INTRODUCTION.

Since a little story of mine called “The Peace Egg” appeared in Aunt Judy’s Magazine, I have again and again been asked where the Mumming Play could be found which gave its name to my tale, and if real children could act it, as did the fancy children of my story.

As it stands, this old Christmas Mumming Play (which seems to have borrowed the name of an Easter Entertainment or Pasque Egg) is not fit for domestic performance; and though probably there are few nurseries in those parts of England where “mumming” and the sword-dance still linger, in which the children do not play some version of St. George’s exploits, a little of the dialogue goes a long way, and the mummery (which must almost be seen to be imitated) is the chief matter.

In fact, the mummery is the chief matter - which is what makes the play so attractive to children, and, it may be added, so suitable for their performance. In its rudeness, its simplicity, its fancy dressing, the rapid action of the plot, and last, but not least, its bludginess - that quality which made the history of Goliath so dear to the youngest of Helen’s Babies! - it is adapted for nursery amusement, as the Drama of Punch and Judy is, and for similar reasons.

For some little time past I have purposed to try and blend the various versions of “Peace Egg” into one Mummery for the nursery, with as little change of the old rhymes as might be. I have been again urged to do so this Christmas, and though I have not been able to give so much time or research to it as I should have liked, I have thought it better to do it without further delay, even if somewhat imperfectly.

To shuffle the characters and vary the text is nothing new in the history of these “Mock Plays,” as they were sometimes called.

They are probably of very ancient origin - “Pagan, I regret to say,” as Mr. Pecksniff observed in reference to the sirens - and go back to “the heathen custom of going about on the Kalends of January in disguises, as wild beasts and cattle, the sexes changing apparel,” (There is a relic of this last unseemly custom still in “The Old Tup” and “The Old Horse”; when these are performed by both girls and boys, the latter wear skirts and bonnets, the former hats and great-coats; this is also the case in Scotland where the boys and girls go round at Hogmanay.)

In the 12th century the clergy introduced miracle plays and Scripture histories to rival the performances of the strolling players, which had become very gross. They became as popular as beneficial, and London was famous for them. Different places, and even trade-guilds and schools, had their differing “mysteries.”

Secular plays continued, and the two seem occasionally to have got mixed. Into one of the oldest of old plays, “St. George and the Dragon,” the Crusaders and Pilgrims introduced the Eastern characters who still remain there. This is the foundation of “The Peace Egg.” About the middle of the 15th century, plays, which, not quite religious, still witnessed to the effect of the religious plays in raising the standard of public taste, appeared under the name of “Morals,” or “Moralities.”

Christmas plays, masques, pageants, and the like were largely patronized by the Tudor sovereigns, and the fashion set by the Court was followed in the country. Queen Elizabeth was not only devoted to the drama, and herself performed, but she was very critical and exacting; and the high demand which she did so much to stimulate, was followed by such supply as was given by the surpassing dramatic genius of the Elizabethan age of literature. Later, Ben Jonson and Inigo Jones combined to produce the Court masks, one of which, - the well-known “Mask of Christmas,” had for chief characters, Christmas and his children, Misrule, Carol, Mince Pie, Gambol, Post and Pair, New Year’s Gift, Mumming, Wassel, Offering, and Baby’s Cake. In the 17th century the Christmas Mummeries of the Inns of Court were conducted with great magnificence and at large cost.

All such entertainments were severely suppressed during the Commonwealth, at which time the words “Welcome, or not welcome, I am come,” were introduced into Father Christmas’s part.

At one time the Jester of the piece (he is sometimes called the Jester, and sometimes the Fool, or the Old Fool) used to wear a calf’s hide. Robin Goodfellow says, “I’ll go put on my devilish robes - I mean my Christmas calf’s-skin suit - and then walk to the woods.  Ill put me on my great carnation nose, and wrap me in a rousing calf-skin suit, and come like some hobgoblin.  And a character of the 18th century clears the way with -

“My name is Captain Calftail, Calftail -
And on my back it is plain to be seen,
Although I am simple and wear a fool’s cap,
I am dearly beloved of a queen -

which looks as if Titania had found her way into that mummery!

