Complete Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker

by Thomas Dekker

  THE FEILD OF HAPPINES.

  IN WHICH FEILD are planted severall Trees of magnificence, State and Bewty, to celebrate the Solemnity of the Bight Honorable James Campebell, at his Inauguration into the honorable Office of Prætorship or Maioralty of London, on Thursday the 29th of October, 1629.

  All the particular Inventions for the Pageants, Showes of Triumph, both by Water and Land, being here fully set downe. At the sole Cost, and liberall Charges of the Bight worshipfull Society of Ironmongers.

  TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE JAMES CAMPEBELL, LORD MAIOR OF THE MOST RENOUNED CITTY OF LONDON.

  HONORABLE PRÆTOR.

  The triumphes which these few leaves of paper present to your vew (albeit their glories are but short lived as glittering onely for a day), boldly shew their faces unto the eye of the world, as servants attending on your lordship onely to do you honor.

  With much care, cost, and curiosity, are they brought forth; and with exceeding greatness of love, a free handed bounty of their purse, a noble and generous alacrity of spirit, have your worthy fraternity, and much to be honored brotherhood of Ironmongers bestowed them upon you.

  It much winnes upon them to have such a cheife, and you cannot but be glad to have such a society: by a free election are you Londons Prætor; the suffrages of commoners call you to your seate. A succession to the place takes you by the hand, your industry hath met with blessings, those blessings given you ability, and that ability makes you fit for a magistrate.

  Yet there is a musicke in your owne bosome whose strings being touchd, yeilds as harmonius a sound to you as all theise, and that is to see your self heire to that patrician dignity with which your father was invested. It was an honor to him to wear that robe of scarlet; it is a double glory to you, in so short an age to have his sword borne before you.

  You have the voyce of senators breathing out your welcome, a confluence of grave citizens, adding state to your state. The acclamations of people ushering you along. Whilst I (the least part of this triumphant day) spend such sand as I have, to help to fill up the hour glasse, my service ronning.

  Attending on your Lordship, THOMAS DEKKER.

  LONDONS TEMPE.

  WERE IT POSSIBLE for a man, in the compasse of a day, to behold (as the sunne does) all the citties in the world, as if he went with walking beames about him; that man should never see in any part of the yeare, any citty so magnificently adorned with all sorts of tryumphes, variety of musicke, of bravery, of bewty, of feastings, of civill (yet rich) ceremonies, with gallant lords and ladies, and th ronges of people, as London is inriched with, on the first day that her great lord (or Lord Maior, for ’tis all one) takes that office upon him.

  In former ages, he was not encompast with such glories; no such firmaments of starres were to be seene in Cheapside: Thames dranke no such costly healthes to London as hee does now. But as Troynovant spread in fame, so our English kings shined upon her with favours.

  In those home-spun times, they had no collars of SS, no mace, sword, nor cap of maintenance; these came by degrees, as additamenta honoris, additions or ensigues of more honour, conferd by severall princes on this citty: for in the time of Edward Confessor, the chiefe ruler of the citty was called Reeve, Greeve, or Portreeve. The next to him in authority; Provost.

  Then in the first of Richard I. two Bayliffes carried the sway: this continued till the ninth of King John, who by letters patents gave the citizens power yearely to choose themselves a lord maior, and two sheriffes.

  Then, King Henry III made the first aldermen in London (yet the name of Ealdorman was knowne in the Saxons time, for Alwin in the reigne of Edgar was alderman of all England, that is to say chiefe justice:) and those aldermen of London had rule then (as now) over the wardes of the citty, but were everie year changed, as the shreiffes are in these dayes.

  Then Edward I. ordained that the Lord Maior should, in the king’s absence, sit in all places within London as chiefe justice; and that every alderman that had bin Lord Mayor, should be a justice of peace for London and Middlesex all his life after.

  Then in the reigne of Henry VII, Sr. John Shaw, goldsmith, being Lord Maior, caused the aldermen to ride from the Guildhall to the water side, when he went to take his oath at Westminster, (where before they rode by land thither); and at his returne to ride againe to the Guild-hall there to dine; all the kitchens, and other offices there, being built by him: since which time the feast has there bin kept, for before it was either at Grocers Hall, or the Merchant Taylors.

