forests, called for his son Dorastus to go sport himself, because he saw that of late he began to lour; but his men made answer that he was gone abroad, none knew whither, except he were gone to the grove to walk all alone, as his custom was to do every day.

The king, willing to waken him out of his dumps, sent one of his men to go seek him, but in vain, for at last he returned, but find him he could not, so that the king went himself to go see the sport; where passing away the day, returning at night from hunting, he asked for his son, but he could not be heard of; which drove the king into a great choler, whereupon most of his noblemen and other courtiers posted abroad to seek him, but they could not hear of him through all Sicilia, only they missed Capnio his man, which again made the king suspect that he was not gone far.

Two or three days being passed, and no news heard of Dorastus, Egistus began to fear that he was devoured with some wild beasts, and upon that made out a great troop of men to go seek him; who coasted through all the country, and searched in every dangerous and secret place, until at last they met with a fisherman that was sitting in a little covert hard by the sea-side, mending his nets, when Dorastus and Fawnia took shipping; who, being examined if he either knew or heard where the king's son was, without any secrecy at all revealed the whole matter-how he was sailed two days past, and had in his company his man Capnio, Porrus, and his fair daughter Fawnia. This heavy news was presently carried to the king, who, half dead for sorrow, commanded Porrus's wife to be sent for. She being come to the palace, after due examination confessed that her neighbours had oft told her that the king's son was too familiar with Fawnia, her daughter; whereupon her husband, fearing the worst, about two days past, hearing the king should go a hunting, rose early in the morning, and went to make his complaint, but since she neither heard of him nor saw him. Egistus, perceiving the woman's unfeigned simplicity, let her depart without incurring further displeasure, conceiving such secret grief for his son's reckless folly that he had so forgotten his honour and parentage by so base a choice, to dishonour his father and discredit himself, that with very care and thought he fell into a quartan fever, which was so unfit for his aged years and complexion, that he became so weak, as the physicians would grant him no life.

But his son Dorastus little regarded either father, country, or kingdom in respect of his lady Fawnia; for Fortune smiling on this young novice, lent him so lucky a gale of wind for the space of a day and a night, that the mariners lay and slept upon the hatches. But on the next morning, about the break of the day, the air began to be overcast, the winds to rise, the seas to swell-yea, presently there arose such a fearful tempest, as the ship was in danger to be swallowed up with every sea. The mainmast with the violence of the wind was thrown overboard, the sails were torn, the tacklings went in sunder, the storm raging still so furiously that poor Fawnia was almost dead for fear, but that she was greatly comforted with the presence of Dorastus. The tempest continued three days, at which time the mariners every minute looked for death, and the air was so darkened with clouds that the master could not tell by his compass in what coast they were. But upon the fourth day, about ten of the clock, the wind began to cease, the sea to wax calm, and the sky to be clear, and the mariners descried the coast of Bohemia, shooting off their ordnance for joy that they had escaped such a fearful tempest.

Dorastus, hearing that they were arrived at some harbour, sweetly kissed Fawnia, and bade her be of good cheer. When they told him that the port belonged unto the chief city of

Bohemia, where Pandosto kept his court, Dorastus began to be sad, knowing that his father hated no man so much as Pandosto, and that the king himself had sought secretly to betray Egistus. This considered, he was half afraid to go on land, but that Capnio counselled him to change his name and his country, until such time as they could get some other bark to transport them into Italy. Dorastus, liking this device, made his case privy to the mariners, rewarding them bountifully for their pains, and charging them to say that he was a gentleman of Trapalonia, called Meleagrus. The shipmen, willing to show what friendship they could to Dorastus, promised to be as secret as they could, or he might wish; and upon this they landed in a little village, a mile distant from the city, where, after they had rested a day, thinking to make provision for their marriage, the fame of Fawnia's beauty was spread throughout all the city, so that it came to the ears of Pandosto; who then being about the age of fifty, had notwithstanding young and fresh affections, so that he desired greatly to see Fawnia; and to bring this matter the better to pass, hearing they had but one man, and how they rested at a very homely house, he caused them to be apprehended as spies, and sent a dozen of his guard to take them, who, being come to their lodging, told them the king's message. Dorastus, no whit dismayed, accompanied with Fawnia and Capnio, went to the court (for they left Porrus to keep the stuff), who being admitted to the king's presence, Dorastus and Fawnia with humble obedience saluted his majesty.