“The Hobby Horse’s” costume was a horse’s hide, real or imitated. I have no copy of a Christmas Play in which the Hobby Horse appears. In the north of England, “The Old Horse” and “The Old Tup” are the respective heroes of their own peculiar mummeries, generally performed by a younger, or perhaps a rougher, set of lads than those who play the more elegant mysteries of St. George. The boy who acts “Old Tup” has a ram’s head impaled upon a short pole, which he grasps and uses as a sort of wooden leg in front of him. He needs some extra support, his back being bent as If for leap-frog, and covered with an old rug (in days when “meat” was cheaper it was probably a hide). The hollow sound of his peg-leg upon the “flags” of the stone passages and kitchen floor, and the yearly test of courage supplied by the rude familiarities of his gruesome head as he charged and dispersed maids and children, amid shrieks and laughter, are probably familiar memories of all Yorkshire, Lancashire, and Derbyshire childhoods. I do not know if the Old Horse and the Old Tup belong to other parts of the British Isles. It is a rude and somewhat vulgar performance, especially if undertaken by older revellers, when the men wear skirts and bonnets, and the women don great-coats and hats - the Fool, the Doctor, and a darker character with a besom, are often of the party, but the Knights of Christendom and the Eastern Potentates take no share in these proceedings, which are oftenest and most inoffensively performed by little boys not yet promoted to be “mummers.” It is, however, essential that one of them should have a good voice, true and tuneful enough to sing a long ballad, and lead the chorus.

In the scale of contributions to the numerous itinerant Christmas Boxes of Christmas week - such as the Ringers, the Waits, the Brass Band, the Hand-bells, the Mummers (Peace Egg), the Superior Mummers, who do more intricate sword-play (and in the North Riding are called Morris Dancers), &c. &c., the Old Tup stands low down on the list. I never heard the Rhymes of the Old Horse; they cannot be the same. These diversions are very strictly localized and handed on by word of mouth.

Of the best version of “Peace Egg” which I have seen performed, I have as yet quite vainly endeavoured to get any part transcribed. It is oral tradition. It is practised for some weeks beforehand, and the costumes, including wonderful head-dresses about the size of the plumed bonnet of a Highlander in full-dress, are carefully preserved from year to year. These paste-board erections are covered with flowers, feathers, bugles, and coloured streamers. The dresses are of coloured calico, with ribbons everywhere; “points” to the breeches and hose, shoulder-knots and sashes.

But, as a rough rule, it is one of the conveniences of mumming play, that the finery may be according to the taste and the resources of the company.

The swords are of steel, and those I have seen are short.  In some places I believe rapiers are used.  I am very sorry to be unable to give proper directions for the sword-play, which is so pretty.  I have only one version in which such directions are given.  I have copied the Grand Sword Dance in its proper place for the benefit of those who can interpret it.  It is not easy to explain in writing even so much of it as I know.  Each combat consists of the same number of cuts, to the best of my remembrance, and the shoulder cuts (which look very like two persons sharpening two knives as close as possible to each others nose!) are in double time, twice as quick as the others.  The stage directions are as follows: -

A. and B. fight

Cut I ... ... Crossing each other.
(They change places, striking as they pass.)

Cut 2 ... ... " " back.

Cut 3 ... ... " " other.

Cut 4 ... ... " " back.

Four shoulder cuts.

A. loses his sword and falls.

But I do not think the version from which this is an extract is at all an elaborate one. There ought to be a “Triumph,” with an archway of swords, in the style of Sir Roger de Coverley. After the passing and repassing strokes, there is usually much more hand-to-hand fighting, then four shoulder cuts, and some are aimed high and some down among their ankles, in a way which would probably be quite clear to any one trained in broadsword exercise.

The following Christmas Mumming Play is compiled from five versions - the “Peace Egg,” the “Wassail Cup,” “Alexander the Great,” “A Mock Play,” and the “Silverton Mummer’s Play” (Devon), which has been lent to me in manuscript.

The Mumming Chorus, “And a mumming we will go,” &c., is not in any one of these versions, but I never saw mumming without it.

The Silverton version is an extreme example of the continuous development of these unwritten dramas. Generation after generation, the most incongruous characters have been added. In some cases this is a very striking testimony to the strength of rural sympathy with the great deeds and heroes of the time, as well as to native talent for dramatic composition.

