SHAKSPEARE'S DRINKING-BOUT:

A TALE OF THE TOPING AT BIDFORD.

By J. B. BUCKSTONE.

On a fresh and and shining Whit-Monday morning, in the year 1582, a band of roisters assembled in front of the "Swan," a pleasant little inn at Stratford-upon-Avon. The group consisted of several young townsmen, and the good laughing with which their discourse was garnished, betokened that the subject was a right merry one. No man spoke as though his word were conclusive; there was no "Sir Oracle" among them; hence it may be supposed, that politics were not under discussion; nor slander, for there was lack of whispering; nor sarcasm, for no feelings seemed to be wounded; nor detraction, for neither sneer nor scowl could be traced upon their joyous faces. The leaves o a fine aspen quivered above them, a busy and happy world of life, while the shrill chirruping of the young birds, and the neighbourly responses of Sir Chanticleer, mingling with the shouts and wholesome laughter of the gossiping group beneath, formed a noble picture of mirth, goodwill, and English rusticity.

"Ho! ho! Frank Underhill," cried one of the party, "dost remember our refusing to quit the inn parlour till the fair hostess had bestowed upon us a maternal benediction, and a parting kiss? And dost recollect the arrival of mine host, as the last luckless wight struggled with the dame, and his sudden downfall under the blow of a brown jug upon his cockscomb, from the angry spouse?" By the rattling laugh that followed this reminiscence, it was clear that the party were relating the adventures and mishaps of a previous tippling meeting, and many and various were the scoundrel tricks and villanous jokes uproariously reverted to. This merriment was interrupted by a sudden rising of the group, as a deafening shout told the approach of a favourite companion. A young man now bounded towards them, every hand was stretched forth to welcome him, and every eye seemed to brighten with joy at his presence, while an ancient and grizzled ostler, who was watching the party from the stable-door, grinned, and rubbed his withered palms together, with every expression of extravagant glee.

The youth who had joined the roisters, was apparently about eighteen; his face beamed with health and intelligence: in taking off his cap he showed a forehead finely arched, and of singular height, but on which the hair seemed to grow somewhat scantily, though it fell in great profusion on his shoulders: his eyes were full, and flashed continually, as with an innate joyousness; but ever and anon they would wear a strange and grave aspect: his brows that were before in mild repose, would knit as though he were in some proud meditation; but again a wild sally from his companions would bring his glance upon them, and the quick change that thereupon came over every feature, would give to his thoughtful face such a character of infinite glee, and mad waggery, that it became a matter of wonder to mark such opposite expressions displayed in the index of one man's mind.

"What is it that I have heard?" quoth the new comer.

'Has all

England been challenged by these ale-topers of Bidford, to try the "strength of their heads ?"

"It has, brave Will," replied a dozen voices.

The young man now sprang upon one of the rude tables in front of

the inn.

"Silence, silence! shouted the throng.

And shall it be said that the lovers of deep draughts, whoe honest faces I now look upon, have heard this vainglorious summons in silence? Up, men of Stratford, let us show them sport-if they tope gallons, we will empty barrels; if they drain barrels, we will hollow tuns; or, like the army of the ancient king, soak up whole rivers,—so they be of ale,-ere these dull Bidford men shall crow so loudly."

"A Shakspeare! a Shakspeare to the fight!" roared the mad lads, and up went caps and battered cone-like hats into the air; and, in a brief space, twelve stout tipplers of the good town of Stratford-uponAvon started to Bidford, to drink a match with the renowned soakers of that thirsty village.

"Odds buddikins," muttered the beforenamed ancient ostler, "were that lunacy varlet, Will Shakspeare, to zay he'd lead un all to Lucifus, not a rogue among 'em would turn him back; he wur married scarce a month agone to master Hathaway's daughter, and I warrant me he hath now her goodly portion of many crowns, in his zievy pouch-An he return with 'em, happy man be his dole." And hereupon he grinned a huge grin, and rubbed him down his mare.

And now master Sol, that prince of topers, shone forth brighter than before, as if resolved to have some share in the sport; for he threw upon the mad party some of the warmest beams the season would permit him, so that one might think that he communed with himself, somewhat after this fashion :-" Odds life! though I cannot get down and join the rogues, wretch that I am, yet will I aid their cause, for the sake of my young darling, their leader; therefore, if a wholesome heat will increase their thirst, and make them worthy of my warm friendship, they shall smoke in their jackets, ere they see the end of their journey."

