Goatee and moustache, dressed in scarlet: Guess Who?

Yippee! I did it! I got to see his Eminence up close and personal! (I can't say anything to anybody here, but in his cardinal's scarlet robes, with his pointy beard and moustache he makes me think of a Victorian pantomime demon king !) And I am so glad that all the hard work I put into studying the techniques of old master painters had proved rewarding, too. I had better try and contain my excitement, and tell the story carefully.
During my brief tour of the Palais Richelieu with Signor Paolo Vasari, and Signor Luca Buonfranca (who plays the lute and the viol, but has a knack for really putting a skip into dances! and a magnificent twirly moustache which he is rather proud of; it sets him apart from the hundreds of little goatee beards that the men seem to fancy so.) we bumped into (literally), Madamoiselle Duchesne, daughter of Nicolas Duchesne who has been discussing the cardinal's requirements for a state portrait that might be copied for some of the noble families.
Although I was almost certain we were the party in the wrong, hurrying in a narrow corridor, Lucille Duchesne apologized very courteously for obstructing our passage so thoughtlessly and after the terse explanation of our haste, asked if I would be interested in visiting her father's lodgings to look at some of her own drawings? Naturally, I was in no hurry to leave with another opportunity to explore offered so generously, and so a couple of days later, she met me, as arranged, on the steps of Saint Eustache after mass. The church is still a busy building site, and worshippers leave under a canvas canopy to protect them from odds and ends that might fall from the scaffolding.
We stopped for a while to collect a light lunch at Boulangier Poulain before scuttling through the narrow little streets. If there is one thing that seems never to have changed, it is the smell of those Parisien streets!
Duchesne Pere was already hard at work when we arrived and Lucille popped her head into his studio just long enough to let her father know that she was home before running up the stairs to fetch her drawings. When she returned she had a huge portfolio and a wooden board tucked under her arm. (The portrait is Monsieur Poussin, who was a junior member of the project team, but this was painted when he was older).
I was a little concerned in case she intended to make a drawing of me! (Always the same rule; take nothing but the clothes you stand up in, leave nothing more substantial than footprints and memories) but my concern was groundless. She showed me later that the board was a tiny oil painting of her own, beautifully detailed, with jewel-like colors, a "noli me tangere" with a very dishy athletic Christ drawing back from a rather disappointed-looking Mary Magdalen. I'm sure I have never seen it in my own time, and I very much hope it still survives somewhere, enjoyed perhaps by a family who appreciate its subtleties.
Most of her portfolio consisted of figure studies (draped, since even at this time, for propriety's sake, an artist would hang a gauze veil between themself and the nude) in red or brown chalk, some smaller landscapes, mostly, so she told me, painted not far from the city itself, one or two from her home town.
"Do you know how to mix colors?" she asks me. "This week, Monsieur Charille was to assist Papa, but he was the victim of an attack by footpads a few days ago. He is able to assist in the studio still, but he has such a great ugly bandage about his head! I will be assisting, but if you have the science of mixing pigments, perhaps Papa would let you assist him? and I could spend some time with Monsieur Champaigne."
She begins instructing me in the essentials:
"two parts oil of poppies with one part oil of linseed mixed, and a little clarified beeswax. Use the cooled wax like this, make it a paste, almost runny and add powder little by little. He keeps two dippers at hand, always keep the one not in use clean and filled with spirit, and be ready at a moment to take the dipper for cleaning. He keeps his brushes in three pots: large flats, large rounds, and squirrel pencils."
In the end, Lucille agrees to prepare a set of small vials with the most commonly used pigments, and I will assist by setting out Monsieur Duchesne's palette, making up additional paints as and when needed.
It is a bright, chill February morning a little after 8am when we arrive at the Palais Richelieu, and I direct as Monsieur Duchesne's portable easel, stretched canvas, and cases of paints and oils are unloaded from the carriage. While we are exactly on time as directed, we have to wait several minutes before his Eminence appears and settles himself patiently under the direction of the Master Painter. And all the while the sitting is in progress he discusses current affairs with the Master. It isn't long before one of his cats, Pyramus, settles contentedly in his lap.
Do you recall the news, two years ago, that King Charles of England had forged a pact with us, and with Spain? But as I recall, there was very little discussion of the details of the pact at the time. The King of England had dissolved the English Parliament, and taken upon himself the burden of rule, as God truly intended for a King. And has not his courageous action borne fruit? England is the stronger for him.
It appals me that King Charles should be expected to share his government with a rabble of commoners. Yes, truly! Absurd is it not? And for this, many shook their fists in the very face of God Himself, murmuring to usurp the rule of the anointed King! Now is not the time, with the present difficulties between Madame de Medicis and His Majesty, King Louis, but perhaps in time, we may lend the aid of our strong arm to set England once more on her true path."
Every time he gesticulates, I catch a slight waft of the scent of Parma violets and really good leather.
The sitting is finished a few minutes later than planned, but slightly short of the half-hour we had been given. In these crowded minutes, Monsieur Duchesne has added definition to the face and hair, particularly the moustache, and defined the hands more clearly, adding quick swatches of color to the cardinal's robes which presumably will be completed in the studio. Another ten minutes or so to clean brushes and palette, and we are ready to leave once more.

