I discovered a book with the following title page: Pleasant and Delightful Dialogues in Spanish and English, profitable to the learner, and not unpleasant to any other Reader. By John Minsheu Professor of languages in London. Virescit vulnere virtus. Imprinted at London, by Edm. Bollifant, 1599.
John Minsheu, it appears, was a lexicographer and he made his living as a teacher of languages. His name looks Catalan. I have wondered whether he was not a Spanish Jew who had sought asylum in our more tolerant country. He was poor. He managed to complete his lexicographical works by the help of generous patrons. To finish his Spanish dictionary he went to Cambridge where he found friends and subscribers. He likewise passed several months at Oxford, with his company of strangers and scholars, but that ancient seat of learning furnished him with no subscribers. He seems to have been a laborious student, lighting the candle for others, he says, and burning out himself. Ben Jonson, according to Drummond, described him as a rogue, but with exasperating brevity left it at that. He went into no details.
John Minsheu said no more than the truth when he described his dialogues as pleasant and delightful. They afford a lively picture of the times and besides the colloquial speech give a curious glimpse of everyday life. One who had studied them could find his way about the use and habit of the country with comfort. The banter is coarse and it is a trifle surprising to see what sort of things it was thought necessary for a learner to be able to talk of. But it was a less squeamish world than ours (at least that of the day before yesterday) and I do not suppose John Minsheu's crude words would have brought a blush to Queen Elizabeth's maiden cheek. In the dialogue that I am about to give, not only because it is entertaining, but also because it is instructive, I have, for the convenience of the reader, here and there rearranged the punctuation, but I have left the spelling untouched. I have thought it would save him from embarrassment in just the same way as it does when a bawdy word in an English book is given in French.
There are seven dialogues altogether, and this is the fourth 'between two friends, the one called Mora, the other Aquilar and a Muletier and a Woman Innkeeper: heere in are handled things pertaining to the way with very pleasant sayings, and gracious speeches.' I have slightly abbreviated it.
MORA: Ho, Peter, have you brought my mule?
PETER: Yea, sir, here is the Mohina ... (a shee mule with a black face or mussell, alwaies having jadish tricks).
MORA: Mohina is never good.
PETER: Why, sir?
MORA: Bicause neither a mule with a blacke mussell, nor a maide that hath passed the sea, nor a servant Peter (a knavish servant) in one's house, nor a neighbor abbot, nor a well at the dore, is ever good.
PETER: I promise your worship that she is better than that which dragged along the curate when he said, Dominus providebit.
MORA: Is she old?
PETER: I saw her not foaled, but I believe that hir dame was elder.
MORA: Doth she kicke?
PETER: She never gives one alone.
MORA: They are alwayes by couples. Doth shee travell well?
PETER: She never travels but shee leaves the way behind her.
MORA: She hath so good tricks in faith that I am in love with her.
PETER: One she hath above all, for she is a great astronomer.
MORA: How so?
PETER: She knowes better than a clocke when it is noone, and foorthwith she lookes for provender; and if they give her none, then she saies lunes and stirres not a foote from the place. (Lunes, meaning here the grunting voice of a mule or horse, but Lunes properly signifieth Mondaie.)
MORA: A good remedie for this to intreat her with the spurre.
PETER: She is most weak of memorie.
MORA: How?
PETER: Although you strike into her a hand's breath of the spurre, within two steps after she hath forgotten it.
MORA: Bring her, I care not, for Sancho hath met with his palfrey, and if she be a knavish jade I am as knavish a rider, and we shall understand one another by couples.
PETER: You travelling with her, with good heed, you may agree like the waxe and the weeke. But shee with one that is not aware of hir will play hir part like a fencer. (The waxe of the candle, and the weeke of the candle.)
MORA: Sit on the saddle, girde hir harde with the girts, put on the crouper and poitrell, make shorter these stirrups, for I will make agreement with hir.
