Gascoigne, The Adventures of Master F.J. (Page 6)
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The Moon was now at the full, the skies clear, and the weather temperate, by reason whereof he might the more plainly and with the greater contentation behold his long desired joys, and spreading his arms abroad to embrace his loving Mistress, he said: "Oh, my dear Lady, when shall I be able with any desert to countervail the least part of this your bountiful goodness?"
The dame (whether it were of fear indeed, or that the wiliness of womanhood had taught her to cover her conceits with some fine dissimulation) stert back from the Knight, and shrieking (but softly), said unto him, "Alas, servant, what have I deserved, that you come against me with naked sword as against an open enemy?"
F. J. perceiving her intent, excused himself, declaring that he brought the same for their defense & not to offend her in any wise. The Lady being therewith somewhat appeased, they began with more comfortable gesture to expel the dread of the said late affright, and sithens to become bolder of behavior, more familiar in speech, & most kind in accomplishing of common comfort.
But why hold I so long discourse in describing the joys which (for lack of like experience) I cannot set out to the full? Were it not that I know to whom I write, I would the more beware what I write. F. J. was a man, and neither of us are senseless, and therefore I should slander him (over and besides a greater obloquy to the whole genealogy of Enaeas) if I should imagine that of tender heart he would forbear to express her more tender limbs against the hard floor. Sufficed that of her courteous nature she was content to accept boards for a bead of down, mats for Cambric sheets, and the nightgown of F. J. for a counterpoint to cover them, and thus with calm content in stead of quiet sleep, they beguiled the night, until the proudest star began to abandon the firmament, when F. J. and his Mistress, were constrained also to abandon their delights, and with ten thousand sweet kisses and straight embracings did frame themselves to play loath to depart.
Well, remedy was there none, but dame Eleanor must return unto her chamber, and F. J. must also convey himself (as closely as might be) into his chamber, the which was hard to do, the day being so far sprung and he having a large base court to pass over before he could recover his stair foot door. And though he were not much perceived, yet the Lady Frances, being no less desirous to see an issue of these enterprises then F. J. was willing to cover them in secrecy, did watch, & even at the entering of his chamber door, perceived the point of his naked sword glist'ring under the skirt of his night gown: whereat she smiled & said to her self, this gear goeth well about.
Well, F. J. having now recovered his chamber, he went to bed, & there let him sleep, as his Mistress did on that other side. Although the Lady Frances being thoroughly tickled now in all the veins, could not enjoy such quiet rest, but arising, took another gentlewoman of the house with her and walked into the park to take the fresh air of the morning. They had not long walked there, but they returned, and though F. J. had not yet slept sufficiently for one which had so far travailed in the night past, yet they went into his chamber to raise him, and coming to his beds side, found him fast on sleep. "Alas," quoth that other gentlewoman, "it were pity to awake him."
"Even so it were," quoth dame Frances, "but we will take away somewhat of his, whereby he may perceive that we were here," and looking about the chamber, his naked sword presented itself to the hands of dame Frances, who took it with her, and softly shutting his chamber door again, went down the stairs and recovered her own lodging in good order and unperceived of any body, saving only that other gentlewoman which accompanied her.
At the last, F. J. awaked, and appareling himself, walked out also to take the air, and being thoroughly recomforted as well with remembrance of his joys forepassed, as also with the pleasant harmony which the Birds made on every side and the fragrant smell of the redolent flowers and blossoms which budded on every branch, he did in these delights compile these verses following. The occasion (as I have heard him rehearse) was by encounter that he had with his Lady by light of the moon: and forasmuch as the moon in midst of their delights did vanish away, or was overspread with a cloud, thereupon he took the subject of his theme. And thus it ensueth, called "A Moonshine Banquet.
Dame Cynthia herself (that shines so bright
And deigneth not to leave her lofty place
But only then when Phoebus shows his face,
Which is her brother born and lends her light)
Disdain'd not yet to do my Lady right,
To prove that in such heavenly wights as she,
It sitteth best that right and reason be.
For when she spied my Ladies golden rays,
Into the clouds
Her head she shrouds
And shamed to shine where she her beams displays.
Good reason yet that to my simple skill,
I should the name of Cynthia adore,
By whose high help I might behold the more
My Lady's lovely looks at mine own will,
With deep content to gaze, and gaze my fill:
Of courtesy and not of dark disdain,
Dame Cynthia disclos'd my Lady plain.
She did but lend her light (as for a light)
With friendly grace
To show her face
That else would show and shine in her despite.
Dan Phoebus he with many a low'ring look,
Had her beheld of yore in angry wise:
And when he could none other mean devise
To stain her name, this deep deceit he took
To be the bait that best might hide his hook:
Into her eyes his parching beams he cast,
To scorch their skins that gaz'd on her full fast:
Whereby when many a man was sunburnt so,
They thought my Queen
The sun had been,
With scalding flames which wrought them all that woe.
