gypsies; and near to them sat a gang of beggars. The gypsies were then to divide all the money that had been got that week, either by stealing linen or poultry, or by fortune-telling or legerdemain; or, indeed, by any other sleights and secrets belonging to their mysterious government. And the sum that was got that week proved to be but twenty and some odd shillings. The odd money was agreed to be distributed amongst the poor of their own corporation and for the remaining twenty shillings, that was to be divided unto four gentlemen gypsies, according to their several degrees in their commonwealth. And the first or chiefest gypsy was, by consent, to have a third part of the twenty shillings; which all men know is 6s. 8d. The second was to have a fourth part of the 20s. which all men know to be 5s. The third was to have a fifth part of the 20s. which all men know to be 4s. The fourth and last gypsy was to have a sixth part of the 20s. which all men know to be 3s. 4d. And yet he that divided the money was so very a gypsy, that though he gave to every one these said sums, yet he kept one shilling of it for himself. But now you shall know, that when the four gypsies saw that he had got one shilling by dividing the money, though not one of them knew any reason to demand more, yet, like lords and courtiers, every gypsy envied him that was the gainer; and wrangled with him; and every one said the remaining 1s. belonged to him: and so they fell to so high a contest about it, as none that knows the faithfulness of one gypsy to another will easily believe; only we that have lived these last twenty years are certain that money has been able to do much mischief. However, the gypsies were too wise to go to law, and did therefore choose their choice friends Rook and Shark, and our late English Gusman,' to be their arbitrators and umpires. And so they left this honeysuckle hedge, and went to tell fortunes and cheat, and get more money and lodging in the next village. When these were gone, we heard as high a contention amongst the beggars, whether it was easiest to rip a cloak, or to unrip a cloak? One beggar affirmed it was all one: but that was denied, by asking her, If doing and undoing were all one? Then another said, 'twas easiest to unrip a cloak; for that was to let it alone; but she was answered, by asking her, how she unript it if she let it alone? and she confest herself mistaken. These and twenty such like questions were proposed and answered, with as much beggarly logic and earnestness as was ever heard to proceed from the mouth of the most pertinacious schismatic; and sometimes all the beggars, (whose number was neither more nor less than the poets' nine muses,) talked all together about this ripping and unripping; and (1) Alluding to a work that appeared a few years before, entitled "The English Gusman, or, the History of that unparalleled thief, James Hind," written by George Fidge, 4to. Lond. 1652. Hind made a considerable figure at the time of the great rebellion, and fought, both at Worcester and Warrington, on the king's side. He was arrested by order of the Parliament in 1651. so loud, that not one heard what the other said: but, at last, one beggar craved audience; and told them that old father Clause, whom Ben Jonson, in his Beggar's Bush,1 created king of their corporation, was to lodge at an alehouse, called Catch-her-by-the-way, not far from Waltham Cross, and in the high road towards London; and he therefore desired them to spend no more time about that and such like questions, but refer all to father Clause at night, for he was an upright judge, and in the mean time draw cuts, what song should be next sung, and who should sing it. They all agreed to the motion; and the lot fell to her that was the youngest, and veriest virgin of the company. And she sung Frank Davison's song, which he made forty years ago; and all the others of the company joined to, sing the burthen with her. The ditty was this: but first the burthen: Bright shines the sun, play beggars, play: What noise of viols is so sweet, As when our merry clappers ring? What mirth doth want when beggars meet? Fat, drink, and play; sleep when we list; Bright shines the sun, play beggars, play; The world is ours, and ours alone; We purchase not; all is our own; Both fields and streets we beggars fill. A hundred herds of black and white He dies therefore, as sure as creed. And only beggars live at ease. Bright shines the sun, play beggars, play; Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. (1) The Comedy of The Royal Merchant, or Beggar's Bush, was written by Beaumont and Fletcher, and not by Ben Jonson, It has also been attributed wholly to Fletcher. Ven. I thank you, good master, for this piece of merriment, and this song, which was well humoured by the maker, and well remembered by you. Pisc. But, I pray, forget not the catch which you promised to make against night; for our countryman, honest Coridon, will expect your catch, and my song, which I must be forced to patch up, for it is so long since I learnt it, that I have forgot a part of it. But, come, now it hath done raining, let's stretch our legs a little in a gentle walk to the river, and try what interest our angles will pay us for lending them so long to be used by the Trouts; lent them indeed, like usurers, for our profit and their destruction. Ven. Oh me! look you, master, a fish! a fish! Oh, alas, master, I have lost her! Pisc. I marry, Sir, that was a good fish indeed: if I had had the luck to have taken up that rod, then 'tis twenty to one he should not have broke my line by running to the rod's end, as you suffered him. I would have held him within the bent of my rod, (unless he had been fellow to the great Trout that is near an ell long, which was of such a length and depth, that he had his picture drawn, and now is to be seen at mine host Rickabie's, at the George in Ware,) and it may be, by giving that very great Trout the rod, that is, by casting it to him into the water, I might have caught him at the long run; for so I use always to do when I meet with an overgrown fish; and you will learn to do so too, hereafter; for I tell you, scholar, fishing is an art, or, at least, it is an art to catch fish. Ven. But, master, I have heard that the great Trout you speak of is a Salmon. Pisc. Trust me, scholar, I know not what to say to it. There are many country people that believe hares change sexes every year: and there be very many learned men think so too, for in their dissecting them they find many reasons to incline them to that belief. And to make the wonder seem yet less, that hares change sexes, note that Dr. Mer. Casaubon affirms, in his book of crédible and incredible things, that Gasper Peucerus, a learned physician,' tells us of a people that once a year turn wolves, partly in shape, and partly in conditions. And so, whether this were a Salmon when he came into fresh water, and his not returning into the sea hath altered him to another colour or kind, I am not able to say; but I am certain he hath all the signs of being a Trout, both for his shape, colour, and spots: and yet many think he is not. Ven. But, master, will this Trout which I had hold of die? for it is like he hath the hook in his belly. Pisc. I will tell you, scholar, that unless the hook be fast in his very gorge, 'tis more than probable he will live, and a little time, with the help of the water, will rust the hook, and it will in time wear away, as the gravel doth in the horse-hoof, which only leaves a false quarter. And now, scholar, let's go to my rod. Look you scholar, I have a fish too, but it proves a logger-headed Chub; and this is not much amiss, for this will pleasure some poor body, as we go to our lodging to meet our brother Peter and honest Coridon. Come, now bait your hook again, and lay it into the water, for it rains again; and we will even retire to the sycamore-tree, and there I will give you more directions concerning fishing, for I would fain make you an artist. Ven. Yes, good master, I pray let it be so. Pisc. Well, scholar, now we are sate down and are at ease, I shall tell you a little more of Trout-fishing, before I speak of the Salmon (which I purpose shall be next), and then of the Pike or Luce. (1) And mathematician, born at Lusatia, in 1525; he married the daughter of Melancthon, wrote many books on various subjects, and died 1602, aged 78. |