tiran- nical sea of Rome. . . . Here is a good lesson for you my fryendes. If ever ye come in daunger, in duraunce, in pryson for godes quarrell, and hys sake (as he dyd for purgatorye matters . . . ) I wyl advyse .you fyrst and above al thing to abjure al your fryendes, all your friende- shipe, leave not one unabjured, it is they that shall undo you, and not your ennemyes. It was his very friendes, that brought Bylnye to it. By this it maye somewhat appere what oure savyour Christe suffered, he doeth not dissemble it hym selfe, when he sayth, my soule is heavye to death, he was in so sore an Agony, that there issued out of hym as I shal entreate anon, droppes of bloud, an ugsome thing suerly, whiche his fact and dede sheweth us.
I40 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
what horrible paynes he was in for cure sakes. . . . He woulde not helpe hymselfe with his Godhede. ... he toke before hym our synnes, our synnes, not the worcke of synnes. I meane not so, not to do it, not to commit it, but ... to chause it, to beare the stypende of it, and that waye he was the great synner of the worlde, he bare all the synne of the worlde on hys backe. ... It was as if you woulde immagin that one man had commytted al the synnes since Adam, you maye be sure he shoulde be pun- ished wyth the same horrour of death in suche a sorte as al men in the world shoulde have suffered. Feyne and put case our savyour Christe had committed al the sinnes of the world, al that I for my parte have done, al that you for youre parte have done, and that anye manne elles hath done, if he hade done all thys him selfe, his agony that he suffered should have bene no greater nor grevouser, then it was.
"... Well, he sayeth to his Discyples. Sytte here and praye wyth me. He wente a lytle way of, as it were a stones cast from them, and falles to hys prayer, and saieth : Pater sipossibile est transeat a me calix iste. Father if it be possyble. Awaye wyth thys bytter cuppe, thys outragious payne.
" ... What does he now, what came to passe nowe, when he had harde no voyce ? Hys father was domme. He resortes to hys frendes, seking some comfort at theyr handes, seynge he had none at his fathers hande, he comes to hys disciples, and fyndes them a slepe, he spake unto Peter, and saied. Ah Peter, arte thou a slepe, Peter before had bragged stoutly, as though he woulde have kylled, God have mercye upon hys soule. And nowe when he shoulde have comforted Christ, he was a slepe, not once busse, nor basse to him, not a word. • • •
" What shall we not resorte to oure frendes in tyme of
DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 141
nede ? and trowe ye we shal not fynde them a slepe ? Yes I warrante you, and when we nede theyr helpe most, we shal not have it. But what shal we do, when we shall fynde lacke in theym ? We wyll crye out upon theym, upbrayde them, chyde, braule, fume, chaufe and backbite them. But Christ dyd not so, he excused hys fryendes, sayinge :
" Vigilate et orato spiritus quidem promptus esty caro autem infirma. Oh (quouth he) watch and pray, I se wel the spirite is ready, but the fleshe is weake. . . .
" But now to the passyon again. Christ had ben with hys father, and felt no healpe, he had bene with hys frendes, and had no comfort, he had prayed twyse, and was not herd, what dyd he now ? dyd he geve prayer over ? no, he goeth agayne to hys father, and sayeth the same agayne, father if it be possyble awaye with this cup. . . . He prayed thryse and was not herd, let us sinners praye thre score tymes, folkes are very dul now adaies in praier. . . .
" What comes of thys geve in the ende ? Wel, nowe he prayeth agayne, he resorteth to his father agayne. Angore correptuSy prolixius orabat. He was in sorer paines, in more anguishe, then ever he was, and therefore he prayeth longer, more ardentlye, more farventlye, more vehementilie, then ever he did before. ... It pleased God to here his sonnes prayer, and sent hym an angell to corroborate, to strengthen, to comforte hym. . . . When the aungell had comforted hym, and when thys horroure of deathe was gone, he was so strong, that he offered him- selfe to ludas, and sayed. I am he. . . . The Jewes had hym to Cayphas and Annas, and there they whypt hym, and bet hym, they sette a crowne of sharpe thorne upon hys head, and nayled hym to a tree, yet al thys was not so bytter as thys horrour of death, and thys Agony, that
142 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
he suffered in the gardayne in such a degree as is dewe to al the synnes of the worlde, and not to one man's synne.