And thus when many a look had lookt so long,
As that their eyes were dim and dazzled both,
Some fainting hearts that were both lewd and loath
To look again from whence the error sprong,
Gan close their eye for fear of further wrong:
And some again once drawn into the maze,
Gan lewdly blame the beams of beauties blaze:
But I with deep foresight did soon espy
How Phoebus meant
By false intent
To slander so her name with cruelty.
Wherefore at better leisure thought I best
To try the treason of his treachery:
And to exalt my Ladies dignity
When Phoebus fled and drew him down to rest
Amid the waves that walter in the west.
I gan behold this lovely Ladies face
Whereon dame nature spent her gifts of grace,
And found therein no parching heat at all,
But such bright hue
As might renew
An Angel's joys in reign celestial.
The courteous Moon that wisht to do me good
Did shine to show my dame more perfectly,
But when she saw her passing jollity,
The Moon for shame did blush as red as blood
And shrunk aside and kept her horns in hood:
So that now when Dame Cynthia was gone,
I might enjoy my Ladies looks alone,
Yet honored still the Moon with true intent:
Who taught us skill
To work our will
And gave us place till all the night was spent.
F. J.
This Ballad, or howsoever I shall term it, percase you will not like, and yet in my judgment it hath great good store of deep invention, and for the order of the verse, it is not common, I have not heard many of like proportion. Some will account it but a dyddeldeme: but who so had heard F. J. sing it to the lute by a note of his own devise, I suppose he would esteem it to be a pleasant diddeldome, and for my part, if I were not partial, I would say more in commendation of it than now I mean to do, leaving it to your and like judgments.
And now to return to my tale, by that time that F. J. returned out of the park, it was dinner time, and at dinner they all met, I mean both dame Eleanor, dame Frances, and F. J.. I leave to describe that the Lady Frances was gorgeously attired and set forth with very brave apparel, and Madame Eleanor only in her night gown girt to her, with a coif trimmed Alla Piedmonteze, on the which she wore a little cap crossed over the crown with two bends of yellow Sarcenet or Cypress, in the midst whereof she had placed, of her own handwriting, in paper this word, Contented. This attire pleased her then to use, and could not have displeased Mistress Frances, had she not been more privy to the cause than to the thing itself: at least the Lord of the Castle (of ignorance) and dame Frances (of great temperance) let it pass without offence. At dinner, because the one was pleased with all former reckonings, and the other made privy to the account, there passed no word of taunt or grudge, but omnia bene. After dinner, dame Eleanor being no less desirous to have F. J. company than dame Frances was to take him in some pretty trip, they began to question how they might best pass the day: the Lady Eleanor seemed desirous to keep her chamber, but Mistress Frances for another purpose seemed desirous to ride abroad thereby to take the open air. They agreed to ride a mile or twain for solace, and requested F. J. to accompany them, the which willingly granted.
Each one parted from other to prepare themselves, and now began the sport, for when F. J. was booted, his horses saddled, and he ready to ride, he gan miss his Rapier. Whereat all astonied he began to blame his man, but blame whom he would, found it could not be. At last, the Ladies going towards horseback called for him in the base Court and demanded if he were ready. To whom F. J. answered, "Madames, I am more than ready and yet not so ready as I would be," and immediately taking himself in trip, he thought best to utter no more of his conceit, but in haste more than good speed mounted his horse, & coming toward the dames presented himself, turning, bounding, & taking up his courser to the uttermost of his power in bravery. After suffering his horse to breathe himself, he gan also allay his own choler, & to the dames he said, "Fair Ladies, I am ready when it pleaseth you to ride where so you command."
"How ready soever you be, servant," quoth dame Eleanor, "it seemeth your horse is readier at your command then at ours."
"If he be at my command, Mistress," quoth he, "he shall be at yours."
"Gramercy, good servant," quoth she, "but my meaning is that I fear he be too stirring for our company."
"If he prove so, Mistress," quoth F. J., "I have here a soberer palfrey to serve you on."
The Dames being mounted, they rode forthwards by the space of a mile or very near, and F. J. (whether it were of his horse's courage or his own choler) came not so near them as they wished. At last the Lady Frances said unto him, "Master J., you said that you had a soberer horse, which if it be so, we would be glad of your company. But I believe by your countenance, your horse & you are agreed."
F. J., alighting, called his servant, changed horses with him, and overtaking the Dames, said to Mistress Frances: "And why do you think, fair Lady, that my horse and I are agreed?"
"Because by your countenance," quoth she, "it seemeth your patience is stirred."
"In good faith," quoth F. J., "you have guessed a right, but not with any of you."
"Then we care the less, servant," quoth Dame Eleanor.
