IX. ENTERTAINMENT OF QUEEN ELIZABETH AT HAREFIELD BY COUNTESSE OF DERBY.
Reading edition
NOTE.
This 'Entertainment' has the additional interest of having been that wherein "The Lottery" (pp. 87-95), was introduced. The reasons for our giving the whole to Davies, we have stated in the Memorial-Introduction (II. Critical: Minor Poems). Our text is from Nichols' Progresses of Q. Elizabeth, Vol. III., pp. 586-94. G.
Entertainment of Q. Elizabeth at Harefield by Countesse of Derby.
After the Queene entered (out of the high way) into the Deamesne grounde of Harefielde, near the Dayrie howse, she was mett with 2 persons, the one representing a Bayliffe, the other a Dayrie-Maide, with the Speech. Her Majesty, being on horsebacke, stayed under a tree (because it rayned) to heare it.
B. Why, how now, Joane! are you heere? Gods my life, what make you heere, gaddinge and gazinge after this manner? You come to buy gape-seede,[277] doe you? Wherefore come you abroade now I' faith can you tell?
Joa. I come abroade to welcome these Strangers.
B. Strangers? how knew you there would come Strangers?
Jo. All this night I could not sleepe, dreaming of greene rushes; and yesternight the chatting of the pyes, and the chirkinge[278] of the frisketts[279] did foretell as much; and, besides that, all this day my lefte eare glowed,[280] and that is to me (let them all say what they wil) allwaies a signe of Strangers, if it be in the Summer; marye, if it be in the Winter, tis a signe of anger. But what make you in this company, I pray you?
B. I make the way for these Strangers, which the Way-maker himself could not doe; for it is a way was never passed before. Besides, the Mrs. of this faire company, though she know the way to all men's harts, yet she knowes the way but to few men's howses, except she love them very well, I can tell you; and therefore I myselfe, without any comission, have taken upon me to conduct them to the house.
Jo. The house? which house? doe you remember yourselfe? which way goe you?
B. I goe this way, on the right hand. Which way should I goe?
Jo. You say true, and you're a trim man; but I' faith I'll talke noe more to you, except you ware wyser. I pray you hartely, 'forsooth, come neare the house, and take a simple lodginge with vs to-night; for I can assuere you that yonder house that he talks of is but a Pigeon-house, which is very little if it were finisht, and yet very little of it is finisht. And you will believe me, vpon my life, Lady, I saw Carpenters and Bricklayers and other Workmen about it within less than these two howers. Besides, I doubt my Mr. and Mrs. are not at home; or, if they be, you must make your owne provision; for they have noe provision for such Strangers. You should seeme to be Ladies; and we in the country have an old saying, that "halfe a pease a day will serve a Lady." I know not what you are, nether am I acquainted with your dyet; but, if you will goe with me, you shall haue cheare for a Lady: for first you shall have a dayntie sillibub; next a messe of clowted creame; stroakings,[281] in good faith, redd cowes milk, and they say in London that's restorative: you shall have greene cheeses and creame. (I'll speake a bould word) if the Queene herself (God save her Grace) [were here] she might be seene to eat of it. Wee will not greatly bragge of our possets, but we would be loath to learne to praise: and if you loue frute, forsooth, wee haue jenitings,[282] paremayns,[283] russet coates,[284] pippines, able-johns,[285] and perhaps a pareplum,[286] a damsone, I or an apricocke[287] too, but that they are noe dainties this yeare; and therefore, I pray, come neare the house, and wellcome heartily, doe soe.
B. Goe to, gossip; your tongue must be running. If my Mrs. should heare of this, I' faith shee would give you little thankes I can tell you, for offeringe to draw so faire a flight from her Pigeon-house (as you call it) to your Dayrie-house.
Jo. Wisely, wisely, brother Richard; I' faith as I would vse the matter, I dare say shee would giue me great thankes: for you know my Mrs. charged me earnestly to retaine all idele hearvest-folkes that past this way; and my meaning was, that, if I could hold them all this night and to-morrow, on Monday morning to carry them into the fields; and to make them earne their entertaynment well and thriftily; and to that end I have heere a Rake and Forke, to deliver to the best Huswife in all this company.