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Signal is Red - Proceed with Caution

To be honest, before leaving on this assignment, all I knew of Cardinal Richelieu was the rather unflattering portrait of Alexandre Dumas' "The Three Musketeers". Although I have been completely unable to catch more than a distant glimpse of the great man however, it seems my prejudice was entirely without foundation. Far from being the underhanded, scheming and ruthless politician of popular fiction, the various people I have spoken to have contributed to a much more charismatic picture.
While he is undoubtedly a master of political strategy, he is not a politician. He may be decisive and visionary, but it is not entirely fair to describe him as ruthless. And rather than underhanded, perhaps he should best be described as discreet. And I don't say these things as some wretched prisoner, hoping for mercy and terrified by the looming shadow of the Inquisition, but as an independent observer, visiting the age momentarily to learn what I can, and retrieve what seems most valuable to future ages. While my primary mission is to preserve examples of some of the best music ever recorded in codified form, I think I am also justified in paying tribute to his Eminence, and in my small way, remedying the injustice of his fictional portrait.
Sadly, none of my usual subterfuges have succeeded in gaining me access to the Cardinal, but I was fortunate enough to encounter a couple of musicians, members of an ensemble engaged to play for one of the Cardinal's entertainments at the Palais Richelieu, at one of the taverns nearby. And it is to these gentlemen that I am indebted for a rather hasty guided tour of the Palais during an interruption to their rehearsals.
Two things struck me during my tour; firstly, his Eminence is not only a very intelligent and capable statesman, but also a man of deeply-felt artistic sensibilities. His collection of works of art must surely be one of the finest in Europe, and, according to my guides, he collects not simply for the beauty of the paintings themselves, but for the ideas which they represent. Take for example the portrait of Robert Arnauld d'Andilly with his long gray hair and velvety black cloak. He might look, for all the world like some frail old grandma, but the bright eyes, and the firm grip with which he holds the scroll tell a very different story. This minister of finance for the nation of France is not a man to be trifled with, and I can quite understand how even Marie de Medicis hesitates to challenge him.

The Vow of Louis XIII skilfully combines the twin allegiances of his Eminence in a single painting, showing the King as he offers his crown and scepter to the dead Christ and the Virgin. And it is to the King that Richelieu owes his position as cardinal, for it was Louis XIII who nominated him for the scarlet robes nine years previous to my visit.
Over a couple of carefully nursed glasses of wine, I manage to learn that my host, Signor Paulo Vasari is an Italian musician in France to fulfil a contract to perform, and compose music for the Comte de Soissons, Louis de Bourbon. It's worth keeping in mind that in this period, the idea of arranging a piece of music, that is, of taking someone else's tune and using it in a new way, is taken for granted, so there is no meaningful distinction between a composer as someone who creates something entirely novel, and someone who cherry-picks the best of somebody else's output to express it a little differently.
I am indebted also, to Signor Vasari, for shedding some light on Richelieu's reputation as a zero-tolerance law enforcement officer; he tells me that before Richelieu was given his responsibility under the King, France was a notorious place not only for petty criminality, but for a corruption that was threatening to rot the state from within. If Richelieu's style of justice is sometimes forthright and brutal, it has brought about some far-reaching reconsiderations of the positions and liberties which momentarily threatened the throne of France.
Before we part company, Paulo is flattered that I insist on copying from his collection of songs and dances brought as he says "with my cap and my candle" from Italy, an entertaining Spanish dance. It seems that in court circles adaptations of real rustic dances are gaining popularity in contrast to the rather more refined, and classically influenced pastoral ballets of the previous generation.

References

please visit the Web Gallery of Art for more paintings by Philippe de Champaigne.