" Well, thys passion is our remedye, it is the satissfac- tion for oure synnes. Hys soule descended to hell for a tyme. Here is much a do, these newe upstartynge spir- ites say Christ never descended into hel, neyther body nor soule. In scorne they wil aske, was he ther, what did he there ? What if we cannot tell what he dyd there ? The Crede goeth no further, but sayeth, he descended thither. What is that to us if we cannot tell, seynge we were taughte no further. Paulle was taken up into the third heaven ; aske lykewyse what he sawe when he was carried thyther ; you shall not fynde in scripture what he sawe or what he dyd there ; shal we not therfore beleve that he was there ?
" These arrogant spirites, spirites of vayne glorye, be- cause they knowe not by any expre(e)sse scripture the order of his doynges in hell, they wil not beleve that ever he descended into hell. Indede thys article hathe not so full scripture, so many places and testimonyes of scriptures as other have; yet it hath enough : it hath II or III textes, and if it had but one, one texte of scripture is of as good and lawfull authoritye as a M. [thousand] and of as certayne truth. It is not to be wayed by the multitude of textes. . . .
"There be some greate clarkes that take my parte, and I perceyve not what evill can come of it, in saying, yat our Saviour Christe dyd not onely in soule descende into hell, but also that he suffered in hel suche paynes as the damned spirites dyd suffer there. Suerli, I beleve vereli for my parte, that he suffered the paynes of hell pro- porcionably, as it correspondes and aunsweres to the whole synne of the worlde. He would not suffer onely bodelye in the gardayne and upon the crosse, but also in
DOMESTIC LIFE OF SHAKSPERE'S TIME 143
hys soule, when it was from the bodye, whyche was a payne dewe for oure synne. Some wrytte so, and I can beleve it, that he suffered in the very place, I cannot tell what it is, call it what ye wil, even in the skaldinge house, in the ugsomnes of the place, in the presence of the place, suche payne as our capacitie cannot attayne unto ; it is some- what declared unto us when we utter it by these effectes : by fyre, by gnashynge of teth, by the worme that gnaweth on the conscience. What so ever the payne is, it is a greate payne that he suffered for us. I se no inconve- nience to saye that Christe suffered in soule in hell. . . . Whether he suffered, or wrastled with the spirites, or com- forted Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, I wyl not desier to knowe ; if ye lyke not that which I have spoken of hys sufferynge, let it go, I wyl not strive in it. I wil be preiudice to nobody, weye it as ye list. I do but offer it you to consider. It is like his soule did somwhat, the thre dayes that hys bodye lay in the grave. To saye he suffered in hell for us derogats nothing from his death, for al thinges that Christ did before his suffering on the crosse and after do worke oure salvacion ; if he had not bene incarnat, he had not dyed ; he was beneficial to us with al thinges he did. . . .
"... Oure Savioure Christe hath lefte behynd hym a remembraunce of hys passion, the blessed communion, the celebration of the Lordes supper, a lacke it hath bene longe abused, as the sacrifices were before, in the oulde law. . . . There comes other after, and they consider not the fayth of Abraham, and the Patriarkes, but do theyr sacrifice accordynge to theyre owne imaginacion, even so came it to passe wyth oure blessed communion. ... If he be gyltye of the bodye of Christ, that takes it unworthely, he fetcheth greate comforte at it, that eate it worthely. He doothe eate it worthelye that doeth it in
144 SHAKSPERE AND HIS FORERUNNERS
fayeth. In fayeth? in what fayeth? ... It is no bryb- ynge judges or justices faith, no rentreasers fayeth, no lease mongers fayeth, no seller of benefices faith, but the fayth in the passion of oure Savioure Christ; we must beleve that oure Savioure Christ hath taken us agayne to hys favoure, that he hath delivered us hys owne bodye and bloude to plead with the dyvel, and by merite of hys owne passion, of his owne mere liberalitie.
"This is the fayth I tel you we must come to the communion with. . . . Fayth is a noble duches, she hath ever her gentleman usher going before her, the confessing of sinnes ; she hath a trayne after her, the frute of good workes, the walking in the commandments of god. He yat beleveth wyll no[t] be idle, he wyl walke, he will do his business ; have ever the gentleman usher with you. So if ye wil trye fayth, remember this rule, consider whether the trayne be waytinge upon her. If you have another fayth then thys, ye are lyke to go [to] ye Scalding house, and ther you shal have two dishes, wepynge and gnashyng of teeth, muche good do it you, you se your fare. If ye wil beleve and acknowledge your synnes you shall come to ye blessed communion of the bitter passion of
Christ, worthily, and so attayne to ever- -lastynge lyfe, to the whiche the father of hea- ven bringe you and me.
A. M. E. N.
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Richard Tarleton, »d Acior in Sliakspcru's Pl>
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