  Thus small rootes grow in time to cedars, shallow streames to rivers, and a hand of government to be the strongest arme in a kingdome. Thus you see London in her meane attyre, then in robes maiestical; and sitting in that pompe, cast your eye upon those alluring objects, which she her selfe beholds with admiration.

  THE FIRST.

  THE FIRST SCÆNE is a water-worke, presented by Oceanus, king of the sea, (from whose name the universall maine sea is called the ocean) he, to celebrate the ceremonies and honors due to this great festivall, and to shew the world his marine chariot, sits triumphantly in the vast (but queint) shell of a silver scollup, reyning in the heads of two wild sea-horses proportioned to the life, their maynes falling about their neckes, shining with curies of gold.

  On his head, which (as his beard) is knotted, long, carelesly spred, and white, is placed a diadem, whose bottome is a conceited coronet of gold; the middle over that, is a coronet of silver scollops, and on the top a faire spreading branch of corrall, interwoven thickly with pearle. In his right hand a golden trident, or three forked scepter.

  His habit is antique, the stuffe, watchet and silver; a mantle crossing his body, with silver waves, bases and buskins cut likewise at the top into silver scollups, and in this language he congratulates his lordship.

  OCEANUS HIS SPEECH.

  THUS MOUNTED, HITHER comes the king of waves,

  Whos voyce charmes roughest billows into slaves,

  Whose foote treades downe their necks with as much ease,

  As in my shelly coach I reyne up these.

  Lowd ecchoes cald me from my glittering throne,

  To see the noble Thamesis, — a sonne

  To this my queene and me (Tethys) whose eare

  Ne’re jeweld up such musick as sounds here:

  For our unfaddomed world, roares out with none

  But horrid sea-fights, navies overthrowne;

  Bands halfe drowned in blood, pyrates pell mell,

  Turkes slavish tugging oares, the Dunkerk’s hell,

  The Dutchman’s thunder, and the Spaniards lightning,

  To whom the sulphures breath gives heate and heightning,

  O! these are the dire tunes my consort sings.

  But here! old Thames out-shines the beames of kings.

  This citty addes new glories to Jove’s court,

  And to all you who to this hall resort,

  This Lactea Via (as a path) is given,

  Being paved with pearle, as that with starres in heaven.

  I could (to swell my trayne) beckon the Rhine,

  (But the wilde boare has tusked up his vine);

  I could swift Volga call, whose curld head lies

  On seaven rich pillowes (but, in merchandize

  The Russian him imployes); I could to theis

  Call Ganges, Nilus, long-haird Euphrates;

  Tagus, whose golden hands claspe Lisbone walles,

  Him could I call too, — but what neede theis calles?

  Were they all here, they would weepe out their eyes,

  Madde that new Troy’s high towers on tiptoe rize

  To hit heaven’s roofe: madde to see Thames this day

  (For all his age) in wanton windinges play

  Before his new grave prætor, and before

  Theis senators, best fathers of the poore,

  That grand canale, where (stately) once a yeare

  A fleete of bridall gondolets appeare,

  To marry with a golden ring, (that’s hurld
/>
  Into the sea) that minion of the world,

  Venice, to Neptune, — a poor lantscip is

  To these full braveries of Thamesis.

  Goe therefore up to Caesar’s court, and clayme

  What honours there are left to Campebel’s name,

  As by disent; whilst we tow up a tyde,

  Which shall ronne sweating up by your barges side;

  That done, Time shall Oceanus’ name inroll,

  For guarding you to London’s capitoll.

  THE SECOND PRESENTATION.

  THE INVENTION IS a proud-swelling sea, on whose waves is borne up a sea lyon, as a proper and eminent body to marshall in the following triumphes; in regard it is one of the supporters of the East Indian Company, of which his lordship is free, and a great adventurer. And these marine creatures, are the more fitly imployed, in regard also, that his lordship is Maior of the Staple, Governour of the French Company, and free of the East-land Company.