Wellington and Wolfe almost eclipsed St. George in some parts of England, and the sea Heroes are naturally popular in Devonshire. The death of Nelson in the Silverton play has fine dramatic touches. Though he “has but one arm and a good one too,” he essays to fight - whether Tippo Saib or St. George is not made clear. He falls, and St. George calls for the Doctor in the usual words. The Doctor ends his peculiar harangue with: “Britons! our Nelson is dead.” To which a voice, which seems to play the part of Greek chorus, responds - But he is not with the dead, but in the arms of the Living God! Then, enter Collingwood -

“Collingwood - Here comes I, bold Collingwood,
Who fought the French and boldly stood;
And now the life of that bold Briton’s gone,
                    Ill put the crown of victory on -

with which - “he takes the crown off Nelson’s head and puts it on his own.”

I have, however, confined myself in “The Peace Egg” to those characters which have the warrant of considerable antiquity, and their number is not small. They can easily be reduced by cutting out one or two; or some of the minor characters could play more than one part, by making real exits and changing the dress, instead of the conventional exit into the background of the group.

Some of these minor characters are not the least charming. The fair Sabra (who is often a mute) should be the youngest and prettiest little maid that can toddle through her part, and no old family brocade can be too gorgeous for her. The Pretty Page is another part for a “very little one,” and his velvets and laces should become him. They contrast delightfully with Dame Dolly and Little Man Jack, and might, if needful, be played by the same performers.

I have cut out everything that could possibly offend, except the line - “Take him and give him to the flies.” It betrays an experience of Asiatic battlefields so terribly real, that I was unwilling to abolish this unconscious witness to the influence of Pilgrims and Crusaders on the Peace Egg. It is easily omitted.

I have dismissed the Lord of Flies, Beelzebub, and (with some reluctance) “Little Devil Doubt” and his besom. I had a mind to have retained him as “The Demon of Doubt,” for he plays in far higher dramas. His besom also seems to come from the East, where a figure “sweeping everything out” with a broom is the first vision produced in the crystal or liquid in the palm of a medium by the magicians of Egypt.

Those who wish to do so can admit him at the very end, after the sword dance, very black, and with a besom, a money-box, and the following doggrel:

In come I, the Demon of Doubt,
If you don’t give me money I’ll sweep you all out;
Money I want and money I crave,
Money I want and money I’ll have.

He is not a taking character - unless to the antiquary! I have substituted the last line for the less decorous original, “If you don’t give me money, I’ll sweep you all to the grave.”

It is perhaps only the antiquary who will detect the connection between the Milk Pail and the Wassail Cup in the Fools Song.  But it seems at one time to have been made of milk.  In a play of the 16th century it is described as -

“Wassayle, wassayle, out of the mylke payle;
Wassayle, wassayle, as white as my nayle,”

and Selden calls it “a slabby stuff,” which sounds as if it had got mixed up with frumenty.

Since the above went to press, I have received some extracts from the unwritten version of “Peace Egg” in the West Riding of Yorkshire to which I have alluded. They recall to me that the piece properly opens with a “mumming round,” different to the one I have given, that one belonging to the end. The first Mumming Song rehearses each character and his exploits. The hero of the verse which describes him singing (autobiographically!) his own doughty deeds in the third person. Thus St. George begins; I give it in the vernacular.

“The first to coom in is the Champion bould,
The Champion bould is he,
He never fought battle i’ all his loife toim,
But he made his bould enemy flee, flee, flee,
He made his bould enemy flee.”

The beauty of this song is the precision with which each character enters and joins the slowly increasing circle. But that is its only merit. It is wretched doggrel, and would make the play far too tedious.  I was, however, interested by this verse: -

The next to come in is the Cat and Calftail,
The Cat and Calftail is he;
He’ll beg and he’ll borrow, and he’ll steal all he can,
But he’ll never pay back one penny, penny,
He’ll never pay back one penny.

Whether “Cat and Calftail” is a corruption of Captain Calftail or (more likely) Captain Calftail was evolved from a Fool in Calf’s hide and Cat’s skins, it is hard to say. They are evidently one and the same shabby personage!