PETER: I will put on newe stirrup leathers for more security.
MORA: Put on the bridle, make the bit fast, make shorter the heads tall, looke if shee be well shod of all fower feete.
PETER: On the forefeete she hath good shooes and nailes; on the hinder feete she weares out hir owne hoofe. (With kicking.)
MORA: Put the cushion on the saddle and the portmanteau.
AQUILAR: How now, companion, shall we make an end that we may get hence to day?
MORA: What are you come already and a horse backe?
AQUILAR: You tarrie longer in setting your selfe in order than a bride.
MORA: Is your mule gentle?
AQUILAR: As gentle as a lambe. Do you not see he beares a maile?
MORA: From the stilwater, God keepe me; from the raging, I will keepe my selfe.
AQUILAR: For your mule it is sufficient that she is a mule with a blacke muzzele.
MORA: You hardly know him whom you never saw, but in faith this mule hath taken degree in Zalamanca.
AQUILAR: In what arte?
MORA: In the arte of villanie, Bachelor of the kicking art, Licentiat of lawes in Innes, and doctor in Astrologie and the Mathematikes.
AQUILAR: For this cause shee looks alwaies towards heaven.
MORA: It is to contemplate the stars, planets and signes, and their courses.
AQUILAR: Let us go, for we have a long journey.
MORA: How many leagues do you thinke to travell to day?
AQUILAR: I would willingly go twelve.
MORA: Then, in the name of God, Peter, holde this stirrup.
AQUILAR: Friend, are you called Peter?
MORA: At your service, sir.
AQUILAR: Then God do no more mischiefe to Peter than that he knowes himselfe how to practise.
PETER: There is no cause why God give you health, sir.
AQUILAR: I know that men ought not to flout their friends.
MORA: One friend to another friend, a Cinche in the eie. (Chinche, a little round creature with many feete, in hot countries, breeding in beds, bites worse than a louse, and stinketh filthily.)
AQUILAR: I will not go to law with you, Peter, for that you know so much.
MORA: A rasher of bacon savers more.
PETER: A mulitter knowes one point more than the divell.
MORA: Why, what thinke you, what wants Peter to become a divell?
PETER: No more than a yeere's apprentiship and a flesh-hooke.
AQUILAR: Why a flesh-hooke?
PETER: To pull your worships out of the cauldeme when you go thither.
MORA: We are not to go to hell.
PETER: You are not to go, but they are to carrie you thither.
MORA: Come behinde me therefore, evill spirit. Maledicte diabole.
AQUILAR: Friend Peter, of what is an old whore made of?
PETER: Of a young whore.
MORA: It is not made but of thy selfe and the herb dill, and of shitting eat thy fill, and of the dust of barn floore, or of the dust of which thou art thy selfe.
AQUILAR: I see him just over against me, and he hath shooes of packthred, and hee goes a foote.
MORA: Peter, harke what he saith unto thee. Doest thou not answere?
PETER: I heare not, for I am deafe of one of my chocke teeth.
MORA: What bath the master of fence of blowe or veine?
PETER: This wound hurts me not much, for it is given with the hand upward; but beware of the swash blow, for I will draw it with the hand downwards.
AQUILAR: Peter, I understand that you are hee which they called a plotter of knaveries?
PETER: Every one looke to himselfe, for I must plot something this journey.
AQUILAR: Peter, there commeth a traveller, bestowe a quip on him.
PETER: Holo, brother, which way go they?
TRAVELLER: Whither?
PETER: To the house of the queane thy mother.
AQUILAR: Good in faith. Another to his companion which remaines behind.
PETER: Ho, sir, is the mule yours?
TRAVELLER: What mule?
PETER: That whose arse kisse you.
AQUILAR: This gentleman which goeth so boldly, let him not passe without his flout.
PETER: Ho, sir, goes your worship to London?
TRAVELLER: Yea, I go for that you saie it.
PETER: Then a turd for him that goeth to London.
