IV. THE TURNAMENT OF TOTTENHAM:
“or, the wooeing, winning, and wedding
of Tibbe, the Reev's daughter there.”
[_]
It does honour to the good sense of this nation, that while
all Europe was captivated with the bewitching charms of
Chivalry and Romance, two of our writers in the rudest times
could see thro' the false glare that surrounded them, and discover
whatever was absurd in them both. Chaucer wrote his
Rhyme of sir Thopas in ridicule of the latter, and in the following
poem we have a humourous burlesque of the former.
Without pretending to decide, whether the institution of chivalry
was upon the whole useful or pernicious in the rude ages,
a question that has lately employed many fine pens
, it evidently
encouraged a vindictive spirit, and gave such force to
the custom of duelling, that it will probably never be worn
out. This, together with the fatal consequences which
often attended the diversion of the Turnament, was sufficient
to render it obnoxious to the graver part of mankind. Accordingly
the Church early denounced its censures against it,
and the State was often prevailed on to attempt its suppression.
But fashion and opinion are superior to authority; and the
proclamations against Tilting were as little regarded in those
times, as the laws against Duelling are in these. This did
not escape the discernment of our poet, who easily perceived
that inveterate opinions must be attacked by other weapons,
than proclamations and censures; he accordingly made use of
the keen one of Ridicule. With this view he has here introduced,
with admirable humour, a parcel of clowns, imitating
all the solemnities of the Tournay. Here we have the
regular challenge—the appointed day—the lady for the prize—the
formal preparations—the display of armour—the scucheens
and devices—the oaths taken on entering the lists—the
various accidents of the encounter—the victor leading off the
prize,—and, the magnificent feasting,—with all the other
solemn fopperïes, that usually attended the exercise of the
barriers. And how acutely the sharpness of the author's humour
must have been felt in those days, we may learn, from
what we can perceive of its keenness now, when time has
so much blunted the edge of his ridicule.
The Turnament of Tottenham was published
from an ancient MS. in 1631, 4to, by the rew. Whilhem Bedwell,
rector of Tottenham, and one of the translators of the
Bible: he tells us it was written by one Gilbert Pilkington,
thought to have been some time parson of the same parish,
and author of another piece intitled Passio Domini Jesu
Christi. Bedwell, who was eminently skilled in the oriental
languages, appears to have been but little conversant with
the ancient writers in his own, and he so little entered into
the spirit of the poem he was publishing that he contends for
its being a serious narrative of a real event, and thinks it
must have been written before the time of Edward III, because
Turnaments were prohibited in that reign. “I do
verily beleeve, says he, that this Turnament was acted
before this proclamation of K. Edward. For how durst
any to attempt to do that, although in sport, which was
so straightly forbidden, both by the civill and ecclesiasticall
power? For although they fought not with lances, yet, as
our authour sayth, “It was no childrens game.” And
what would have become of him, thinke you, which
should have slayne another in this manner of jeasting?
Would he not, trow you, have been hang'd for it
in earnest? yea, and have bene buried like
a dogge?” It is however well known that Turnaments
were in use down to the reign of Elizabeth.
Without pretending to ascertain the date of this Poem, the
obsoleteness of the style shews it to be very ancient: It will
appear from the sameness of orthography in the above extract
that Bedwell has generally reduced that of the poem to
the standard of his own times; yet, notwithstanding this innovation,
the phraseology and idiom shew it to be of an early
date. The poem had in other respects suffered by the ignorance
of transcribers, and therefore a few attempts are here
made to restore the text, by amending some corruptions, and
removing some redundancies; but lest this freedom should incur
censure, the former readings are retained in the margin.
A farther liberty is also taken, what is here given for the
concluding line of each stanza, stood in the former edition divided
as two: e. g.
“Of them that were doughty,
“And hardy indeed:”
but they seemed most naturally to run into one, and the frequent
neglect of rhyme in the former of them seemed to prove
that the author intended no such division.
Of all ‘the’ kene conquerours to carpe is our kinde;
Of fell fighting folke ‘a’ ferly we finde;
The Turnament of Tottenham have I in minde;
It were harme such hardinesse were holden behinde.