"Huzza! huzza!” shouted the men of Bidford, as they beheld those of Stratford advancing, our challenge hath been heard, and right valiant foemen do we meet, and hard will be the strife this day; for lo! Will Shakspeare leads them on, and a lustier toper of English beer, and jolly good ale than he, lives not in Britain." And then a loud shouting ensued that rent the air; for the opponents had met, and amidst jesting, laughter, kissing of country wenches, gambollings and curvettings, two noble casks of ale were planted in the largest room of the best house in Bidford, and there tapped.

Each man now paid his share of the reckoning to mine host, while Master Will was seen to extract his portion from an apparently well-filled canvass bag, towards which the eyes of the party were attracted, with strange glances of doubt, as to a long continuance of its besity. Brown earthen jugs were ranged on the table before each man which were soon filled and frothing; and, at a signal given by our Will, the men of Stratford emptied them at a draught, and clapped them again on the table, with the precision of a file of soldiers grounding their matchlocks. Not so the wily men of Bidford (who were termed the

Sippers, from their allowing two draughts to a jug ere they would finish it), they paused in their potations. "Oho!" quoth Master Hall of the Stratford side," where are the topers we should meet? by your caution ye should be the Sippers.'

"Truly we are, as ye shall find to your cost," replied a Bidford man. "Our topers have gone to Evesham fair, to try the strength of weaker heads than thine, and it is left for us, the slow, but no less sure, sippers of Bidford, Pebworth, Marston, and other hamlets around, to lay the flower and chivalry of Stratford in the dust."

"Drain your cups, ye niggardly slaves," shouted mad Will; "and ho! mine host! bring us forth stout quarts, an we do not empty them at a drink, and then wait soberly till these dull snails come up with us, weak boys of water shall we be, no more stout men of ale."

Quarts were now filled and finished, ere the cautious men of Bidford had drained a third jug, thus giving a rest to Will's men, which they turned to merry account by such chirruping and singing, as was spoken of in the village for many a good day after.

Marian Green, the pretty and plump maid of the alehouse, coming in to wait upon the guests, was observed to be whimpering. "Why is this, sweet wench ?" said Will. "What cruel mischance hath dimmed thine eyes?" and then he grasped the fingers of the girl, looked at her with such a gaze of pity, and at the same time whispering with such tenderness, that her face instantly brightened.

"Go your ways for a naughty varlet, Master Will," said she, "I am sad for no such villany; 'tis on account of my gossip, Alice Hart, that the tears are in mine eyes; they are now haling her to the church, to wed her to that heartless usurer, John a'Coombe-see, Will, see !-look through yon casement; there she walks, poor lamb, the withered bridegroom passing on amid the scenes of the throng, and she winning all their pity."

"And who is he standing in the shadow of yon poplar, wistfully watching them, his arms wreathed like a melancholy malcontent?"

""Tis Master Davenant, a good youth and true, but poor; and that hath hindered him in his suit with Alice, though the maiden loves him as the light."

"And is not that the uncle of the wench-he, there, by the side of the crazy bridegroom?"

"It is, and her only kinsman; he cannot return to John a'Coombe some moneys he hath borrowed at high interest, and that is the cause of yon sad sacrifice."

"What is the amount due to the usurer?"

"A hundred crowns and more.'

Will thrust his hands into his pouch, produced his luckless bag, which indeed held the little dowery he had received with his wife Anne. He gazed at it wistfully, thrust it again into his pouch, ruminated a moment, drained his jug of ale, glanced at his companions, then rushed to the casement, thrust it open, and shouted in a voice of thunder

"Ho! John a'Coombe ! stand, old ten in the hundred-drop that white hand, ere Apollyon seize thee!"

The wedding group hearing this loud and fierce salutation, turned to look at the spot whence it proceeded. Through the open casement sprang Will with the agility of a hound. Up rose the band of topers

in astonishment at this sudden evolution, wondering what fiend had so possessed him.

"Oho! quoth John a'Coombe! 'tis that good for naught Will Shakspeare, let him take heed, or my friend, Sir Thomas, shall trounce him soundly for this—a malapert!"

Our Will now came up with the amazed group, who were still more wonderstruck to behold him pluck the sad bride from a'Coombe, clip her round the waist, and press her to his heart, as though he himself were some mad lover of the maid. John a'Coombe's party turned to punish this audacity; but Will, holding forth his doomed bag of money, shouted forth

"Back, knaves!-I shall defend this deed with neither steel nor cudgel; behold a weapon, against which your master dares not war! Ho! Master Hart! this fair maid is thy niece, thou hast borrowed money of yon usurious crab, who hath affected her-thy bond is uncancelled, and she, poor wench, is the only consideration that can annul it. Is not this so?"