B. Doe soe then: deliver them to the best Huswife in all this company: for wee shall haue as much vse of her paines and patience there as here. As for the dainties that you talke of, if you have any such, you shall doe well to send them; and as for these strangers, sett thy hart at rest, Joane; they will not rest with [thee] this night, but will passe on to my Mr[s.] house.
Joa. Then, I pray, take this Rake and Forke with you; but I am ashamed, and woe at my hart, you should goe away soe late. And I pray God you repent you not, and wish yourselves here againe, when you finde you haue gone further and fared worsse.
When her Maiestie was alighted from her horse, and ascended 3 steeps neare to the entering into the house, a carpet and chaire there sett for her; Place and Time present themselves, and vsed this Dialogue:
Place in a partie-colored roabe, like the brick house.
Time with yeollow haire, and in a green roabe, with a hower glasse, stopped, not runninge.
P. Wellcome, good Time.
T. Godden, my little pretie priuat Place.
P. Farewell, godbwy Time; are you not gone? doe you stay heere? I wonder that Time should stay any where; what's the cause?
T. If thou knewest the cause, thou wouldst not wonder; for I stay to entertaine the Wonder of this time; wherein I would pray thee to ioyne mee, if thou wert not too little for her greatnes; for it weare as great a meracle for thee to receive her, as to see the Ocean shut up in a little creeke, or the circumference shrinke vnto the pointe of the center.
P. Too little! by that reason shee should rest in noe place, for no place is great ynough to receive her. Too little! I have all this day entertayned the Sunn, which, you knowe, is a great and glorious Guest; hee's but euen now gone downe yonder hill; and now he is gone, methinks, if Cinthia her selfe would come in his place, the place that contaynde him should not be to little to receave her.
T. You say true, and I like your comparison; for the Guest that wee are to entertaine doth fill all places with her divine vertues, as the Sunn fills the World with the light of his beames. But say, poore Place, in what manner didst thou entertaine the Sunn?
P. I received his glory, and was fill'd with it: but I must confesse, not according to the proportion of his greatnes, but according to the measure of my capacitie; his bright face (methought) was all day turned vpon mee; nevertheless his beames in infinite abundance weere disperst and spread vpon other places.
T. Well, well; this is noe time for vs to entertaine one another, when wee should ioine to entertaine her. Our entertaynment of this Goddesse will be much alike; for though her selfe shall eclipse her soe much, as to suffer her brightnes to bee shadowed in this obscuere and narrow Place, yet the sunne beames that follow her, the traine I meane that attends vpon her, must, by the necessitie of this Place, be deuided from her. Are you ready, Place? Time is ready.
P. Soe it should seeme, indeed, you are so gaye, fresh, and cheerfull. You are the present Time, are you not? then what neede you make such haste? Let me see, your wings are clipt, and, for ought I see, your hower-glasse runnes not.
T. My wings are clipt indeed, and it is her hands hath clipt them: and, tis true, my glasse runnes not: indeed it hath bine stopt a longe time, it can never rune as long as I waite upon this Mris. I [am] her Time; and Time weare very vngratefull, if it should not euer stand still, to serue and preserue, cherish and delight her, that is the glory of her time, and makes the Time happy wherein she liueth.
P. And doth not she make Place happy as well as Time? What if she make thee a contynewall holy-day, she makes me a perpetuall sanctuary. Doth not the presence of a Prince make a Cottage a Court, and the presence of the Gods make euery place Heauen? But, alas, my littlenes is not capable of that happines that her great grace would impart vnto me: but, weare I as large as there harts that are mine Owners, I should be the fairest Pallace in the world; and weere I agreeable to the wishes of there hartes, I should in some measure resemble her sacred selfe, and be in the outward frount exceeding faire, and in the inward furniture exceeding rich.
T. In good time do you remember the hearts of your Owners; for, as I was passing to this place, I found this Hart,[288] which, as my daughter Truth tould mee, was stolne by owne[289] of the Nymphes from one of the seruants of this Goddesse; but her guiltie conscience enforming her that it did belong only of right vnto her that is Mrs. of all harts in the world, she cast [it] from her for this time; and Oportunity, finding it delivered it vnto me. Heere, Place, take it thou, and present it vnto her as a pledge and mirror of their harts that owe thee.