In story as we reade,
Of Hawkin, of Harry,
Of Timkin, of Terry,
Of them that were doughty, and hardy in deed.
It befell in Tottenham on a deare day,
There was made a shurting by the highway:
Thither come all the men of that countray
Of Hisselton, of High-gate, and of Hakenay,
And all the sweete swinkers:
There hopped Hawkin,
There daunced Dawkin,
There trumped Timkin, and were true drinkers.
‘When’ the day was gone, and eve-song past,
That they should reck'n their skot, and their counts cast,
Perkin the potter into the presse past,
And say'd, Randill the reve, a daughter thou hast,
Tibbe thy deare,
Therefore faine weet would I,
Whether these fellowes or I,
Or which of all this batchelery
Were the best worthy to wed her his fere.
Upstart the gadlings with their lang staves,
And sayd, Randill the reve, lo! the ladde raves,
How proudly among us thy daughter he craves,
And we are richer men then he, and more good haves,
Of cattell, and of corne.
Then sayd Perkin, ‘I have hight
‘To Tibbe in my right
‘To be ready to fight, and thoughe it were to morne.
Then sayd Randill the refe, ‘Ever’ be he waryd
That about this carping lenger would be taryd;
I would not my daughter that she were miskaryd,
But at her most worship I would she were maryd,
For the turnament shall beginne
This day seav'n-night,
With a flayle for to fight,
And he, that is most of might, shall brok her with winne.
He that bear'th him best in the turnament,
Shall be granted the gree, by the common assent,
For to winne my daughter with doughtinesse of dent,
And Copple my brood-hen, that was brought out of Kent,
And my dunned cow:
For no spence will I spare;
For no cattell will I care;
He shall have my gray mare, and my spotted sow.
There was many a bold lad their bodyes to bede;
Then they take their leave, and hamward they hede,
And all the weeke after they gayed her wede,
Till it come to the day, that they should do their dede:
They armed them in mattes;
They set on their nowlls
Good blacke bowlls,
To keep their powlls from battering of battes.
They sewed hem in sheepskinnes, for they should not brest;
And every ilke of hem a black hatte, instead of a crest,
A basket or panyer before on their brest,
And a flayle in their hande, for to fight prest,
Forthe con they fare.
There was kid mickle force,
Who should best fend his corse;
He, that had no good horse, borrowed him a mare.
Sich another clothing have I not seene oft,
When all the great company riding to the croft,
Tibbe on a gray-mare was sette up on-loft,
Upon a sacke-full of senvy, for she should sit soft,
And led till the gappe:
Forther would she not than,
For the love of no man,
Till Copple her brood-hen wer brought into her lappe.
A gay girdle Tibbe had borrowed for the nonce;
And a garland on her head full of ruell bones;
And a brouch on her brest full of sapphyre stones,
The holyroode tokening was written for the nonce;
For no spendings ‘they had spar'd:’
When jolly Jenkin wist her thare,
He gurd so fast his gray mare,
That she let a fowkin fare at the rere-ward.
I make a vowe, quoth ‘he, my capul’ is comen of kinde
I shall fall five in the field, and I my flaile finde.
I make a vowe, quoth Hudde, I shall not leve behinde;
May I meet with lyard or bayard the blinde,
I wote I shall them grieve.
I make a vowe, quoth Hawkin,
May I meete with Dawkin,
For all his rich kin, his flaile I shall him reve.
I make a vow, quoth Gregge, Tibbe thou shall see
Which of all the bachelery graunted is the gree:
I shall skomfit hem all, for the love of thee,
In what place that I come, they shall have doubt of mee;
For I am armd at the full:
In my armes I beare wele
A dough-trough, and a pele,
A saddle without a pannele, with a fleece of wooll.
Now go downe, quoth Dudman, and beare me bet about,
I make a vow, they shall abye that I finde out,
Have I twice or thrice ridden thorough the rout,
In what place that I come, of me they shall ha doubt,
Mine armes bene so clere;
I beare a riddle and a rake,
Powder'd with the brenning drake,
And three cantles of a cake, in ilka cornere.