"By my troth, Mistress," quoth F. J. (looking well about him that none might hear but they two), "it is with my servant, who hath lost my sword out of my chamber."
Dame Eleanor, little remembering the occasion, replied, "It is no matter, servant," quoth she, "you shall hear of it again, I warrant you, and presently we ride in God's peace and I trust shall have no need of it."
"Yet Mistress," quoth he, "a weapon serveth both uses, as well to defend as to offend."
"Now by my troth," quoth Dame Frances, "I have now my dream, for I dreamt this night that I was in a pleasant meadow alone, where I met with a tall Gentleman apparelled in a nightgown of silk all embroidered about with a guard of naked swords, and when he came towards me I seemed to be afraid of him, but he recomforted me saying, 'Be not afraid fair Lady, for I use this garment only for mine own defense: and in this sort went that warlike God Mars what time he taught dame Venus to make Vulcan a hammer of the new fashion.' Notwithstanding these comfortable words, the fright of the dream awaked me, and sithens unto this hour I have not slept at all."
"And what time of the night dreamt you this?" quoth F. J.
"In the grey morning, about dawning of the day. But why ask you?" quoth dame Frances.
F. J. with a great sigh answered, "Because that dreams are to be marked more at some hour of the night then at some other."
"Why are you so cunning at the interpretation of dreams, servant?" quoth the Lady Eleanor.
"Not very cunning, Mistress," quoth F. J., "but guess, like a young scholar."
The dames continued in these and like pleasant talks: but F. J. could not be merry, as one that esteemed the preservation of his Mistress' honor no less then the obtaining of his own delights: and yet to avoid further suspicion, he repressed his passions as much as he could. The Lady Eleanor, more careless then considerative of her own case, pricking forwards said softly to F. J., "I had thought you had received small cause, servant, to be thus dumpish when I would be merry."
"Alas, dear Mistress," quoth F. J., "it is altogether for your sake that I am pensive."
Dame Frances with courtesy withdrew herself and gave them leave. When as F. J. declared unto his Mistress that his sword was taken out of his chamber, and that he dreaded much by the words of the Lady Frances that she had some understanding of the matter. Dame Eleanor now calling to remembrance what had passed the same night, at the first was abashed, but immediately (for these women be readily witted) cheered her servant and willed him to commit unto her the salving of that sore.
Thus they passed the rest of the way in pleasant talk with dame Frances, and so returned towards the Castle where F. J. suffered the two dames to go together, and he alone unto his chamber to bewail his own misgovernment. But dame Eleanor (whether it were according to old custom or by wily policy) found mean that night that the sword was conveyed out of Mistress Frances' chamber and brought unto hers, and after redelivery of it unto F. J., she warned him to be more wary from that time forthwards.
Well, I dwell too long upon these particular points in discoursing this trifling history, but that the same is the more apt mean of introduction to the verses which I mean to rehearse unto you, and I think you will not disdain to read my conceit with his invention about declaration of his comedy. The next that ever F. J. wrote then upon any adventure happened between him and this fair Lady, was this, as I have heard him say, and upon this occasion. After he grew more bold & better acquainted with his Mistress' disposition, he adventured one Friday in the morning to go unto her chamber, and thereupon wrote as followeth, which he termed "A Friday's Breakfast."
That selfsame day, and of that day that hour,
When she doth reign that mockt Vulcan the Smith
And thought it meet to harbor in her bower,
Some gallant guest for her to dally with.
That blessed hour, that blist and happy day,
I thought it meet with hasty steppes to go:
Unto the lodge wherein my Lady lay,
To laugh for joy, or else to weep for woe.
And lo, my Lady of her wonted grace,
First lent her lips to me (as for a kiss)
And after that her body to embrace,
Wherein dame nature wrought nothing amiss.
What followed next, guess you that know the trade,
For in this sort, my Fridays feast I made.
F. J.
This Sonnet is short and sweet, reasonably well, according to the occasion &c. Many days passed these two lovers with great delight, their affairs being no less politicly governed than happily achieved. And surely I have heard F. J. affirm in sad earnest that he did not only love her, but was furthermore so ravished in Ecstasies with continual remembrance of his delights that he made an Idol of her in his inward conceit. So seemeth it by this challenge to beauty, which he wrote in her praise and upon her name.
Beauty, shut up thy shop and truss up all thy trash,
My Nell hath stolen thy finest stuff & left thee in the lash:
Thy market now is marred, thy gains are gone, god wot,
Thou hast no ware that may compare with this that I have got.
As for thy painted pale, and wrinkles surfled up,
Are dear enough for such as lust to drink of ev'ry cup.