Pandosto, amazed at the singular perfection of Fawnia, stood half astonished, viewing her beauty, so that he had almost forgot himself what he had to do. At last, with stern countenance, he demanded their names, and of what country they were, and what caused them to land in Bohemia. "Sir," quoth Dorastus, "know that my name is Meleagrus, a knight, born and brought up in Trapalonia, and this gentlewoman, whom I mean to take to my wife, is an Italian, born in Padua, from whence I have now brought her. The cause I have so small a train with me is for that her friends, unwilling to consent, I intended secretly to convey her into Trapalonia, whither as I was sailing, by distress of weather I was driven into these coasts. Thus have you heard my name, my country, and the cause of my voyage." Pandosto, starting from his seat as one in choler, made this rough reply:

Meleagrus, I fear this smooth tale hath but small truth, and that thou coverest a foul skin with fair paintings. No doubt this lady, by her grace and beauty, is of her degree more meet for a mighty prince than for a simple knight, and thou, like a perjured traitor, hath bereft her of her parents, to their present grief, and her ensuing sorrow. Till, therefore, I hear more of her parentage and of thy calling, I will stay you both here in Bohemia."

Dorastus, in whom rested nothing but kingly valour, was not able to suffer the reproaches of Pandosto, but that he made him this answer:

"It is not meet for a king, without due proof, to appeach any man of ill-behaviour, nor upon suspicion to infer belief; strangers ought to be entertained with courtesy, not to be treated with cruelty, lest being forced by want to put up injuries, the gods avenge their cause with rigour."

Pandosto, hearing Dorastus utter these words, commanded that he should straight be committed to prison, until such time as they heard further of his pleasure; but as for Fawnia, he charged that she should be entertained in the court, with such courtesy as belonged to a stranger and her calling. The rest of the shipmen he put into the dungeon.

Having thus hardly handled the supposed Trapalonians, Pandosto, contrary to his aged years, began to be somewhat tickled with the beauty of Fawnia, insomuch that he could

take no rest, but cast in his old head a thousand new devices. At last he fell into these thoughts:

"How art thou pestered, Pandosto, with fresh affections, and unfit fancies, wishing to possess with an unwilling mind, and a hot desire troubled with a cold disdain? Shall thy mind yield in age to that thou hast resisted in youth? Peace, Pandosto, blab not out that which thou mayest be ashamed to reveal to thyself. Ah! Fawnia is beautiful, and it is not for thine honour (fond fool) to name her that is thy captive, and another man's concubine. Alas! I reach at that with my hand which my heart would fain refuse; playing like the bird ibis in Egypt, which hateth serpents, yet feedeth on their eggs. Tush, hot desires turn oftentimes to cold disdain. Love is brittle, where appetite, not reason, bears the sway. Kings' thoughts ought not to climb so high as the heavens, but to look no lower than honour; better it is to peck at the stars with the young eagles, then to prey on dead carcasses with the vulture. 'Tis more honourable for Pandosto to die by concealing love, than to enjoy such unfit love. Doth Pandosto, then, love? Yea: whom? A maid unknown-yea, and perhaps immodest-straggled out of her own country; beautiful, but not therefore chaste; comely in body, but perhaps crooked in mind. Cease then, Pandosto, to look at Fawnia, much less to love her; be not overtaken with a woman's beauty, whose eyes are framed by art to enamour, whose heart is framed by nature to enchant, whose false tears know their true times, and whose sweet words pierce deeper than sharp swords."