The written content of this work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Unported License.

Journey's End. (at LAST!)

(Wednesday, March 15th, 1600)

After spending Tuesday in the village of Hingham, Will Kemp set out on the final stage of his journey to Norwich this morning. With five boisterous young men running alongside, we make it through Barford Bridge, until we are within sight of the city. And within sight, and hearing of the astonishing crowds that have turned out, even on a working day, to welcome Master Kemp. I think Will is wise to take the advice offered by George Sprat to take his gelding and ride to lodgings which have been offered a stone's throw from St.Giles's gate; to try to dance through the crush would be almost impossible, not to mention physically dangerous! In the evening, talking to drinkers in the White Lion tavern I learn that Will has been advised by Master Roger Wiler, Mayor of the city, to delay dancing into the city until Saturday (March 25th) by which time many nobles, and other wealthy patrons will have had time to visit the city to witness the spectacle (and of course, spend their money!). In the meantime, Will and his company are offered the hospitality of the city. For myself, I manage to turn a small profit on three dozen pairs of fine woolen stockings that I bought before leaving London; enough to cover my travelling expenses and the remaining costs of my stay here in Norwich if I live frugally. And I have, besides, some letters entrusted for delivery which I hope will gain me a few more pennies. (Saturday, March 25th, 1600) The weather has improved noticeably since Will began his astonishing dance, and this morning, by ten O'clock, having returned to St.Giles's gate to resume his progress the air is mild and the sky has cleared after an early shower. And this time, to combat the press of the crowds Mayor Wiler has appointed Wifflers to make room for Kemp to dance forward. At St.Stephen's gate, Thomas Gilbert recites a short poem of his own composition to welcome Master Kemp to the city:

W With hart, and hand, among the rest, E Especially you welcome are : L Long looked for, as welcome guest, C Come now at last you be from farre. O Of many within the Citty sure, M Many good wishes you haue had. E Each one did pray you might indure, W VVith courage good the match you made. I Intend they did with gladsome hearts, L Like your well vvillers, you to meete : K Know you also they'l doe their parts, E Eyther in field or house to greete M More you then any with you came, P Procur'd thereto with trump and fame.

And before I leave for my own time once more, I am able to buy a printed copy for a farthing, perhaps from one of the same ballad-sellers who will later give Will such grief by publishing sorry slanders, suggesting quite unfairly that he cheated on his wager in various ways. We were just past the market place (and believe me, even in the twenty-first century, that's something to see!) when Will had the misfortune to land on the hem of a young woman's petticoat. Naturally, she jumped, trying to get out of his way, and something broke, leaving her blushing crimson in bodice and shift while a gang of boys (why do cities always have these ruffians?) made off with her fallen skirts. By St.John's churchyard Will leapt over the churchyard wall, apparently thinking to take a shortcut to the Mayor's house, but it seems at that point, his overseer, George Sprat lost sight of him, which I suppose gave rise to many of the slanders against poor Will. At this point, let me thank you, my patient friend, for your patience in going with us through frost, mud and pressing crowds, and refer you once more to Will Kemp's own account of his dance, where in closing, he offers some advice concerning good management of business.

Kemp's Jigg

arranged by Frank Nordberg

X: 1
T: Kemp's Jig
M: 2/4
L: 1/8
R: polka
K: Dmaj
f>g fe | d>e dc | BA Bc | d4 |
f/e/f/g/ fe |d/c/d/e/ dc | BA B/A/B/c/ | d4 |
~fa ~fa |fa/g/~f2 | eg eg |ed/=c/ B^c |
dA FA |dA/G/ FA |BA Bc | d4 |
fa f/g/a | fa/g/ f/e/d |eg e/=f/g | ed/=c/ B^c |
dA F/>G/ A | d/A/B/A/ F/>G/ A | BA B/A/B/c/ | d4 |]

And with Mr.Dowland's jaunty "Kemp's Jigg" I bid you adieu, at least for now.

References

For a map of Norwich

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

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Presenting Arms

(Friday, March 13th, 1600)

In order not to be conspicuous, I can't carry a personal wristwatch in this century. But I can get away with a pendant watch on a necklace. Whoever was occupying the room next to mine at the Bell Inn for the last couple of days was suffering with a very bad chest infection; coughing and wheezing all night and most of the day when I was there. And the inn staff were often bringing hot soup and strong-smelling home remedies to the room. While I haven't been able to get much sleep, I've managed. But I feel worse for the poor soul in the next room. According to my pendant watch at about four thirty this morning one of the inn staff woke me banging on his door, and it turned out that he had finally succumbed to his illness.