TRAVELLER: Oh, how proper a man were Peter, if he were washed and painted.
PETER: Nay, after I am washed I am worth nothing.
AQUILAR: How far have we journeyed, Peter?
PETER: I never turne to looke backe, because I would not be as Lot's wife.
AQUILAR: How far have we from hence to the next towne?
PETER: A league and a turd.
MORA: The league we will goe, the other thou shalt passe.
AQUILAR: That we may passe over this journey without wearisomnes, tell us a tale, Peter.
PETER: For my part, I would tell money with a better will.
AQUILAR: Not so, but some chaunce that bath fallen out to thee on these waies.
PETER: Then I will tell you one which happened unto me the last voyage I came this way with a gentleman.
MORA: Let it not be too long, for I will sleepe.
PETER: If you sleepe, the she mule will be carefull to wake you.
MORA: You have raised a thousand false testimonies against her. Behold how well she travelleth, and how well she goeth.
PETER: By the frying you shall see.
AQUILAR: Well, let us leave this. Forward with the tale.
PETER: A little while since I came this way with one of the greatest babblers that I knew in my life. And as much prating and lying are neere of kinne, hee tolde the most horrible lies that could be imagined.
MORA: Of one thing I woonder, Peter.
PETER: What is it?
MORA: How thou couldest endure so long time with thy competitor in thine owne facultie?
AQUILAR: Yea, for he is thy enimie which is of thy owne profession.
PETER: It is true. For many times I would leave him for this cause, and did tel him that I would not travel no more with him, because he was infected with my disease and did not suffer me to take up a tricke.
AQUILAR: And what ansere made he to this?
PETER: Foorthwith he promised me with an oath that he woulde hold his peace all one journey, that I might speake.
AQUILAR: And did he performe it?
PETER: It was impossible for him to have power to accomplish it as for your worship to digest this asse's haire which you have eaten.
MORA: Companion, you are paid home for your labour.
AQUILAR: You mistake, Peter. I see you dimne sighted by reason of cloudes.
PETER: Rather wish I you blinde than that I see ill.
AQUILAR: Nay rather, that I may have my sight to see you an Archbishop with a miter of seven hand bredth's high. (i.e. Caroça, which is a high hat of paper set on the head of a bawde, riding on an asse thorow the streetes for a punishment.)
PETER: Nay, not so, but that I might also see you eat the shittings of your mule.
AQUILAR: I cast thee a bone, with his yong one to gnawe upon. Thy wife makes thee a hart, and they call thee cuckolde every one.
PETER: I cast the bone to gnaw upon at sea. Thy teeth fall out, and thy water hold in.
MORA: Let us spurre on, companion, for it waxeth late.
AQUILAR: What is it a clocke, Peter?
PETER: Just the same as it was yesterday at this time.
AQUILAR: This could my mule tell me if she coulde speak?
PETER: Am I a clocke that you aske me what it is a clocke?
AQUILAR: At least thou art a dapper, which is all one.
PETER: And if I do strike where shall I hit?
AQUILAR: Upon the head of the buggerer thy father.
PETER: Your head is neere unto me, and it will sound well seeing it is hollow.
MORA: Your mule doth go a swift easie pase.
AQUILAR: And yours ambles well.
MORA: And if she did not change it sometimes into a trot, which seemes like the trot of hir dam.
AQUILAR: Let us go into this Inne to baite and eate a little.
PETER: What, one bit and no more? I thinke to eate more than a hundred.
MORA: Can you not passe one daie, Peter, without eating?
PETER: By God our master, as the Biskaine saith, the bellie carrieth the feete and not the feete the bellie. (A Biskaine travelling a foote fainte for want of food, filled his belly, afterward went lustily, and said, the belly carrieth the feete, and not the feete the belly.)
AQUILAR: I also say that bread and wine are travellers, and not the lustie frolike youth. (The lustie youth without eating or drinking must needs faint, and give him that, although he be faint he goeth forward.)