P. It is a mirror indeed, for so it is transparent. It is a cleare hart, you may see through it. It hath noe close corners, noe darkenes, noe unbutifull spott in it. I will therefore presume the more boldly to deliver it; with this assurance, that Time, Place, Persons, and all other circumstances, doe concurre alltogether in biddinge her wellcome.
The humble Petition of a guiltlesse Lady, delivered in writing vpon Munday Morninge, when the [robe] of rainbowes was presented to the Q. by the La. Walsingham.
Beauties rose, and vertues booke, Angells minde, and Angells looke, To all Saints and Angells deare, Clearest Maiestie on earth, Heauen did smile at your faire birth, And since, your daies have been most cleare. Only poore St. Swythen now Doth heare you blame his cloudy brow: But that poore St. deuoutly sweares, It is but a tradition vaine That his much weeping causeth raine, For Sts in heauen shedd no teares: But this he saith, that to his feast Commeth Iris, an vnbidden guest, In her moist roabe of collers gay; And she cometh, she ever staies, For the space of fortie daies, And more or lesse raines euery day. But the good St., when once he knew, This raine was like to fall on you, If Sts could weepe, he had wept as much As when he did the Lady leade That did on burning iron tread: To Ladies his respect is such. He gently first bids Iris goe Unto the Antipodes below, But shee for that more sullen grew. When he saw that, with angry looke, From her her rayneie roabes he tooke, Which heere he doth present to you. It is fitt it should with you remaine, For you know better how to raine. Yet if it raine still as before, St Swythen praies that you would guesse, That Iris doth more robes possesse, And that you should blame him no more.
At her Maiesties departure from Harefield, Place, attyred in black mouringe aparell, vsed this farewell followinge:
P. Sweet Maiestie, be pleased to looke vpon a poore Wydow, mourning before your Grace. I am this Place, which at your comming was full of ioy; but now at your departure am as full of sorrow. I was then, for my comfort, accompanied with the present cheerful Time; but now he is to depart with you; and, blessed as he is, must euer fly before you: But, alas! I haue no wings, as Time hath. My heauiness is such, that I must stand still, amazed to see so greate happines so sone bereft mee. Oh, that I could remoue with you, as other circumstances can! Time can goe with you, Persons can goe with you; they can moue like Heaven; but I, like dull Earth (as I am indeed) must stand vnmouable. I could wish my selfe like the inchanted Castle of Loue, to hould you heere for euer, but that your vertues would dissolue all my inchauntments. Then what remedy? As it is against the nature of an Angell to be circumscribed in Place, so it is against the nature of Place to haue the motion of an Angell. I must stay forsaken and desolate. You may goe with maiestie, joy, and glory. My only suyte, before you goe, is that you will pardon the close imprisonment which you haue suffred euer since your comminge, imputinge it not to mee, but St. Swythen, who of late hath raysed soe many stormes, as I was faine to prouide this Anchor,[290] for you, when I did vnderstand you would put into this creeke. But now, since I perceaue this harbour is too little for you, and you will hoyse sayle and be gone, I beseech you take this Anchor with you. And I pray to Him that made both Time and Place, that, in all places where euer you shall arriue, you may anchor as safly, as you doe and euer shall doe in the harts of my Owners.
THE COMPLAINT OF THE V SATYRES AGAINST THE NYMPHS.
Tell me, O Nymphes, why do you Shune vs that your loues pursue? What doe the Satyres notes retaine That should merite your disdaine? On our browes if hornes doe growe, Was not Bacchus armèd soe? Yet of him the Candian maid Held no scorne, nor was affraid. Say our colours tawny bee, Phœbus was not faire to see; Yet faire Clymen[291] did not shunn To bee Mother of his Sonne. If our beards be rough and long, Soe had Hercules the strong: Yet Deianier,[292] with many a kisse, Joyn'd her tender lipps to his. If our bodies hayry bee, Mars as rugged was as wee: Yet did Ilia[293] think her grac'd, For to be by Mars imbrac'd. Say our feet ill-fauored are, Cripples leggs are worse by farre: Yet faire Venus, during life, Was the lymping Vulcan's wife. Breefly, if by nature we But imperfect creatures be; Thinke not our defects so much, Since Celestial Powers be such. But you Nymphes, whose veniall loue Loue of gold alone doth moue, Though you scorne vs, yet for gold Your base loue is bought and sold.
finis.
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