Here Pandosto ceased from his talk, but not from his love; although he sought by reason and wisdom to suppress this frantic affection, yet he could take no rest, the beauty of Fawnia had made such a deep impression in his heart. But on a day, walking abroad into a park, which was hard adjoining to his house, he sent by one of his servants for Fawnia, unto whom he uttered these words:

"Fawnia, I commend thy beauty and wit, and now pity thy distress and want; but if thou wilt forsake Sir Meleagrus, whose poverty, though a knight, is not able to maintain an estate answerable to thy beauty, and yield thy consent to Pandosto, I will both increase thee with dignities and riches." "No, sir," answered Fawnia: "Meleagrus is a knight that hath won me by love, and none but he shall wear me. His sinister mischance shall not diminish my affection, but rather increase my good-will. Think not, though your grace had imprisoned him without cause, that fear shall make me yield my consent. I had rather be Meleagrus's wife, and a beggar, than live in plenty, and be Pandosto's concubine." Pandosto, hearing the assured answer of Fawnia, would, notwithstanding, prosecute his suit to the uttermost; seeking with fair words and great promises that if she would grant to his desire, Meleagrus should not only be set at liberty, but honoured in his court amongst his nobles. But these alluring baits could not entice her mind from the love of her new betrothed mate Meleagrus, which Pandosto seeing, he left her alone for that time to consider more of the demand. Fawnia, being alone by herself, began to enter into these solitary meditations:

"Ah! unfortunate Fawnia, thou seest to desire above fortune is to strive against the gods and fortune. Who gazeth at the sun weakeneth his sight: they which stare at the sky fall oft into deep pits. Hadst thou rested content to have been a shepherd, thou needest not to have feared mischance. Better had it been for thee, by sitting low, to have had quiet, than by climbing high to have fallen into misery. But, alas! I fear not mine own danger, but Dorastus' displeasure. Ah! sweet Dorastus, thou art a prince, but now a prisoner, by too much love procuring thine own loss. Hadst thou not loved Fawnia, thou hadst been fortunate. Shall I then be false

to him that hath forsaken kingdoms for my cause? No, would my death might deliver him, so mine honour might be preserved." With that, fetching a deep sigh, she ceased from her complaints, and went again to the palace, enjoying a liberty without content, and proffered pleasure with small joy. But poor Dorastus lay all this while in close prison, being pinched with a hard restraint, and pained with the burden of cold and heavy irons, sorrowing sometimes that his fond affection had procured him this mishap; that by the disobedience of his parents, he had wrought his own despite. Another while cursing the gods and fortune, that they should cross him with such sinister chance, uttering at last his passions in these words:

"Ah! unfortunate wretch born to mishap, now thy folly hath his desert. Art thou not worthy for thy base mind to have bad fortune? Could the destinies favour thee, which hast forgot thine honour and dignities? Will not the gods plague him with despite that paineth his father with disobedience? O gods, if any favour or justice be left, plague me, but favour poor Fawnia, and shroud her from the tyrannies of wretched Pandosto, but let my death free her from mishap, and then welcome death." Dorastus, pained with these heavy passions, sorrowed and sighed, but in vain, for which he used the more patience. But again to Pandosto, who, broiling at the heat of unlawful lust, could take no rest, but still felt his mind disquieted with his new love, so that his nobles and subjects marvelled greatly at this sudden alteration, not being able to conjecture the cause of this his continued care. Pandosto, thinking every hour a year till he had talked once again with Fawnia, sent for her secretly into his chamber, whither, though Fawnia unwillingly coming, Pandosto entertained her very courteously, using these familiar speeches, which Fawnia answered as shortly in this wise :

Pandosto.

"Fawnia, are you become less wilful and more wise, to prefer the love of a king before the liking of a poor knight? I think ere this you think it is better to be favoured of a king than of a subject."

Fawnia.

"Pandosto, the body is subject to victories, but the mind not to be subdued by conquest; honesty is to be preferred before honour, and a drachm of faith weigheth down a ton of gold. I have promised Meleagrus to love, and will perform no less.”

Pandosto.

"Fawnia, I know thou art not so unwise in thy choice as to refuse the offer of a king, nor so ungrateful as to despise a good turn. Thou art now in that place where I may command, and yet thou seest I entreat. My power is such as I may compel by force, and yet I sue by prayers. Yield, Fawnia, thy love to him which burneth in thy love. Meleagrus shall be set free, thy countrymen discharged, and thou both loved and honoured."