PETER: Peace be in this house. Who is here hostesse?
HOSTESS: Who is there? Who cals?
PETER: Have you lodging, mistris?
HOSTESS: Yes, Sir, come in and be very welcome, for all good entertainment is here to be had.
PETER: What shall we have to dinner?
HOSTESS: There are conies, there are partridges, there are chickens, hennes, geese, ducks; there is mutton, there is beefe, kid, and hogs' inwards.
PETER: Well saide I that in your house there could not want hog's flesh.
HOSTESS: Nor in your house shall there want a knave while you are within.
PETER: No, in truth, mistris, but they told me that a while agoe you and cleanliness had been at bate.
HOSTESS: And they told me that you had banished shamefastnes from your house.
MORA: I am glad, Peter, that thou haste mette with that thou haddest need of.
PETER: And also she hath need of me.
HOSTESS: I have need of him truly, if it be but to put him in Peralvillo to shoote twelve arrowes at him with the mistris; I know not for what els? (Mistris, that arrow which hitteth on the hart.)
PETER: Now, mistris, let us saaie no more. Holde your peace and let us be still, for we have a quip a peece.
HOSTESS: Go to, make an end, babbler in graine, and demand that you have need of.
PETER: Give me haie and straw and provender for the mules.
HOSTESS: How much will you have?
PETER: Two sieves full of haie and a peck of barley.
HOSTESs: It is very little for three beastes.
PETER: Heere are no more than two; which is the other?
HOSTESS: The other are you, and more devouring than the other two.
PETER: If I be more, it is not of straw nor bailey, for it is very hard of digestion.
HOSTESS: Harder is a cudgell, and yet it useth to soften the ribs of a knave.
MORA: It is well, passe no further forward, mistresse hostesse. How far doe they count it from hence to the citie?
HOSTESS: Sir, five leagues.
MORA: May we ride them betwixt this and night?
HOSTESS: As you shal hasten.
MORA: Is there any river in the way, or any evill passage?
HOSTESS: Which way soever you goe, there is a league of evill waie.
MORA: Is there any place herrar. (To misse or erre. Also to shoe a horse or mule.)
HOSTESS: The way, no, sir, the mules, yes, sir; a thousand passages where you may erre.
MORA: If they be errors for love they are worthie to be pardoned.
AQUILAR: Mistresse hostesse, whose is this inne?
HOSTESS: A gentleman of the citie.
AQUILAR: How much do you pay for the hire of it by the yeere?
HOSTESS: More than it is worth. Five hundred ducats.
MORA: By this meanes they had neede good skill to steale to get out their charge.
PETER: That skill wants not; a cat for hare flesh, the flesh of a mule for beefe, wine mixed with water; all goes in this manner.
HOSTESS: God send the knave an ill Easter and an ill Midsommer. When have you seene this in my inne?
PETER: I have not seene, but I have tasted it.
HOSTESS: You lie like a knave. There was never any such matter.
PETER: Hostesse, we are upon the reckoning now, let us not give the devill his dinner. (Let us not braule and fall out, and so go to law upon words and so make the divell dine.) Come hither, doe you not remember the other dale, when I came this way with a gentleman which requested you to give him a peace of meate, of that which you had given him the day before when he passed this waie; bicause, he said, it liked his taste very well. The which the little childe hearing, salde, it would be deare flesh unto us, if every day there shoulde die a nagge.
HOSTESS: It is true there was a nagge which died, but hee was so fat and so faire that hee was better than beefe.
MORA: Misstresse hostesse, although he might be more fine, give us not of that nowe.
HOSTESS: No, sir, for he is already made an end of. What, think you it could last till now?
MORA: Let us see the wine that is so good.
HOSTESS: The wine is such that it is sufficient to bring a man to heaven that shall use to drinke it.