After that, I couldn't really sleep - too much coming and going; a priest administering a final blessing, the constable of the town making certain that no mischief had been done, and two men from the almshouses to collect the body.

One of the good things about an inn is that it never sleeps. For the next couple of hours I sat in the snug nursing a mug of mulled cider before breakfasting on oatmeal with cream and a drop of honey. And for once, Master Kemp didn't leave me behind. Although I should admit I was still brushing down Leto and had to make haste to saddle her.

By mid-morning we had reached the village of Rockland where Master Kemp intends to rest awhile, generously standing a round of drinks for all in the party. But forasmuch as he would like to speak to the innkeeper, Master Garner would not see us until he had put off his workaday clothes for his armour! When he finally honored us with his presence he made Master Kemp such a welcome as I don't think I have seen anywhere else, nor do I expect to, as Will himself later remembered it: "Going down on his knees he blessed the hour that any of the Queens well-wishers or friends would vouchsafe to come within his house." (Personally, I think he was a little overawed firstly by Will's reputation which had preceded him by some days, and secondly by a visit from a gentleman from London, no less. Someone who had entertained Her Majesty!)

Yet again, someone who has heard tell of Kemp's epic journey chooses to keep company with him in his dance, but like so many before him, Trojan that he is, Master Garner lays down in the way, red-faced and puffing before we have gone two furlongs from the village.
And once more, the road, such as it is, is so muddy, wet and sticky, that I am obliged to dismount for fear of Leto losing her footing.

X:209
T:The Queen's Delight
M:6/8
C:
S:Bacon (MDT)
N:
A:Bucknell
O:English
R:Jig
%P:A/2(AB$^3$)$^6$(AC$^3$)$^2$
P:A.(AB3)6(AC3)2
K:G
Q:C3=100
P:A
|: d2 g dcB | cBc ABc  | d2 G d2 c | BcA G3  :|
P:B
cBc  cBc | ABc def  | gfg  eag  | gfe def |
g2 g gfe | dec ABc  | d2 G d2 c | BcA G3  ||
P:C
cBc  cBc | ABc d2 e |
M:3/8
L:1/8
f3 |
M:6/8
g2 f g3 | (2ea g3 | g2 f e3 |
M:3/8
L:1/8
def |
M:6/8
g2 g gfe | dec ABc  | d2 G d2 c | BcA G3  ||
%abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

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Run rabbit, run rabbit! run! run! run!

(Friday, March 10th, 1600)

During our stay in St.Edmundsbury I have had opportunity to ask around, and found that Moyse's Hall is currently the home of the King family, local merchants. From Mistress Woodgate, one of the family servants, I learn that the house was, as I thought, originally the home of a Jewish financier who dedicated the hall on the first floor for use as a synagogue, although later part of the building was used as a tavern before being bought by the King family.

Since Will Kemp planned to stay a few more days in Bury St. Edmunds, I had time to follow up my ambition to trace the town walls. Of course there are places where it was difficult or impossible to follow the path of the walls, but in many places the knapped flint walls are still standing at least partially. And the houses don't reach all the way to the wall; in many places there are small meadows with sheep or blanketed horses huddling against the snow and munching from bundles of hay on both sides of the wall.

In the course of my exploration I took a few minutes to ask one of the shepherds about the tedious business of stone-picking and he told me that the flints grow underground during the winter, so that every year there are more stones to be picked!

Once again, undeterred by the frosty dark, Will Kemp sets out at 7a.m., jigging with unbelievable stamina past conyers heath*, and through the villages of Timworth and Ingham where an enterprising carter has stationed a wagon beside the road for curious villagers to cheer him onward, and by 10 o'clock we reach the enthusiastic crowds at the edge of the small market town of Thetford!

Since the assizes are in progress the town is packed and Sir Edwin Rich of Mulbarton, in deep crimson velvet hat and cloak greets Will personally from horseback, welcoming him to the town, and inviting him to accept the hospitality of his manor.

I feel obliged to write in support of Master Kemp that though he has been succoured in diverse places, he has remained true to his cause in taking up his jig at whatever place he left off. And it has been encouraging to see the generosity that has been offered to him by men of all stations appointed by God.