The song which I have placed at the head of the Peace Egg Play has other verses which also recite the argument of the piece, but not one is worth recording.  A third song does not, I feel sure, belong to the classic versions, but to another rude and vulgar one, which I have not seen for some years, and which was played in a dialect dark, even to those who flattered themselves that they were to the manner born.  In it St. George and the Old Fool wrangle, the O.F. accusing the Patron Saint of England of stealing clothes hung out to dry on the hedges.  St. George, who has previously boasted -

I’ve travelled this world all round,
And hope to do it again,
I was once put out of my way
    By a hundred and forty men -

All the relations thou had were few,
Thou had an Old Granny I knew,
She went a red-cabbage selling,
As a many old people do.

In either this, or another, rough version, the hero (presumably St. George) takes counsel with Man Jack on his love affairs. Man Jack is played by a small boy in a very tall beaver hat, and with his face blacked.

“My Man Jack, what can the matter be?
That I should luv this lady, and she will not luv me.”

ST. GEORGE and MAN JACK.

No, nor nayther will she walk {with me
{with thee.

No, nor nayther will she talk {with me
{with thee.

But the true “Peace Egg,” if bludgy, is essentially a heroic play, and I think the readers of Aunt Judy’s Magazine will be content that I have omitted accretions which are not the less vulgar because they are old.

In refining and welding the piece together, I have introduced thirty lines of my own, in various places. The rest is genuine.

J. H. E.

THE PEACE EGG.   

A CHRISTMAS MUMMING PLAY.

Written expressly for all Mummers, to commemorate the Holy Wars, and the happy Festival of Christmas.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

ST. GEORGE OF ENGLAND (he must wear a rose).

ST. ANDREW OF SCOTLAND(he must wear a thistle).

ST. PATRICK OF IRELAND(he must wear the shamrock).

ST. DAVID OF WALES(he must wear a leek).

SALADIN, A PAGAN GIANT OF PALESTINE(a very tall grown-up actor would be effective).

THE KING OF EGYPT(in a turban and crown).

THE PRINCE OF PARADINE, HIS SON(face blacked, and it is “tradition” to play this part in weeds, as if he were Hamlet).

THE TURKISH KNIGHT(Eastern costume).

HECTOR.

THE VALIANT SLASHER (old yeomanry coat, &c., is effective).

THE DRAGON(a paste-board head, with horrid jaws, if possible.
A tail, and paws with claws).

THE FOOL(Motley: with a bauble long enough to put over his shoulder and be held by the one behind in the mumming circle).

OLD FATHER CHRISTMAS(white beard, &c., and a staff).

THE DOCTOR(wig, spectacles, hat and cane).

THE LITTLE PAGE(pretty little boy in velvet, &c.).

LITTLE MAN JACK(big mask head, if convenient, short cloak and club).

PRINCESS SABRA(pretty little girl, gorgeously dressed, a crown).

DAME DOLLY(a large mask head, if possible, and a very amazing cap. Dame Dolly should bob curtseys and dance about).

No scenery is required. The actors, as a rule, all come in together. To “enter” means to stand forth, and “exit” that the actor retires into the background. But the following method will be found most effective. Let Fool enter alone, and the rest come in one by one when the Fool begins to sing. They must march in to the music, and join the circle with regularity. Each actor as he “brags,” and gives his challenge, does so marching up and down, his drawn sword over his shoulder. All the characters take part in the “Mumming Round.” The next to Fair Sabra might hold up her train, and if Dame Dolly had a Gamp umbrella to put over her shoulder, it would not detract from her comic charms. The Trumpet Calls for the four Patron Knights should be appropriate to each. If a Trumpet is quite impossible, some one should play a national air as each champion enters.

Enter FOOL.

FOOL. Good morrow, friends and neighbours dear,
We are right glad to meet you here,
Christmas comes but once a year,
But when it comes it brings good cheer,
And when it’s gone it’s no longer near.
May luck attend the milking-pail,
Yule logs and cakes in plenty be,
May each blow of the thrashing-flail
Produce good frumenty.
And let the Wassail Cup abound,
Whene’er the mummers’ time comes round.

Air, “Le Petit Tambour.”

Sings. Now all ye jolly mummers Who mum in Christmas time, Come join with me in chorus, Come join with me in rhyme.

[He has laid his bauble, over his shoulder, and it is taken by ST. GEORGE, who is followed by all the other actors, each laying his sword over his right shoulder and his left hand on the sword-point in front of him, and all marking time with their feet till the circle is complete, when they march round singing the chorus over and over again.]