PETER: What now, Mistresse, is it not ynough to be a keeper of an Inne, except you be a heretike too?
HOSTESS: That which I say is true and I will proove it, that good wine carrieth men up to heaven.
MORA: How so?
HOSTESS: Good wine makes good blood, good blood doth engender good condition, good condition doth ende in good works, good works carrie men to heaven.
MORA: She hath proved her intent very sufficiently.
AQUILAR: But this cannot be verified in this wine.
HOSTESS: Why?
AQUILAR: Because this seemes rather vinegar and water.
HOSTESS: Water! By the life of my soule it hath no more water in it then he from above put in it.
MORA: God never came to put water into wine, but without water he created it.
PETER: Well, you understand not the matter a right. He from above is hir husband, which is in the top of the house, and from thence puts water into the wine with a long tunnell.
AQUILAR: I will die and live with thee, Peter, for thou knowest fashions.
MORA: I understoode that she had called God him that was from above.
AQUILAR: In everything there is deceit.
PETER: Except it be in an old garment.
HOSTESS: Truely they have reason, for the worlde is very badde. For this cause have my husbande and I withdrawen our selves into this Inne to make an end in good life.
MORA: Call you this a good life, hostesse?
PETER: Yea, sir, for that of Sodom and Gomorra was woorse.
HOSTESS: Do you not thlnke that it is a goode life to be made Hermites in this desart? What did the fathers in the wilderness more then this?
PETER: And so holie that of pure almes, of as many as passe they take away that they carrie.
HOSTESS: Take away, God forbid. Receive that they give us with curtesie, that we doe.
PETER: Thus it is they call the picklocke curtesie with which they open the mailes.
HOSTESS: The divell brought this servant to my house. Get thee hence in the divels name, thou spirit of contradiction.
PETER: My gossips cannot abide me, because I speake truth unto them truely.
MORA: Now, Peter, reckon with the hostesse and let us begone hence, for it is late.
PETER: Hostesse, what is owing in the whole?
HOSTESS: Tarde a little, I will reckon. Two of straw, and of straw two, three of barley, five of wine, one of flesh, and two of bacon; ten shillings in the whole.
PETER: The reckoning made, the mule dead, serving man get your way a foote. Why, the mistresse hostesse will give me pap. Doth she not knowe that when she was borne, then did I eat bread with a hard crust? Tarrie, i'le make my reckoning.
HOSTESS: Make it; let us see.
PETER: Three and two are five, two of sack and three of wine somewhat blacke, and other three of the hurdes of flaxe and pitch, one of the pot, and two of the nowle (the hinder part of the head) and a half of the chibbowle. They are eight in the whole.
HOSTESS: What, with a mischiefe to you, paie mee heere. If not, by my father's soule i'le put out thine eies.
PETER: The cat hath cast off the garment of hypocrisie. Mistris Hermite, have patience and be not so covetous.
HOSTESS: Do not reckon up mortuaries unto me, but paie me. If not, I will pull off the haires of thy beard one by one.
MORA: Give that which the hostesse doth require, Peter, and braul not with her.
PETER: In a ship loaden with silver there is not enough to content hir.
HOSTESS: I require nothing but my right. Pay me, brother, and leave of words.
PETER: So saith the chattering pie. Holde, mistres, see heere six shillings. Three of them be much good doe it you with them, and the other three the divell choake you with them.
HOSTESS: Not so, but the one three are of we come unto me, and the other three the divell go with thee.
PETER: Cursinges of old whoores are praiers of health.
MORA: God be with you, mistres Hostesse.
HOSTESS: God conduct your worships. Heere is this poore Inne; for as often as you shall come this way I entreate you to use it at your command.
PETER: Aunt, you do it upon a good sheafe of strawe.
HOSTESS: No, but onely for your faire lookes, sir.
PETER: Aunt, God be with you and make you a good hermite.
HOSTESS: Farewell, sonne, and God make thee better than that thou art.
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