Fawnia.

"I see, Pandosto, where lust ruleth it is a miserable thing to be a virgin; but know this, that I will always prefer fame before life, and rather choose death than dishonour."

Pandosto, seeing that there was in Fawnia a determinate courage to love Meleagrus, and a resolution without fear to hate him, flung away from her in a rage, swearing if in short time she would not be won with reason, he would forget all courtesy, and compel her to grant by rigour; but these threatening words no whit dismayed Fawnia, but that she still both despited and despised Pandosto.

While thus these two lovers strove, the one to win love, the other to live in hate, Egistus heard certain news by

the merchants of Bohemia, that his son Dorastus was imprisoned by Pandosto, which made him fear greatly that his son should be but hardly entreated; yet considering that Bellaria and he were cleared by the oracle of Apollo from that crime wherewith Pandosto had unjustly charged him, he thought best to send with all speed to Pandosto, that he should set free his son Dorastus, and put to death Fawnia and her father Porrus. Finding this, by the advice of council, the speediest remedy to release his son, he caused presently two of his ships to be rigged and thoroughly furnished with provision of men and victuals, and sent divers of his men and nobles ambassadors into Bohemia, who, willing to obey their king and relieve their young prince, made no delays for fear of danger, but with as much speed as might be, sailed towards Bohemia. The wind and seas favoured them greatly, which made them hope of some good hap, for within three days they were landed; which Pandosto no sooner heard of their arrival but he in person went to meet them, entreating them with such sumptuous and familiar courtesy, that they might well perceive how sorry he was for the former injuries he had offered to their king, and how willing, if it might be, to make amends.

As Pandosto made report to them, how one Meleagrus, a Knight of Trapalonia, was lately arrived with a lady called Fawnia in his land, coming very suspiciously, accompanied only with one servant and an old shepherd, the ambassadors perceived by the half what the whole tale meant, and began to conjecture that it was Dorastus, who, for fear to be known, had changed his name. But dissembling the matter, they shortly arrived at the Court, where after they had been very solemnly and sumptuously feasted, the noblemen of Sicilia being gathered together, they made report of their embassage, where they certified Pandosto that Meleagrus was son and heir to the King Egistus, and that his name was Dorastus; how contrary to the king's mind he had privily conveyed away that Fawnia, intending to marry her, being but daughter to that poor shepherd Porrus; whereupon the king's request was that Capnio, Fawnia, and Porrus might be murdered and put to death, and that his son Dorastus might be sent home in safety. Pandosto having attentively and with great marvel heard their embassage, willing to reconcile himself to Egistus, and to show him how greatly he esteemed his favour, although love and fancy forbade him to hurt Fawnia, yet in despite of love he determined to execute Egistus' will without mercy; and therefore he presently sent for Dorastus out of prison, who, marvelling at this unlooked-for courtesy, found at his coming to the king's presence, that which he least doubted of, his father's ambassadors, who no sooner saw him but with great reverence they honoured him, and Pandosto embracing Dorastus, set him by him very lovingly in a chair of state. Dorastus, ashamed that his folly was betrayed, sat a long time as one in a muse, till Pandosto told him the sum of his father's embassage, which he no sooner heard but he was touched at the quick for the cruel sentence that was pronounced against Fawnia. But neither could his sorrow nor persuasions prevail, for Pandosto commanded that Fawnia, Porrus, and Capnio, should be brought to his presence; who were no sooner come, but Pandosto, having his former love turned to a disdainful hate, began to rage against Fawnia in these terms:

