Thank you for the music: Resting in Romford

(Monday, February 21st, 1600)
"Over here! I've settled with the innkeeper so we're good for a couple of days, which should be long enough. Now, let me introduce you to Master Tom Slye; this is the fellow who is playing the pipe and tabor for Master Kemp on his journey."

It's nice to be back in the warmth of an inn. Before you got here, Tom was telling me how within a quarter-mile of the town, a gentleman on horseback offered Will to ride the little distance remaining while Tom had to make his own way on foot, in the frosty moonlight. At least Master Kemp was kind enough to stand him a hot pie when he arrived at the Red Lion (later renamed the Golden Lion ). Nobody seems to know where Master Kemp is right now. My guess is he's probably flaked out on a lumpy bed somewhere in the inn, and I think he deserves his rest: according to Tom, most of the Londoners who followed him as far as Mile End expected him to give up his jig before he ever reached Mile End, or at least stop there for cakes and cream (which is what most of the spectators did after braving the cold).

Before you got here Tom was explaining to me the peculiar fingerings for his pipe which is played with only three fingers, the pinkie supporting it, yet it can play through more than an octave. His other hand is free to beat the small tabor which hangs from his pipe arm when he plays. The pipe is surprisingly long, longer than a tenor recorder, but not particularly demanding of breath, which makes it an ideal instrument for someone walking and playing. Since supper time is still a little while off, and I have a penny in my purse, I think it not unreasonable to ask Master Slye if he would entertain us with a jig, and for my pennyworth we have the Fox and Geese: a traditional Morris tune, and one that he has already played several times on the journey.

Of course, like most musicians, one tune leads to another, and by the time our host comes to ask what fare we might choose for supper, Tom has played more than a handful of dances and other tunes to the delight of the guests who have danced merrily. In the opinion of the innkeeper, Tom has earned his supper, and chooses from the meals offered by the kitchen tonight a coney with a pudding boiled in his belly, a little better than his usual fare, I think.

To boyle a Cony with a Pudding in his Belly. Take your Cony and fley him, & leave on the eares and wash it faire, and take grated Bread, sweete Suet minced fiine, corance and some fine hearbs, Peneriall; winter savery; percely, Spinage or beets, sweet margeram, and chop your hearbs fine, and season it with Cloves, Mace and Sugar, a little creame and salt and yolks of Egs, and Dates minst fine. Then mingle all your stuf togither, and put it in your Rabets belly and sowe it up with a thred, for the broth take mutton broth when it is boyled a little, and put it in a pot wheras your Rabet may lye long waies in it, and let your broth boile or ever you put it in, then put in Gooceberies or els Grapes, corance and sweet Butter, Vergious, Salt, grated bread and Sugar a little, and when it is boyled, lay it in a dish with Sops. And so serve it in.