Thy bodies bolst'red out with bombast and with bags,
Thy rolls, thy Ruffs, thy cauls, thy coifs, thy Jerkins & thy jags,
Thy curling and thy cost, thy friesling & thy fare,
To Court, to court with all those toys & there set forth such ware
Before their hungry eyes that gaze on every gest,
And choose the cheapest chaffer still to please their fancy best.
But I whose stedfast eyes could never cast a glance
With wand'ring look amid the press to take my choice, by chance
Have won by due desert a piece that hath no peer
And left the rest as refuse all to serve the market there.
There let him choose that list, there catch the best who can:
A painted blazing bait may serve to choke a gazing man,
But I have slipt thy flower that freshest is of hue,
I have thy corn, go sell thy chaff, I list to seek no new.
The windows of mine eyes are glaz'd with such delight
As each new face seems full of faults that blazeth in my sight.
And not without just cause I can compare her so;
Lo, here, my glove, I challenge him that can or dare say no.
Let Theseus come with club, or Paris brag with brand,
To prove how fair their Helen was that scourg'd the Grecian land,
Let mighty Mars himself, come armed to the field
And vaunt dame Venus to defend with helmet, spear & shield:
This hand that had good hap my Helen to embrace
Shall have like luck to foil her foes & daunt them with disgrace,
And cause them to confess by verdict and by oath
How far her lovely looks do stain the beauties of them both,
And that my Helen is more fair then Paris' wife,
And doth deserve more famous praise then Venus for her life.
Which if I not perform, my life then let me leese,
Or else be bound in chains of change to beg for beauties fees.
F. J.
By this challenge, I guess that either he was then in an ecstasy or else sure I am now in a lunacy, for it is a proud challenge made to Beauty herself and all her companions, and imagining that Beauty having a shop where she uttered her wares of all sundry sorts, his Lady had stolen the finest away, leaving none behind her but painting, bolstering, forcing, and such like, the which in his rage he judgeth good enough to serve the Court. And thereupon grew a great quarrel when these verses were by the negligence of his Mistress dispersed into sundry hands, and so at last to the reading of a Courtier. Well, F. J. had his desire if his Mistress liked them, but as I have heard him declare, she grew in jealousy that the same were not written by her, because her name was Eleanor and not Helen. And about this point have been divers and sundry opinions, for this and divers other of his most notable Poems have come to view of the world, although altogether without his consent. And some have attributed this praise unto a Helen, who deserved not so well as this dame Eleanor should seem to deserve by the relation of F. J., and yet never a barrel of good herring between them both. But that other Helen, because she was and is of so base condition as may deserve no manner commendation in any honest judgment, therefore I will excuse my friend F. J. and adventure my pen in his behalf, that he would never bestow verse of so mean a subject. And yet some of his acquaintance, being also acquainted (better than I) that F. J. was sometimes acquainted with Helen, have stood in argument with me, that it was written by Helen and not by Eleanor. Well, F. J. told me himself that it was written by this dame Eleanor, and that unto her he thus alleged, that he took it all for one name, or at least he never read of any Eleanor such matter as might sound worthy like commendation for beauty. And indeed, considering that it was in the first beginning of his writings, as then he was no writer of any long continuance, comparing also the time that such reports do spread of his acquaintance with Helen, it cannot be written less then six or seven years before he knew Helen. Marry, peradventure if there were any acquaintance between F. J. and that Helen afterwards (the which I dare not confess), he might adapt it to her name and so make it serve both their turns, as elder lovers have done before and still do and will do world without end. Amen.
Well, by whom he wrote it, I know not, but once I am sure that he wrote it, for he is no borrower of inventions, and this is all that I mean to prove, as one that send you his verses by stealth and do him double wrong to disclose unto any man the secret causes why they were devised, but this for your delight I do adventure, and to return to the purpose, he sought more certainly to please his Mistress Eleanor with this Sonnet written in her praise as followeth.
The stately Dames of Rome their Pearls did wear
About their necks to beautify their name,
But she (whom I do serve) her pearls doth bear
Close in her mouth, and smiling shows the same.
No wonder then, though ev'ry word she speaks
A Jewel seems in judgment of the wise,
Since that her sug'red tongue the passage breaks
Between two rocks bedeckt with pearls of price.
Her hair of gold, her front of Ivory,
A bloody heart within so white a breast,
Her teeth of Pearl, lips Ruby, crystal eye,
Needs must I honor her above the rest,
Since she is formed of none other mold
But Ruby, Crystal, Ivory, Pearl, and Gold.
F. J.
Of this Sonnet, I am assured that it is but a translation, for I myself have seen the invention of an Italian, and Master J. hath a little dilated the same, but not much besides the sense of the first, and the addition very aptly applied: wherefore I cannot condemn his doing therein. And for the Sonnet, were it not a little too much praise (as the Italians do most commonly offend in the superlative), I could the more commend it: but I hope the party to whom it was dedicated had rather it were much more than any thing less.
