A lady who kept a boarding-school some years ago, near London, wrote a novel, in which, among other extravagant expressions, occurred the following: – “His Lordship could not weep; the tale of sorrow had frozen his lachrymal canals.” A person to whom the fair author lent a copy of her work, returned it, after a perusal, with this note appended in pencil to the word canals: “Madam, I am a keen skater; would they bear?”
This famous lady, who wrote many plays and romances, in the most extravagant taste of the reign of Charles II., asked Bishop Wilkins, how she could get up to the world he had discovered in the moon; for, as the way must needs be long, a person travelling thither would require to have some resting places by the way? “Oh, madam,” said the bishop, “your grace, who has built so many castles in the air, can be at no loss.”
Mr. Pennant had an unaccountable antipathy to wigs. Dining at Chester with an officer who wore a wig, when they had drunk pretty freely, he, after much impatience, and many wistful looks, started up, seized the wig, and threw it into the fire. It was in flames in a moment, and so was the officer, who ran to his sword. Down stairs flew Pennant, and the officer after him, through all the streets of Chester. But Pennant escaped from superior local knowledge. This a wag called Pennant’s Tour in Chester.
A felon who was just on the point of being turned off, asked the hangman if he had any message to send to the place where he was going? “I will trouble you with a line,” replied the finisher of the law, placing the cord under his left ear.
Dryden and Otway lived opposite to each other in Queen Street. Otway coming one night from the tavern, chalked upon Dryden’s door, “Here lives John Dryden; he is a wit.” Dryden knew his handwriting, and, next day, chalked on Otway’s door, “Here lives Tom Otway; he is oppo-site.”
“With regard to purgatory,” says an old popish writer, “with regard to purgatory, I will not say a great deal; but this much I think, – that the Protestants may go farther, and fare worse.”
It being proved, on a trial at Guildhall, that a man’s name was really Inch, who pretended that it was Linch. “I see,” said the judge, “the old proverb is verified in this man, who being allowed an Inch, has taken an L.”
A drunken fellow, to maintain himself at his pot, having sold all his goods, except his feather bed, at last made away with that too; when, being reproved for it by some of his friends, “Why,” said he, “I am very well, thank God; and why should I keep my bed?”
When Jeffries was told that the Prince of Orange would very soon land, and it was reported that a manifesto, stating his inducements, objects, &c., was already written: “Pray, my lord chief-justice,” said a gentleman present, “what do you think will be the heads of this manifesto?” “Mine will be one,” replied he.
Richard II., on the pope reclaiming, as a son of the church, a bishop he had taken prisoner in battle, sent him the prelate’s coat of mail, and, in the words of Scripture, asked him, “Know whether this be thy son’s coat or no?”
Mrs. B – desired Dr. Johnson to give his opinion of a new work she had just written; adding, that if it would not do, she begged him to tell her, for she had other irons in the fire, and in case of its not being likely to succeed, she could bring out something else. “Then,” said the Doctor, after having turned over a few of the leaves, “I advise you, madam, to put it where your other irons are.”
The proud Duke of Somerset employed Seymour the painter to make some portraits of his running horses. One day, at dinner, he drank to him with a sneer: “Cousin Seymour, your health.” The painter replied, “I really do believe that I have the honour to be of your grace’s family.” The duke, offended, rose from the table, and sent his steward to pay Seymour and dismiss him. Another painter of horses was sent for, who, finding himself unworthy to finish Seymour’s work, honestly told the duke so. On this the haughty peer condescended once more to summon his cousin. Seymour answered his mandate in these words: “My Lord, I shall now prove that I am of your grace’s family, for I will not come.”
James I. was complaining of the leanness of his hunting horse, and swore by his soul, he could see no reason why the animal should not be as fat as the horses of his subjects, seeing that he bestowed upon him good feeding and keeping, and rode him very easily. Archy Armstrong, his fool, who was standing by, said he would tell his majesty how to raise the animal’s flesh, and that very speedily. “I pray thee, fool, how?” inquired the king. “Make him a bishop,” answered Archy, who seems to have had an antipathy to that class of dignitaries, “and if he is not soon as fat as he can wallow, ride me!”
Being desired to say a grace at the royal table, where Archbishop Laud was present, he gave one in these emphatic and ambiguous words: “All praise to God, and little Laud to the deil.” (Laud, it must be understood, was a man of very small stature; the Puritans gave him the punning epithet of his Little Grace.)
Being informed that Jervis the painter was come from London to – in a coach and four, Sir Godfrey, who had an unaccountable antipathy to that gentleman, cried, “By gar, if de horses draw no better dan himself, he will never get back to town again.”
Pace, jester to Queen Elizabeth, was so bitter in his retorts upon her, that he was forbid her presence. After he had been absent for some time, a few of his friends entreated her Majesty to receive him back into favour, engaging for him, that he would be more guarded in his discourse for the future. The very first time they again met Pace was as bad as ever. “Come on, Pace,” said the Queen in a gracious humour; “now, we shall hear of our faults.” “No, madam,” said Pace; “I never talk of what is discoursed by all the world.”
When Queen Elizabeth was at Osterby, near Brentford, the seat of Sir Thomas Gresham, who built the Royal Exchange, she pointed out to him a wall on one side of the garden, which confined, in some respect, the prospect. Sir Thomas seemed to take no farther notice of her majesty’s remark at that time, than to coincide in it; but as soon as she retired to her chamber, he had a number of workmen in readiness, who had the wall entirely pulled down by morning. The Queen, upon her walking in the gardens, was surprised at the alteration; but, turning about to Sir Thomas, with great readiness observed, “She did not wonder that he that could build a Change, could so readily change a building.”
Sir Roger Williams, who was a Welshman, and had been a tailor, though afterwards a good soldier, preferred a request to Queen Elizabeth: she refused him; but he, another time, moved it again. He had on a pair of new boots, and the Queen could not bear the smell of leather. Stopping him short, she put her hand to her nose, and cried, “Fah, Williams, prithee be gone; for thy boots stink.” “Tut, tut,” answered he; “it is my suit that stinks.”
William the Conqueror being sick, long kept his chamber; whereat the French King scoffing, said, “The King of England lies long in child-bed.” When William heard this, he said, “When I am churched, there shall be a thousand lights in France.” He made good what he said, by wasting the French frontier with fire and sword.
A Catholic asked a Protestant where his religion was before the time of Luther? “Where was your face this morning,” said the Protestant, “before it was washed?”
A yeoman of Kent selling some lands, the lawyer was puzzled as to the designation which he should have in the deeds. “Say gentleman,” suggested a bystander; “for selling lands is a gentleman’s trade.”
Queen Elizabeth was naturally dilatory enough in