"Thou disdainful vassal, thou currish kite, assigned by the destinies to base fortune, and yet with an aspiring mind gazing after honour, how durst thou presume, being a beggar, to match with a prince? By thy alluring looks to enchant the son of a king to leave his own country to fulfil thy disordinate lusts? O despiteful mind, a proud heart in a beggar

is not unlike to a great fire in a small cottage, which warmeth not the house but burneth it; assure thyself that thou shalt die. And thou, old doting fool, whose folly hath been such as to suffer thy daughter to reach above thy fortune, look for no other meed but the like punishment. But Capnio, thou which hast betrayed the king, and hast consented to the un. lawful lust of thy lord and master, I know not how justly I may plague thee; death is too easy a punishment for thy falsehood, and to live, if not in extreme misery, were not to show thee equity. I therefore award that thou shalt have thine eyes put out, and continually while thou diest, grind in a mill like a brute beast." The fear of death brought a sorrowful silence upon Fawnie and Capnio, but Porrus, seeing no hope of life, burst forth into these speeches:

"Pandosto, and ye noble ambassadors of Sicilia, seeing without cause I am condemned to die; I am yet glad I have opportunity to disburden my conscience before my death; I will tell you as much as I know, and yet no more than is true. Whereas I am accused that I have been a supporter of Fawnia's pride, and she disdained as a vile beggar, so it is that I am neither father unto her, nor she daughter unto me. For so it happened that I being a poor shepherd in Sicily, living by keeping other men's flocks, one of my sheep straying down to the sea-side, as I went to seek her, I saw a little boat driven upon the shore, wherein I found a babe of six days old, wrapped in a mantle of scarlet, having about the neck this chain. I, pitying the child, and desirous of the treasure, carried it home to my wife, who with great care nursed it up, and set it to keep sheep. Here is the chain and the jewels, and this Fawnia is the child whom I found in the boat; what she is, or of what parentage, I know not, but this I am assured that she is none of mine."

Pandosto would scarce suffer him to tell out his tale, but that he enquired the time of the year, the manner of the boat, and other circumstances, which when he found agreeing to his count, he suddenly leaped from his seat, and kissed Fawnia, wetting her tender cheeks with his tears, and crying, "My daughter Fawnia, ah, sweet Fawnia, I am thy father, Fawnia!" This sudden passion of the king drove them all into a maze, especially Fawnia and Dorastus. But when the king had breathed himself awhile in this new joy, he rehearsed before the ambassadors the whole matter, how he had treated his wife Bellaria for jealousy, and that this was the child whom he sent to float in the seas.

Fawnia was not more joyful that she had found such a father, than Dorastus was glad he should get such a wife. The ambassadors rejoiced that their young prince had made such a choice, that those kingdoms, which through enmity had long time been dissevered, should now through perpetual amity be united and reconciled. The citizens and subjects of Bohemia, hearing that the king had found again his daughter, which was supposed dead, joyful that there was an heir apparent to his kingdom, made bonfires and shows throughout the city. The courtiers and knights appointed jousts and tourneys to signify their willing minds in gratifying the king's hap.

Eighteen days being passed in these princely sports, Pandosto, willing to recompense old Porrus, of a shepherd made him a knight; which done, providing a sufficient navy to receive him and his retinue, accompanied with Dorastus, Fawnia, and the Sicilian ambassadors, he sailed towards Sicily, where he was most princely entertained by Egistus, who, hearing this comical event, rejoiced greatly at his son's good hap, and without delay (to the perpetual joy of the two young lovers) celebrated the marriage. Which was no sooner ended, but Pandosto, calling to mind how first he betrayed his friend Egistus, how his jealousy was the cause of Bellaria's

death, that he contrary to the law of nature had lusted after his own daughter, moved with these desperate thoughts, he fell into a melancholy fit, and to close up the comedy with a tragical stratagem, he slew himself. Whose death being many days bewailed of Fawnia, Dorastus, and his dear friend Egistus, Dorastus taking his leave of his father, went with his wife and the dead corpse into Bohemia, where after they were sumptuously entombed, Dorastus ended his days in contented quiet.

Town and country were, no doubt, alike pleased with this daintily conceited love tale by one of the

TOWN AND COUNTRY.
From Greene's "Quip for an Upstart Courtier."

best dramatists of his day. But in town and country there were many who condemned the plays and players.