Chorus. And a mumming we will go, will go,
And a mumming we will go,
With a bright cockade in all our hats, we’ll go with a gallant show.

[Disperse, and stand aside.]

[Enter FATHER CHRISTMAS.]

FATHER CHRISTMAS Here comes I, old Father Christmas;
Welcome, or welcome not,
I hope poor old Father Christmas
Will never be forgot!
My head is white, my back is bent,
My knees are weak, my strength is spent.
Eighteen hundred and eighty-three
Is a very great age for me.
And if I’d been growing all these years
What a monster I should be!
Now I have but a short time to stay,
And if you dont believe what I say -
Come in, Dame Dolly, and clear the way.

[Enter DAME DOLLY.]

DAME DOLLY. Here comes I, little Dame Dolly,
Wearing smart caps in all my folly.
If any gentleman takes my whim,
I’ll set my holiday cap at him.
To laugh at my cap would be very rude;
I wish you well, and I won’t intrude.
Gentlemen now at the door do stand,
They will walk in with drawn swords in hand,
And if you dont believe what I say -
Let one Fool and four knights from the British Isles come in and clear
the way!

[Enter FOOL_ and four Christian knights._]

FOOL[shaking his bells at intervals].
Room, room, brave gallants, give us room to sport,
For to this room we wish now to resort:
Resort, and to repeat to you our merry rhyme,
For remember, good sirs, that this is Christmas time.
The time to make mince-pies doth now appear,
So we are come to act our merriment in here.
At the sounding of the trumpet, and beating of the drum,
Make room, brave gentlemen, and let our actors come.
We are the merry actors that traverse the street,
We are the merry actors that fight for our meat,
We are the merry actors that show pleasant play.
Stand forth, St. George, thou champion, and clear the way.

[Trumpet sounds for ST. GEORGE.]

[ST. GEORGE stands forth and walks up and down with sword on shoulder.]

ST. GEORGE. I am St. George, from good Old England sprung,
My famous name throughout the world hath rung,
Many bloody deeds and wonders have I shown,
And made false tyrants tremble on their throne.
I followed a fair lady to a giant’s gate,
Confined in dungeon deep to meet her fate.
Then I resolved with true knight-errantry
To burst the door, and set the captive free.
Far have I roamed, oft have I fought, and little do I rest;
All my delight is to defend the right, and succour the opprest.
And now I’ll slay the Dragon bold, my wonders to begin;
A fell and fiery Dragon he, but I will clip his wing.
I’ll clip his wings, he shall not fly,
I’ll rid the land of him, or else I’ll die.

[Enter THE DRAGON, with a sword over his shoulder.]

DRAGON. Who is it seeks the Dragon’s blood,
And calls so angry and so loud?
That English dog who looks so proud -
If I could catch him in my claw -
With my long teeth and horrid jaw,
Of such I’d break up half a score,
To stay my appetite for more.
Marrow from his bones I’d squeeze,
And suck his blood up by degrees.

[ST. GEORGE and THE DRAGON fight. THE DRAGON_ is killed_. Exit DRAGON.]

ST. GEORGE. I am St. George, that worthy champion bold,
And with my sword and spear I won three crowns of gold.
I fought the fiery Dragon and brought him to the slaughter,
By which behaviour I won the favour of the King of Egypt’s daughter.
Thus I have gained fair Sabra’s hand, who long had won her heart.
Stand forth, Egyptian Princess, and boldly act thy part!

[Enter THE PRINCESS SABRA.]

SABRA. I am the Princess Sabra, and it is my delight,
My chiefest pride, to be the bride of this gallant Christian knight.

[ST. GEORGE kneels and kisses her hand. FOOL advances and holds up his hands over them.]

FOOL. Why here’s a sight will do any honest man’s heart good,
To see the Dragon-slayer thus subdued!

[ST. GEORGE rises. Exit SABRA.]

ST. GEORGE. Keep thy jests in thy pocket if thou
would’st keep thy head on thy shoulders.
I love a woman, and a woman loves me,
And when I want a fool I’ll send for thee.
If there is any man but me
Who noxious beasts can tame,
Let him stand forth in this gracious company,
And boldly tell his name.