"Truly it is," replied the kinsman.

"And could the debt be paid, you would not suffer this foul prostitution?"

"I would not."

"There," quoth our Will, flinging down his money at the feet of the usurer, "take thy coin, and let this damsel go in peace."

Master John a'Coombe seeing there was no help for him, took up the bag with excellent grace, and went away into the chancel of the church, not to be married, but to count the money.

66

"Tell the coin well, old John," cried Will, calling to him up the aisle; see that not a penny be wanting; and besides the interest thou wilt find there, I will give thee an epitaph gratis, with a hope that thou wilt soon require it. Listen, and note it in thy memory:"

"Ten in the hundred lies here engraved,

'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved.
If any man ask, 'Who lies in this tomb?'

Oh! oho says the devil, ''tis my John a'Coombe.""

A loud laugh from the bystanders followed this effusion, all vowing with one accord, that Will was the veriest madcap, and soundest

hearted villain in the world.

"And now," quoth he to a lusty youth, who had approached at the commencement of this interruption to the wedding proceedings," here is thy mistress; I beheld thy melancholy mood when you thought her lost to thee for ever-take her-love her-marry her, and let the consequence be a boy as soon as the sisters three will so allow it. And harkye, Master Davenant, should ye want a godfather, for this as yet but talked-of trouble, Will Shakspeare will be ready at your wish, even though he take God's name in vain. And think of these words, my friend," added he to the uncle, as he seized the amazed man's hands and looked at him with singular earnestness.

"Crabbed age and youth cannot live together;
Youth is full of pleasure, age is full of care;
Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather;
Youth like summer-brave;

Age like winter-bare.”

And so he went on improvising with a voluble glee, that won all hearts as he has since gained ours; for are not the whole of the fine lines he then uttered, remembered in his immortal sonnets which we so love to read?"

The happy lover spoke of gratitude, of a return of his kindness, should he meet with better fortune; but Will clapped his hands to his ears, and returned to his drinking-bout, where he found a foaming jug waiting for him. But the fame of Stratford seemed doomed to experience a reverse on that luckless day, for the sippers were still quietly and steadily discussing their potations, and keeping in good pace with their opponents; while they, inheriting something of the life of their leader, put no check upon the exuberance of their spirits, but talked, and halloo'd, and roared forth catches, and belaboured tables in argument, and kicked away sundry impertinent chairs; thereby plainly showing that the fumes of the strong ale had already commenced its work.

"Come, Will, come," cried some half-dozen hiccupping voices, "take off your ale, man, we'll see the dull varlets on the earth yet. Here, Will!-Ho, Will!-How now, Will!--We shall carry you home in triumph, Will !-Drink, Will!" roared all that could speak; and then such a confusion of sounds arose, which nothing could silence but the chanting by our Will, of his "Confession of Faith"-the famous old toping troll from "Gammer Gurton's Needle," and which every man and boy in those days delighted to sing; and, were it not as well known in our time, it should be here fully set forth for our edification. And when they bore their parts in its roistering burden,—

"Back and syde go bare, go bare,

Both foote and hande go cold:

But belly, God send thee good ale ynoughe,
Whether it be new or old,"

it was shouted forth with such true bacchanalian gusto, that the madmen of Stratford commenced rending their doublets, and casting away other of their garments with so much determination, that a pretty bevy of damsels, attracted by Will's silver voice to the doorway to listen, uttered a shriek, pretty to hear, and vanished. But, alas! when the burden came on for the second time, it was bellowed forth with such lustiness and zeal, every man rising to give his voice its loudest tone, that the last note came like a cannon-shot upon the whole party; for at its finish, a dreadful carnage ensued. Five stout yeomen of Stratford bit the dust-five of the sippers also lay prostrate, but still mad Will held on his song to the end.

"Back and syde go bare,"

drowsily sang he for the last time; but, alack, no help had he to bring him fairly through; one solitary Stratford man essayed a sound, that only ended in a fat chuckle and a snore. The battle was donethe sturdy and cautious sippers had gained the day, for there sat four of them still unconquered, and filling a cup to the now silent Willbut, alas! where was he?

The sun had risen again-the lark was singing high in the heavensbut where was Will?-poor Will! Waking from a long and leaden sleep, repentance in his heart, fierce pangs in his brain, emptiness in his