it's a great life, if you don't weaken (matociquala) wrote,
it's a great life, if you don't weaken

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Now Ackroyd is maintaining that Shakespeare in the bawdiest and most sexual of the Elizabethan poets.

...way to lose all credibility, Peter.

In addition to Nashe, apparently he hasn't read a lot of the rather aptly named Jonson, either:

 Chlo. Yet again? Is't not grace enough for you, that
I call you Husband, and you call me Wife: but you
must still be poking me, against my will, to things?

   Albi. But you know, Wife, here are the greatest La-
dies, and Gallantest Gentlemen of Rome, to be enter-
tain'd in our House now: and I would fain advise thee,
to entertain them in the best sort, i' faith, Wife.

   Chlo. In sincerity, did you ever hear a man talk so
idly? You would seem to be Master? you would have
your Spoke in my Cart? you would advise me to en-
tertain Ladies and Gentlemen? because you can mar-
shal your Pack-needles, Horse-combs, Hobby-Horses, and
Wall-candle-sticks in your Ware-house better than I,
therefore you can tell how to entertain Ladies and Gen-
tlefolks better than I?

   Albi. O my sweet Wife, upbraid me not with that:
"Gain favours sweetly from any thing; he that re-
spects to get, must relish all Commodities alike; and
admit no difference betwixt Ode and Frankincense; or
the most precious Balsamum and a Tar-barrel.

   Chlo. Marry fough: You sell Snuffers too, if you be
remembred, but I pray you let me buy them out of your
hand; for I tell you true, I take it highly in Snuff, to
learn how to entertain Gentlefolks of you, at these
years i'faith. Alas man, there was not a Gentleman
came to you house i' your t'other Wives time, I hope?
nor a Lady? nor Musick? nor Masks? Nor you, nor
your House were so much as spoken of, before I dis-
bast my self, from my Hood and my Farthingal, to these
Bum-rowls and your Whale-bone-Bodies.

   Albi. Look here, my sweet Wife; I am mum, my
dear Mummia, my Balsamum, my sperma cete, and my
very City of --- she has the most best, true, feminine
wit in Rome!

   Chris. I have heard so, Sir; and do most vehemently
desire to participate the knowledge of her fair Features.

   Albi. Ah, peace; you shall hear more anon: be not
seen yet, I pray you; not yet: observe.

   Chlo. Give Husbands the Head a little more, and they'll
be nothing but Head shortly; what's he there?

   Maid 1. I know not, forsooth.

   Maid 2. Who would you speak with, Sir?

   Cris. I would speak with my Cousin Cytheris.

   Maid 2. He is one, forsooth, would speak with his
Cousin Cytheris.

   Chlo. Is she your Cousin, Sir?

   Chris. Yes in truth, forsooth, for fault of a better.
Chlo. She is a Gentlewomau?

   Cris. Or else she should not be my Cousin, I assure

   Chlo. Are you a Gentleman born?

   Cris. That I am, Lady; you shall see mine Arms, if't
please you.

   Chlo. No, your Legs do sufficiently shew you are a
Getleman born Sir: for a Man born upon little Legs, is
always a Gentleman born.
Cris. Yet, I pray you, vouchsafe the sight of my
Arms, Mistress; for I bear them about me, to have 'em
seen: my name is Crispinus, or Cri-spinas indeed; which        
is well exprest in my Arms, (a Face crying in Chief; and
beneath it a bloody Toe, between three Thorns Pun-

   Chlo. Then you are welcome, Sir, now you are a
Gentleman born, I can find it my Heart to welcom you:
for I am Gentlewoman born too, and will bear my Head
high enough, though 'twere my fortune to marry a

   Cris. No doubt of that, sweet Feature, your Carriage
shews it in any Mans Eye, that is carried upon you with

[He is still going in and out.
   Alb. Dear Wife, be not angry.

   Chlo. God's my Passion!

   Alb. Hear me but one thing; let not your Maids set
Cushions in the Parlor Windows; nor in the Dining-
chamber Windows; nor upon Stools, in either of them,
in any case; for 'tis Tavern-like; but lay them one up-
on another, in some out-room or corner of the Dining-

   Chlo. Go, go, meddle with your Bed-chamber only;
or rathere with your Bed in your Chamber only; or ra-
there with your Wife in your Bed only; or on my faith
I'll not be pleas'd with you only.

--The Poetaster, 2:1

...yep. That's all just as dirty as you think it might be. Jonson's really funny when he gets going.

ETA: Also, Akroyd apparently hasn't heard the story about the Theatre being skidded across the frozen Thames when they pulled it down, or I'm sure he would have mentioned it here, since he gave something like two or three chapters to the Lancashire story, which is kind of spotty at best... but apparently in line with his pro-Catholic-Shakespeare prejudices, and so must be mentioned. (Oddly enough, he calls it The Globe even before it's rebuilt on this page, but since this is an ARC, it's probably a slip of the pen and meant to be corrected in the final version.)
Tags: rengeekery, spork

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