I make a vowe, quoth Tirry, and sweare by my crede,
Saw thou never young boy forther his body bede;
For when they fight fastest, and most are in drede,
I shall take Tib by the hand, and away her lede:
Then bin mine armes best;
I beare a pilch of ermin,
Powderd with a cats skinne,
The cheefe is of perchmine
, that stond'th on the crest.
I make a vow, quoth Dudman, and sweare by the stra,
While I am most merry, thou gettst her not swa;
For she is well shapen, as light as a rae,
There is no capull in this mile before her will ga:
Shee will me not beguile;
I dare soothly say,
Shee will be a Monday
Fro Hisselton to Hacknay, nought other halfe mile.
I make a vow, quoth Perkin, thou carpst of cold rost;
I will wirke wislier without any boast;
Five of the best capulls, that are in this host,
I will hem lead away by another cost;
And then laugh Tibbe,
Wi loo, boyes, here is hee,
That will fight and not flee,
For I am in my jollity; Ioo foorth, Tibbe.
When they had their oathes made, forth can they ‘he’
With flailes, and harnisse, and trumps made of tre:
There were all the bachelers of that countre;
They were dight in aray, as themselves would be:
Their banner was full bright,
Of an old rotten fell,
The cheese was a plowmell,
And the shadow of a bell, quartered with the moone-light.
I wot it was no childrens game, when they togither mette,
When ilka freke in the field on his fellow bette,
And layd on stifly, for nothing would they lette,
And fought ferly fast, till ‘theire’ horses swette;
And few wordes were spoken:
There were flailes all to slatterd,
There were shields all to clatterd,
Bowles and dishes all to batterd, and many heads broken.
There was clenking of cart-saddles, and clattering of cannes,
Of fell frekes in the field, broken were their fannes;
Of some were the heads broken, of some the braine-pannes,
And evill were they besene, ere they went thance,
With swipping of swipples:
The ladds were so weary for fought,
That they might fight no more on-loft,
But creeped about in the croft, as they were crooked cripples.
Perkin was so weary, that he beganne to lowte,
Help, Hudde, I am dead in this ilk rowte:
An horse for forty pennys, a good and a stowte;
That I may lightly come of mine owne owte;
For no cost will I spare.
He starte up as a snaile,
And hent a capull by the taile,
And raught of Daukin his flayle, and wanne him a mare.
Perkin wan five, and Hudde wan twa:
Glad and blithe they were, that they ‘had’ done sa:
They would have them to Tibbe, and present her with tha:
The capuls were so weary, that they might not ga,
But still can they ‘stonde.’
Alas! quoth Hudde, my joy I leese
Mee had lever then a stone of cheese,
That deare Tibbe had all these, and wist it were my sonde.
Perkin turned him about in the ilk throng,
He fought freshly, for he had rest him long;
He was ware of Tirry take Tibbe by the hond,
And would have led her away with a love-song;
And Perkin after ran,
And off his capull he him drowe,
And gave him of his flayle inowe;
Then te, he! quoth Tibbe, and lowe, ye are a doughty man.
Thus they tugged, and they rugged till it was nigh night:
All the wives of Tottenham come to see that fight;
To fetch home their husbands, that were them trough plight,
With wispes and kixes, that was a rich sight;
Her husbands home to fetch.
And some they had in armes,
That were feeble wretches,
And some on wheel-barrowes, and some on critches.
They gatherd Perkin about on every side,
And grant him there the gree, the more was his pride:
Tib and hee, with great mirth, hameward can ride,
And were all night togither, till the morrow tide;
And to church they went:
So well his needs he has sped,
That deare Tibbe he shall wed;
The cheefemen that her hither lead, were of the turnament.
To the rich feast come many for the nonce:
Some come hop-halte, and some tripping thither on the stones;
Some with a staffe in his hand, and some two at once;
Of some were the headsbroken; of some the shoulderbones:
With sorrow come they thither;
Wo was Hawkin; wo was Harry;
Wo was Tymkin; wo was Tirry;
And so was all the company, but yet they come togither.
At that feast were they served in rich aray;
Every five and five had a cokeney;
And so they sat in jollity all the long day.
Tibbe at night, I trowe, had a simple aray;
Mickle mirth was them among:
In every corner of the house
Was melody delicious,
For to hear precious of six mens song.