  On this lyon (wich is cut out of wood to the life) rides Tethys wife to Oceanus, and queene of the sea; for why should the king of waves be in such a glorious progresse without his queene, or she without him? They both therefore twin themselves together to heighten these solemnities.

  Her haire is long, and dishevelled; on her head an antique sea-tyre, encompast with a coron all of gold and pearle, her garments rich and proper to her quality, with a taffaty mantle fringed with silver crossing her body. Her right hand supporting a large streamer in which are the Lord Maiors armes.

  On each side of this lyon, attend a mermaid and merman, holding two banners, with the armes of the two new shrieves, several fishes swimming as it were about the border. And these two having dispatched on the water, hasten to aduance themselves on land.

  THE THIRD.

  THE THIRD SHOW is an estridge, cut out of timber to the life, biting a horse-shoe: on this bird rides an Indian boy, holding in one hand a long tobacco pipe, in the other a dart; his attire is proper to the country.

  At the four angles of the square, where the estridg stands, are plac’d a Turke, and a Persian, a pikeman and a musketeere.

  THE FOURTH.

  THE FOURTH PRESENTATION is called the Lemnian forge. In it are Vulcan, the Smith of Lemnos, with his servants (the Cyclopes), whose names are Pyracmon, Brontes and Sceropes, working at the anvile. Their habite are wastcoates and leather approns: their hair blacke and shaggy, in knotted curies.

  A fire is seene in the forge, bellowes blowing, some filing, some at other workes; thunder and lightning on occasion. As the smiths are at worke, they sing in praise of iron, the anvile and hammer: by the concordant stroakes and soundes of which, Tuballcayne became the first inventor of musicke.

  THE SONG.

  Brave iron! brave hammer! from your sound,

  The art of musicke has her ground;

  On the an vile thou keep’st time,

  Thy knick-a-knock is a smithes best chyme.

  Yet thwick-a-thwack,

  Thwick, thwack-a-thwack, thwack,

  Make our brawny sinewes crack,

  Then pit-a-pat pat, pit-a-pat pat,

  Till thickest barres be beaten flat.

  We shooe the horses of the sunne,

  Harnesse the dragons of the moone,

  Forge Cupid’s quiver, bow, and arrowes,

  And our dame’s coach that’s drawn with sparrowes.

  Till thwick-a-thwack, &c.

  Jove’s roaring cannons, and his rammers

  We beat out with our Lemnian hammers;

  Mars his gauntlet-, helme, and speare,

  And Gorgon shield, are all made here.

  Till thwick-a-thwack, &c.

  The grate which (shut) the day out-barres,

  Those golden studdes which naile the starres,

  The globe’s case, and the axletree,

  Who can hammer these but wee?

  Till thwick-a-thwack, &c.

  A warming-panne to heate earth’s bedde,

  Lying i’ th’ frozen zone halfe dead;

  Hob-nailes to serve the man i’ th’ moone,

  And sparrowbils to cloute Pan’s shoone,

  Whose work but ours?

  Till thwick-a-thwack, &c.

  Venus’ kettles, pots, and pannes,

  We make, or else she brawles and bannes;

  Tonges, shovels, andirons have their places,

  Else she scratches all our faces.

  Till thwick-a-thwack, &c.

  Cupid sits in one place of this forge, on his head a curld yellow haire, his eyes hid in lawne, a bow and quiver, his armour: wings at his backe; his body in light colours, a changeable silke mantle crossing it; golden and silver arrowes are ever and anone reached up to him, which hee shootes upward into the aire, and is still supplied with more from the forge.

  On the top sits Jove, in a rich antique habite, a long white reverend hayre on his head, a beard long and curld: a mace of triple fire in his hand burning; who calling to Vulcan, this language passes betweene them.

  Jove, Ho, Vulcan.

  Vul. Stop your hammers: what ay les Jove?

  We are making arrowes for my slip-string sonne.

  Here, reach him those two dozen; I must now

  A golden handle make for my wife’s fann:

  Worke, my fine Smugges.