X:246
T:Three Handed Reel
T:Fanny Frail
C:Trad.
A:Bromsberrow Heath, Gloucestershire
S:Dommett
B:Dommett, p. 4, 26, 43
N:originally entered by Rich Holmes, 1996 Sept.
M:4/4
K:D
L:1/8
I:speed 300
fd A2 fd A2 | g2 f2  ec A2 | g2 f2 e2 d2 | edcB  AGFE |
DF A2 EG B2 | A2 d>d fd B2 | A2 dc B2 E2 | C2 F2 D4   ||
%abc

*Conyers Heath; so named for the rabbit-catchers who lived there, providing the town with a plentiful supply of meat and skins.

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

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Saint Edmundsbury

(Saturday, March 4th, 1600)

It's my birthday! I've already celebrated my birthday this year in my native time, so am tempted to have a second birthday back here. However, Will Kemp keeps up a cracking pace; even Tom Slye has admitted that sometimes he has trouble keeping up, and he's been a taberer these past fifteen years, five of them with Will.

Since Will has been staying with the Colts family, I have touched base with Master Slye, and am ready for once, when Will sets out before dawn, in the frosty March air. Master Colts' fool is accompanying Will in his dance as a good-sized crowd, some of whom must have been up as early as five a.m. trot along after.

It seems quite a detour to me, but Will Kemp has chosen to make his way through the village of Clare making a visit to the widow Everet.

Since I am not invited to visit I take the time to talk to some of the village folk who know Mistress Everet and their accounts are uniformly full of praise: a woman full of charity and virtue, quiet, devout, modest and well-spoken. I learn from them, that in his time, her husband was a Yeoman, a farmer who owned and worked his own land, which explains her comparative wealth.

By the time we reach the outskirts of St.Edmundsbury the lowering sky has started to snow lightly: tiny tingling flakes that catch in my eyelashes and hair. And my fingers are numbly grasping the reins, scarcely feeling inside my gloves. And the crowds here are busier than anywhere we have visited so far. I learn later, that Sir John Popham, the Lord Chief Justice of the realm was entering the town at the same time, by another route and as the crowds cleared a path for the honorable gentleman, most of them made haste to gawp as Will Kemp danced and frolicked his way into the town, being forced to pause seven times before he could reach the Angel Inn opposite the abandoned abbey.

X:204
T:The Morris March (Winster Processional)
M:2/2
C:
S:Bacon (MDT)
N:
A:Winster
O:English
R:Reel
%P:(AB)$^{infty}$
P:(AB)8
K:G
I:speed 400
L:1/8
P:A
|:g2 d2 d2 ef | g2 d2 d2 ef | g2 d2 d2 c2 | B4 G2 z2 :|
P:B
|:c2 e2 e2 dc | B2 d2 d2 cB | A2 B2 c2 d2 | B4 G2 z2 :|
%abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

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Merrily to Melford

(Wednesday, March 1st, 1600)

I continue to be taken by surprise by Will Kemp's eagerness to get going. Being somewhat of a late riser (around 7pm) on these chilly mornings, the other tavern guests are usually finishing their breakfast or making horses ready by the time I get to the table. This morning master Kemp set out nearly an hour before, borrowing a horse to ride the three miles he danced previously and continue, so I will have some way to make up.

I finally catch up with Will in Sudbury, the first of the Suffolk market towns which we will pass through but I have no idea where he is. Usually it's a pretty fair bet that if I head for the nearest excited crowd, Will is either in the middle, or somebody can tell me where to look but today a wagon has lost a wheel and there is no shortage of bystanders with advice on how to raise the wagon, repair the axle and take care of the horses!

I am alerted by a ringing "Heigh Ho! Master Kemp!" as Will sets out to leave the town for Bury, and along with the rest of the throng I run for the edge of the marketplace to see a large and hearty-looking fellow with a ruddy complexion stripping off a butcher's apron announce boldly that he would count it an honor if he might keep Will company in a morris as far as Saint Edmundsbury. Will, of course, is always glad of a companion in his epic dance and the pair set out together. I choose to follow them, leading Cherry, my mare.

We have covered barely three-quarters of a mile by my reckoning when master Cobbold, for such is his name, calls a halt, panting, drenched with sweat, and crimson in the face.

He seems a tad embarrassed to admit that Will's energy is uncommon, and though he might be offered a hundred pounds (more than a year's income) he would not make the distance.

