E.Sutton (1913)
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"MORRISING" IN NORTH NOTTS.
There is an indescribable pleasure in looking back
upon many of the scenes, incidents, and recollec-
tions of our early days in this pilgrimage of life,
some of which are usually of a more or less romantic
character. Amongst many of those which pertain
unto myself there is one which is redolent of this
forthcoming and ever joyous season of Christmas,
and which, possibly, has now in the lapse of years
dies out, but whereof a recital, as I perfectly well
remember it, may prove an item of Noel-tide in-
terest.
In my youthful days - say from about 1845 to
1850 - at East Retford, where I was born, and where
I vegetated until 1858, during each season of Yule
there was enacted by youthful bands of entertainers
a short sketch known as a 'Morris.' The par-
ticipants therein perambulated from one to another
of certain favoured and promising 'pitches,' cal-
culated to provide a small harvest of pence, and
in each place enacted a little play. I saw and
heard it performed many times during the seasons
above-mentioned; and, the same having ever since
been vividly retained in my memory, I am enabled
to here give the whole of it nearly word for word.
The old Morris play at East Retford
Dramatis Personae.
A Herald, St. George, Hero, Doctor, with
Attendants. All fantastically attired.
Enter Herald with attendants.
Herald: Room, room, all in this room:
Ladies and gentlemen, it's Christmas
time:
Christmas come but once a year,
And when it comes it brings good
cheer -
Sometimes, but not always.
(Tumult heard outside.)
Here's Richard Dick William stands
at the door,
Ripping and tearing, cursing and
swearing,
Because they won't let him come in.
(A knocking heard)
Who is that dare knock so bold?
I'll have to put his feet in some
stronger stocks,
Or in some stronger hold:
Step in St. George and clear the
way.
(Enter St. George)
St. George: I am St. George, that bold and valiant
knight,
Who spilled his blood for England's
right;
For England's right, for England's
reign,
And all her glories I'll maintain.
(Enter Hero, unobserved.)
Behold! out of yon gloomy wood
A fiery serpent appeared, to strike
me dead:
I drew out my old trusty sword
And chopped off that dragon's head.
For my head is made of iron,
My body's made of steel,
My hands and arms are solid brass,
No sword can make me feel.
(Hero comes forward.)
Hero: If thy head be made of iron,
And thy body made of steel,
Thy hands and arms be solid brass -
My sword can make thee feel.
St. George: Who are thou, thou braggart knave?
Hero: I am an old soldier, stout and bold,
And Hero is my name;
A sword is buckled by my side
I hope to win this game
St. George: Thou knowest, Turk, before we fight,
Thou art not able.
Hero: Able or able not, thou dirty dog,
I'll slash thee on thy navel;
I'll cut they body into threescore parts,
And make thy buttons fly!
St. George: Here's at thee. Now, come on!
(They fight; Hero is cut down.)
Hero: Oh, help! help! help! Where is a
Doctor?
Herald: Send for a doctor. Doctor haste!
Hero: Oh, help! help!! help!!! Doctor!
Doctor!! Doctor!!!
(Doctor enters.)
Doctor: Who calls aloud for me to help?
Hero: It was I.
St. George (to Doctor): What can'st thou do?
Doctor: Everything.
St.George: Where hast thou travelled?
Doctor: Through England, Scotland, France
and Spain
And now I've come back to England
again.
St. George: What can'st thou cure?
Doctor: All sorts.
St. George: What sorts?
Doctor: The itch, the stitch, the grunt, the
gout,
The pain within and the pain
without;
I can put my arm down a donkey's
throat
And turn the animal inside out!
St. George: What else can'st thou cure?
Doctor: I heal the sick, I cure the lame,
I raise the dead to life again -
Hero: Oh, help! help!! help!!!
Doctor: Who calls for help?
St. George: A dog, who sought my life to skelp.
Doctor (to Hero): Let a little of my bottle go
down thy throttle,
Take my holus bolus quickly down
thy throat;
(Pours medicine into his mouth.)
And rise, and sing a merry note.
(Hero rises, and stands up quite
cured.)
Herald: Ladies and gents, our play is done,
So please make room for lively fun;
St. George, and all our host, advance,
And shew our friends our Morris
Dance.
(The whole here concludes with a characteristic
song and dance.)
EDWARD SUTTON, Nottingham. |
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