Lyly's Euphues led us to Robert Greene as Euphuistic novelist; but we must not advance to works of later date without a glance back at the book of "Mery Tales, Wittie Questions and Quicke Answeres, very pleasant to readde," which continued the line of the jest-books begun with the "Hundred Merry Tales," and which appeared in 1567. There is evidence of culture in the variety of sources from which this little storybook is drawn. There are anecdotes and sayings of the Greeks and Romans from Plutarch, Livy, Valerius Maximus, and others; there are jcsts from Italy and jests from France; some traceable to the Arabs; and all put into homely English, with the lesson of life drawn from a tale now and then set forth in a pithy sentence or two at the close. This story is of an ancient type, derived originally from the East:

OF KING LEWIS OF FRANCE AND THE HUSBANDMAN.

What time King Lewis of France the XI. of that name, because of the trouble that was in the realm kept himself in Burgoyne,' he chanced, by occasion of hunting, to become

1 Burgoyne = French Bourgogne, Burgundy.

acquainted with one Conon, a homely husbandman and a plain-meaning fellow, in which manner of men the high princes greatly delight them. To this man's house the king oft resorted from hunting, and with great pleasure he would eat radish roots with him. Within a while after, when Lewis was restored home and had the governance of France in his hand, this husbandman was counselled by his wife to take a goodly sort of radish roots and to go and give them to the king, and put him in mind of the good cheer that he had made him at his house. Conon would not assent thereto. "What, foolish woman!" quoth he; "the great princes remember not such small pleasures." But for all that she would not rest till Conon took out a great sight of the fairest roots and took his journey toward the Court. But as he went by the way he ate up all the radishes save one of the greatest. Conon peaked into the Court, and stood where the king should pass by: by and by the king knew him and called him to him. Conon stepped to the king and presented his root with a glad cheer. And the king took it more gladly, and bade one that was nearest to him to lay it up among those jewels that he best loved; and then commanded Conon to dine with him. When dinner was done, he thanked Conon: and when the king saw that he would depart home, he commanded to give him a thousand crowns of gold for his radish root. When this was known in the king's house, one of the Court gave the king a proper minion horse. The king perceiving that he did it because of the liberality showed unto Conon, with very glad cheer he took the gift, and counselled with his lords how and with what gift he might recompense the horse that was so goodly and fair. This meanwhile the pickthank had a marvellous great hope, and thought in his mind thus: If he so well recompensed the radish root, that was given of a rustical man, how much more largely will he recompense such an horse, that is given of me that am of the Court? When every man had said his mind as though the king had counselled about a great weighty matter, and that they had long fed the pickthank with vain hope, at last the king said: "I remember now what we shall give him ;" and so he called one of his lords, and bade him in his ear go fetch him that that he found in his chamber (and told him the place where) featly folded up in silk. Anon he came and

4 Peaked. Mr. Hensleigh Wedgwood in his Etymological Dictionary gives "To peak, Peaking, Peaking, puling, sickly, from the pipy tone of voice of a sick person. It. "pigolare," to peep as a chicken, to whine or pule; Russ. "pikat," Esthon, "pikama," "piiksuma," to peep as a chicken; Sw. "pjaka," "pjunka," to pule. "The same connection," Mr. Wedgwood adds, "between the utterance of a thin high note and the idea of looking narrowly, which is noticed under 'Peep,' is exemplified in the present word, which was formerly used in the sense of peeping.

brought the radish root, and even as it was folded up the king gave it with his own hand to the courtier, saying: "We suppose your horse is well recompensed with this jewel, for it hath cost us a thousand crowns." The courtier went his way never so glad, and when he had unfolded it, he found none other treasure but the radish root almost withered.

shillings. "Whither shall we bring them?" quoth they. "To the Swan in Long Lane by Smithfield," quoth he, and so left them, and sped him thither the next 2 way. When he came to the good man of the Swan he asked if he would buy two good loads of hay? "Yes, marry," said he, "Where be they?" "Even here they come," quoth Makeshift. "What shall I pay?" said the innholder. "Four nobles," quoth he: but at length they agreed for xx shilling. When the hay was come, Makeshift bade them unload. While they were doing so, he came to the innholder, and said: "Sir, I pray you let me have my money, for while my men be unloading I will go into the city to buy a little stuff to have home with me." The goodman was content and gave it him. And so

GREENE RAISED FROM THE GRAVE.