  Jove. First heare: you shall not play,

  The Fates would scold should you keepe holiday.

  Vul. What then?

  Jove. Command thy brawny-fisted slaves to sweate

  At th’ anvile, and to dust their hammers beate,

  To stuffe with thunder-bolts Jove’s armoryes,

  For vices (mountain-like) in black heapes rize.

  My sinewes cracke to fell them. Ideot pride

  Stalkes upon stilts; Ambition, by her side,

  Climbing to catch starres, breakes her necke i’ th’ fall;

  The gallant roares; roarers drinke oathes and gall;

  The beggar curses; Avarice eates gold,

  Yet ne’re is fil’d; Learning’s a wrangling scold;

  Warre has a fatall hand; Peace, whorish eyes;

  Shall not Jove beat downe such impieties?

  Is’t not high time? is’t not true justice then,

  Vulcan, for thee and thy tough hammer-men

  To beate thy anvile, and blow fires to flames, —

  To bume these broodes, who kill even with their names?

  Vul. Yes, Jove, ’tis more then time.

  Jove. And what helpes this, but iron! O then, how high

  Shall this great Troy, text up the memory

  Of you her noble praetor, and all those

  Your worthy brotherhood, through whose care goes

  That rare rich prize of iron to the whole land,

  Iron, farre more worth than Tagus’ golden sand.

  Iron! best of metals! pride of minerals!

  Hart of the earth! hand of the world! which fais

  Heavy when it strikes home. By iron’s strong charmes

  Ryots lye bound. Warre stops her rough allarmes.

  Iron, earthquakes strikes in foes:knits friends in love;

  Iron’s that maine hinge on which the world doth move;

  No kingdomes globe can turne, even, smooth, and round,

  But that his axletree in iron is found:

  For armies wanting iron are puffes of wind,

  And but for iron, who, thrones of peace would mind?

  Were there no gold nor silver in the land,

  Yet navigation, (which on iron does stand),

  Could fetch it in. Gold’s, darling to the sunne,

  But iron, his hardy boy, by whom is done

  More than the t’other dare, the merchant’s gates

  By iron barre out theevish assassinates:

  Iron is the shop-keeper’s both locke and kay;

  What are your courts of guard when iron’s away?

  How would the corne pricke up her golden eares,

  But that iron plough-shares all the labour
beares

  In earth’s strange midwiffry? Brave iron! what praise

  Deserves it! more ’tis beate, more it obeyes;

  The more it suffers, more it smoothes offence;

  In drudgery it shines with patience.

  This fellowship, was then, with judging eyes,

  United to the twelve great companies:

  It being faire more worthy than to fill

  A file inferiour. Yon’s, the sunn’s guilt hill,

  On too’t, Love guardes you on: Cyclopes, a ring

  Make with your hammers, to whose musicke sing.

  THE FIFT.

  THE FIFT PRESENTATION is called London’s Tempe, or the Field of Happinesse; thereby reflecting upon the name of Campe-bell or Le Beu Champe, a faire and glorious field. It is an arbor supported by four great termes: on the four angles, or corners over the termes, are placed four pendants with armes in them.

  It is round about furnished with trees and flowers: the upper part with severall fruités, intimating that as London is the best stored garden in the kingdome for plants, herbes, flowers, rootes, and such like; so, on this day it is the most glorious citty in the Christan world.

  And therefore Tytan (one of the names of the sun) in all his splendor, with Flora, Ceres, Pomona, Ver, and Estas, are seated in this Tempe; on the top of all stands a lyon’s head, being the Lord Maiors crest.

  Tytan being the speaker, does in this language court his lordship to attention.

  TYTAN HIS SPEECH.

  WELCOME, GREAT PRÆTOR: now heare Tytan speak,

  Whose beames to crowne this day, through clouds thus break.

  My coach of beaten gold is set aside,

  My horses to ambrosiall mangers tied;

  Why is this done? why leave I mine own sphere?

  But here to circle you for a whole yeare.

  Embrace then Tytan’s counsell: — now so guide