[ST. GEORGE stands aside. Trumpet sounds for ST. PATRICK.]

[ST. PATRICK stands forth.]

ST. PATRICK. I am St. Patrick from the bogs,
This truth I fain would learn ye,
I banished serpents, toads, and frogs,
From beautiful Hibernia.
I flourished my shillelah
And the reptiles all ran races,
And they took their way into the sea,
And they’ve never since shown their faces.

[Enter THE PRINCE OF PARADINE.]

PRINCE. I am black Prince of Paradine, born of high renown,
Soon will I fetch thy lofty courage down.
Cry grace, thou Irish conqueror of toads and frogs,
Give me thy sword, or else I’ll give thy carcase to the dogs.

ST. PATRICK. Now, Prince of Paradine, where have you been?
And what fine sights pray have you seen?
Dost think that no man of thy age
Dares such a black as thee engage?
Stand off, thou black Morocco dog, or by my sword thou’lt die,
I’ll pierce thy body full of holes, and make thy buttons fly.

[They fight. THE PRINCE OF PARADINE is slain.]

ST. PATRICK. Now Prince of Paradine is dead,
And all his joys entirely fled,
Take him and give him to the flies.
That he may never more come near my eyes.

[Enter KING OF EGYPT.]

KING. I am the King of Egypt, as plainly doth appear;
I am come to seek my son, my only son and heir.

ST. PATRICK. He’s slain! That’s the worst of it.

KING. Who did him slay, who did him kill,
And on the ground his precious blood did spill?

ST. PATRICK. I did him slay, I did him kill,
And on the ground his precious blood did spill.
Please you, my liege, my honour to maintain,
As I have done, so would I do again.

KING. Cursed Christian! What is this thou hast done?
Thou hast ruined me, slaying my only son.

ST. PATRICK. He gave me the challenge. Why should I him deny?
How low he lies who held himself so high!

KING. Oh! Hector! Hector! help me with speed,
For in my life I ne’er stood more in need.

[Enter HECTOR.]

KING. Stand not there, Hector, with sword in hand,
But fight and kill at my command.

HECTOR. Yes, yes, my liege, I will obey,
And by my sword I hope to win the day.
If that be he who doth stand there
That slew my master’s son and heir,
Though he be sprung from royal blood
I’ll make it run like ocean flood.

[They fight. HECTOR is wounded.]

I am a valiant hero, and Hector is my name,
Many bloody battles have I fought, and always won the same,
But from St. Patrick I received this deadly wound.

[Trumpet sounds for ST. ANDREW.]

Hark, hark, I hear the silver trumpet sound,
It summons me from off this bloody ground.
Down yonder is the way (pointing);
Farewell, farewell, I can no longer stay.

[Exit HECTOR.]

[Enter ST. ANDREW.]

KING. Is there never a doctor to be found
Can cure my son of his deep and deadly wound?

[Enter DOCTOR.]

DOCTOR. Yes, yes, there is a doctor to be found
Can cure your son of his deep and deadly wound.

KING. What’s your fee?

DOCTOR. Five pounds and a yule cake to thee.
I have a little bottle of Elacampane,
It goes by the name of virtue and fame,
That will make this worthy champion to rise and fight again.

[To PRINCE.] Here, sir, take a little of my flip-flop,

Pour it on thy tip-top.

[To audience, bowing.]

Ladies and Gentlemen can have my advice gratis.

[Exeunt KING OF EGYPT, PRINCE OF PARADINE, and DOCTOR.]

[ST. ANDREW stands forth.]

ST. ANDREW. I am St. Andrew from the North,
Men from that part are men of worth;
To travel south we’re nothing loth,
And treat you fairly, by my troth.
Here comes a man looks ready for a fray.
Come in, come in, bold soldier, and bravely clear the way.

[Enter SLASHER.]

SLASHER. I am a valiant soldier, and Slasher is my name,
With sword and buckler by my side, I hope to win more fame;
And for to fight with me I see thou art not able,
So with my trusty broadsword I soon will thee disable.

ST. ANDREW. Disable, disable? It lies not in thy power,
For with a broader sword than thine I soon will thee devour.
Stand off, Slasher, let no more be said,
For if I draw my broadsword, I’m sure to break thy head.