From the title-page to John Dickenson's "Greene in Conceipt," 1598.

This is, from the same collection, the ancient story that has passed into a proverb, of the appeal from Philip drunk to Philip sober:

OF THE WOMAN THAT APPEALED FROM KING PHILIP TO KING PHILIP.

A woman which guiltless on a time was condemned by King Philip of Macedon when he was not sober, wherefore she said "I appeal:" "Whither?" quoth the king: "To King Philip," quoth she; "but that is when he is more sober and better advised." Which saying caused the king to look better on the matter, and to do her right.

This writeth Val. Maximus. But Plutarch sayeth it was a man, and King Philip was half asleep when he gave sentence.

And here, akin to the literature of "Coneycatching," is one more story of a shifter:

OF HIM THAT SOLD TWO LOADS OF HAY. In London dwelled a merry, pleasant man (which for his time we may call Makeshift), who being arrayed somewhat harvestlike, with a pitchfork on his neck, went forth in a morning and met with two load of hay coming to the cityward, for the which he bargained with the owners to pay xxx

1 This cut, the only known approach to a portrait, if it can be called a portrait, of Greene, is from the title-page to a book entitled "Greene in Conceipt. New raised from his grave to write the Tragique Historie of faire Valeria of London, &c. Received and reported by I. D." The only discovered copy of it is in the Bodleian. A facsimile of its title-page is given by the Rev. Dr. Grosart in his privately printed volume of the Prose and Verse of John Dickenson, one of the most interesting of a peculiarly useful series of reprints of volumes that survive only in very few or single copies, each reprint being limited to fifty impressions,

AN ELIZABETHAN SHILLING.3 (From Speed's Historie of Britain, 1611.) he went his way. When the men had unloaded the hay they came and demanded their money; to whom the innholder said, "I have paid your master." "What master?" quoth they. "Marry," quoth he, "the same man that made you bring the hay hither." "We know him not," quoth they. "No more do I," quoth he; "that same man bargained with me for the hay and him have I paid: I neither bought nor sold with you." "That is not enough for us," quoth they; and thus they strove together. But what end they made I know not. For I think Makeshift came not again to agree them.

It is a little characteristic of the taste for ingenuity that this shifter is called, by a storyteller who aims at suggestions of practical wisdom, nothing worse than " a merry pleasant man." The purpose of putting men upon their guard against the tricks of rogues was associated with a distinct pleasure in the telling and the reading of them. In what Lyly called the "idolatry of wit" there was a half friendly welcome even for the wit of thieves.

Let us turn now to some wit shaken by an earthquake out of a distinguished member of the University of Cambridge. It seemed wit to him, but to us it rather represents the good-humoured banter among

2 Next, nearest. First English "neah," nigh or near; "nearre," nigher or nearer; "nyhst," or "néhst," nighest or next.

3 An Elizabethan shilling is figured above from the heading to Elizabeth's reign in Speed's History (Edition of 1611). The silver shilling (of twelve pence) was divided into two parts, sixpences or testons (whence the vulgar English tester), and that was again subdivided into pieces worth threepence. Five shillings made a crown, six-and-eight pence a noble, two nobles or thirteen-and-fourpence were a mark. A crown under Elizabeth was a gold coin weighing one pennyweight and nineteen grains. The cross on the shilling and on other money was a common subject of allusion in literature and in daily life. So in Massinger's "Bashful Lover," "The devil sleeps in my pocket, I have no cross to drive him from it;" and of the same origin is the phrase of "crossing" a fortune-teller's hand with silver. The "angel," also often punned upon, was figured on a gold noble, therefore known as the Angel Noble to distinguish it from the George Noble and the Old Noble. The amount of gold in the Old Noble was 4 dwts. 9 grs.; in the George Noble 3 dwts.; and in the Angel 3 dwts. 7 grs. This was only about 7 grains less than the Elizabeth sovereign. The gold coin representing twenty shillings was known as the Great Sovereign, and weighed ten pennyweights.