SLASHER. How canst thou break my head?
Since my head is made of iron;
My body made of steel;
My hands and feet of knuckle-bone.
I challenge thee to feel.

[They fight, and SLASHER is wounded.]

[FOOL advances to SLASHER.]

FOOL. Alas, alas, my chiefest son is slain!
What must I do to raise him up again?
Here he lies before you all,
I’ll presently for a doctor call.
A doctor! A doctor! I’ll go and fetch a doctor.

DOCTOR. Here am I.

FOOL. Are you the doctor?

DOCTOR. That thou may plainly see, by my art and activity.

FOOL. What’s your fee to cure this poor man?

DOCTOR. Five pounds is my fee; but, Jack, as thou art a fool, I’ll
only take ten from thee.

FOOL. You’ll be a clever doctor if you get any.

[Aside.]

Well, how far have you travelled in doctorship?

DOCTOR. From the front door to the cupboard,
Cupboard to fireplace, fireplace up-stairs and into bed.

FOOL. So far, and no farther?

DOCTOR. Yes, yes, much farther.

FOOL. How far?

DOCTOR. Through England, Ireland, Scotland, Flanders, France, and Spain,
And now am returned to cure the diseases of Old England again.

FOOL. What can you cure?

DOCTOR. All complaints within and without,
From a cold in your head to a touch of the gout.
If any lady’s figure is awry
I’ll make her very fitting to pass by.
I’ll give a coward a heart if he be willing,
Will make him stand without fear of killing.
Ribs, legs, or arms, whate’er you break, be sure
Of one or all I’ll make a perfect cure.
Nay, more than this by far, I will maintain,
If you should lose your head or heart, I’ll give it you again.
Then here’s a doctor rare, who travels much at home,
So take my pills, I’ll cure all ills, past, present, or to come.
I in my time many thousands have directed,
And likewise have as many more dissected,
And I never met a gravedigger who to me objected.
If a man gets nineteen bees in his bonnet, I’ll cast
twenty of ’em out. I’ve got in my pocket
crutches for lame ducks, spectacles for blind
bumble-bees, pack-saddles and panniers for
grasshoppers, and many other needful things.
Surely I can cure this poor man.
Here, Slasher, take a little out of my bottle, and let
it run down thy throttle; and if thou beest not
quite slain, rise, man, and fight again.

[SLASHER rises.]

SLASHER. Oh, my back!

FOOL. What’s amiss with thy back?

SLASHER. My back is wounded,
And my heart is confounded;
To be struck out of seven senses into fourscore,
The like was never seen in Old England before.

[Trumpet sounds for ST. DAVID.]

Oh, hark! I hear the silver trumpet sound!
It summons me from off this bloody ground.
Down yonder is the way (points);
Farewell, farewell, I can no longer stay.

[Exit SLASHER.]

FOOL. Yes, Slasher, thou hadst better go,
Else the next time he’ll pierce thee through.

[ST. DAVID stands forth.]

ST. DAVID. Of Taffy’s Land I’m Patron Saint.
Oh yes, indeed, I’ll you acquaint,
Of Ancient Britons I’ve a race
Dare meet a foeman face to face.
For Welshmen (hear it once again;)
Were born before all other men.
I’ll fear no man in fight or freaks,
Whilst Wales produces cheese and leeks.

[Enter TURKISH KNIGHT.]

TURKISH KNIGHT. Here comes I, the Turkish Knight,
Come from the Turkish land to fight.
I’ll take St. David for my foe,
And make him yield before I go;
He brags to such a high degree,
He thinks there was never a Knight but he.
So draw thy sword, St. David, thou man of courage bold,
If thy Welsh blood is hot, soon will I fetch it cold.

ST. DAVID. Where is the Turk that will before me stand?
I’ll cut him down with my courageous hand.

TURKISH KNIGHT. Draw out thy sword and slay,
Pull out thy purse and pay,
For satisfaction I will have, before I go away.

[They fight. THE TURKISH KNIGHT is wounded, and falls on one knee.]

Quarter! quarter! good Christian, grace of thee I crave,
Oh, pardon me this night, and I will be thy slave.

ST. DAVID. I keep no slaves, thou Turkish Knight.
So rise thee up again, and try thy might.

[They fight again. THE TURKISH KNIGHT is slain.]

[Exit TURKISH KNIGHT.]

[Enter ST. GEORGE.]

ST. GEORGE. I am the chief of all these valiant knights,
We’ll spill our heart’s blood for Old England’s rights.
Old England’s honour we will still maintain,
We’ll fight for Old England once and again.

[Flourishes his sword above his head and then lays it over his right shoulder.]

I challenge all my country’s foes.

ST. PATRICK [dealing with his sword in like manner, and then taking the point of ST. GEORGE’S sword with his left hand].

And I’ll assist with mighty blows.

ST. ANDREW [acting like the other].

And you shall find me ready too.

ST. DAVID [the same].

And who but I so well as you.

FOOL [imitates the Knights, and they close the circle
and go round].

While we are joined in heart and hand,
A gallant and courageous band,
If e’er a foe dares look awry,
We’ll one and all poke out his eye.

[Enter SALADIN.]

SALADIN. Don’t vaunt thus, my courageous knights,
For I, as you, have seen some sights
In Palestine, in days of yore.
’Gainst prowess strong I bravely bore
The sway, when all the world in arms
Shook Holy Land with war’s alarms.
I for the crescent, you the cross,
Each mighty host oft won and lost.
I many a thousand men did slay,
And ate two hundred twice a day,
And now I come, a giant great,
Just waiting for another meat.

ST. GEORGE. Oh! Saladin! Art thou come with sword in hand,
Against St. George and Christendom so rashly to withstand?

SALADIN. Yes, yes, St. George, with thee I mean to fight,
And with one blow, I’ll let thee know
I am not the Turkish Knight.

ST. GEORGE. Ah, Saladin, St. George is in this very room,
Thou’rt come this unlucky hour to seek thy fatal doom.

[Enter LITTLE PAGE.]

LITTLE PAGE. Hold, hold, St. George, I pray thee stand by,
I’ll conquer him, or else I’ll die;
Long with that Pagan champion will I engage,
Although I am but the Little Page.

ST. GEORGE. Fight on, my little page, and conquer!
And don’t thee be perplext,
For if thou discourage in the field,
Fight him will I next.

[They fight. THE LITTLE PAGE falls.]

SALADIN. Though but a little man, they were great words he said.

ST. GEORGE. Ah! cruel monster. What havoc hast thou made?
See where the lovely stripling all on the floor is laid.
A doctor! A doctor! Ten pounds for a doctor!

[DAME DOLLY dances forward, bobbing as before.]

DAME DOLLY. Here comes I, little Dame Dorothy,
Flap front, and good-morrow to ye;
My head is big, my body is small,
I’m the prettiest little jade of you all.
Call not the Doctor for to make him worse,
But give the boy into my hand to nurse.

[To LITTLE PAGE.] Rise up, my pretty page, and come with me, And by kindness and kitchen physic, I’ll cure thee without fee.

[PAGE rises. Exeunt PAGE and DAME DOLLY.]

[ST. GEORGE and SALADIN fight. Saladin is slain.]

[Enter FATHER CHRISTMAS.]

ST. GEORGE. Carry away the dead, Father.

FATHER CHRISTMAS. Let’s see whether he’s dead or no, first, Georgy.
Yes; I think he’s dead enough, Georgy.

ST. GEORGE. Carry him away then, Father.

FATHER CHRISTMAS [vainly tries to move the GIANT’S body].

Thou killed him; thou carry him away.

ST. GEORGE. If you can’t carry him, call for help.

FATHER CHRISTMAS [to audience].
Three or four of you great logger-headed fellows,
Come and carry him away.

[DOCTOR and FOOL raise the GIANT by his arms. Exit GIANT.]

[Enter LITTLE MAN JACK.]

LITTLE MAN JACK. Here comes I, Little Man Jack,
The Master of Giants;
If I could but conquer thee, St. George,
I’d bid the world defiance.

ST. GEORGE. And if thou beest Little Man Jack, the Master of all Giants,
I’ll take thee up on my back, and carry thee without violence.

[Lifts him over his shoulder.]

FOOL. Now brave St. George, he rules the roast;
Britons triumphant be the toast;
Let cheerful song and dance abound,
Whene’er the Mummers’ time comes round.

[All sing.]

Rule, Britannia; Britannia rules the waves,
Britons never, never, never will be slaves.