To add insult to the poor fellow's embarrassment one of our fellow-travellers, a red-haired young woman, taunts him as a "faint-hearted lout"! saying that if she had begun to dance she would go at least a mile if it killed her. Which raised as much of a laugh from the group as any of Will's quips might have.

And so it was that Will's "Maid Marian" borrowed a set of bells (fortunately for us, Tom Slye was carrying an extra set), kilted up her skirt, and danced with determination to Melford.

After slaking our thirsts we parted company, "Maid Marian" (Mistress Martyn) to a nearby farm, and Master Kemp, with his company, to the home of Master Colts, who would not suffer him to stay at a common inn. And I took my weary limbs to sleep at the Swann Inn, but I couldn't get this particular morris tune out of my mind. For some reason it seemed to suit Mistress Martyn.

X:135 T:The Maid of the Mill M:6/8 C: S:Bacon (RKS MSS) N:ending of A part rationalized H:abcTranscriber: Alex Boster A:Ilmington O:English R:Jig P:${1}over{2}$A(AB$^2$)$^4$A %P:A.(AB2)4.A K:G %I:speed 300 P:A L:1/16 |: E2 | G4 G2 F2E2D2 | G4 G2 A2B2c2 | B3AG2 A4 F2 |1 G8-G2 :|2 G12 || P:B L:1/16 d4 d2 d4 e2 | e4 e2 e4 e2 | g2f2g2 e2f2g2 | g8-g2 g2 | e2e2e2 e4 d2 | d4 e2 d6 | g2f2g2 e2f2g2 | g12 |] %abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].

Acknowledgements

Please visit the Kentwell Hall page to learn more about re-enactments at this historic building, not far from Long Melford, Suffolk, England.

Leapfrogging twixt Chelmsford and Braintree

Having arrived late in Chelmsford, I caught up the day's events over breakfast with Will Kemp the next morning (Saturday). To summarise:

Sir Thomas Mildmay met him at the gates of his estate, where he graciously received a pair of garters from Master Kemp.

When Will finally made it through the crush to the Saracen's Head he was too weary to dance further, so tossed a few gags from the window for the crowds gathered below.

After breakfast, Will set out, but only made three miles of the road toward Braintree before turning back. I think he had overestimated his stamina and needed more time to recover.

During the stopover in Chelmsford a young lady of fourteen obtained permission from her parents to dance a Morris (or three). The innkeeper was good enough to clear a large dining room, and the pair danced for almost an hour, with bells jingling, and handkerchiefs waving merrily.

(Monday, February 28th, 1600)

When I got up this morning I found that Master Kemp had already accepted a ride with a gentleman setting out in the moonlight a little after 6am, shortcutting the distance he had danced previously.

The road between Chelmsford and Braintree left a lot to be desired: on either side of the road thick brambles and other undergrowth sealed the edges of the forest and the road itself was a well-trodden mire. Ruts, potholes, puddles and mud all the way. At times I was obliged to dismount my horse for fear of losing her footing, and by the time we caught up with Tom Slye and Will Kemp, we were all thoroughly muddy.

Before we caught up though, I saw a couple of equally damp and muddy lads making their way down the Great Waltham road. I found out later that these two game fellows had essayed to keep Master Kemp company in his dance, thinking it a small thing to dance a few miles from one town to the other, but they soon found the mud too much for them. After one of them fell into a huge puddle that Will managed to jump almost completely, he compared them to a couple of frogs, each trying to pull the other out of the mud!

X:87
T:Glorisher (Leapfrog)
M:6/8
C:
S:Bacon (MDT)
N:
A:Field Town (Finstock)
O:English
R:Jig
%P:A.(AB)$^2$.(AC)$^2$
P:A.(AB)2.(AC)2
K:G
Q:C3=100
P:A
d/2c/2 | BAG GFG | ABA D2 (3E/2F/2G/2 | ABA Adc | BcA GAB |
cde de=f | def g2 (3g/4a/4g/4f/2 | edc BcA | G>AG G2 ||
P:B
z | e2 d dAB | cdc cAB | cde edc | GAG FED |
G2 g gfg | G2 g g2 g/2f/2 | edc B>cA | G>AG G2 ||
P:C
z | e3 d3 | d A2 B3 | c2 d c3 | c A2 B3 | c2 d e3 |
(2ed(2cB | (2AB G3 | (2FE D3 | G3 g3 | (2gf g3 |
G3 g3 | g3- g2 (3g/4a/4g/4f/2 | edc B>cA | G>AG G2 ||
%abc

Kemp's Jig on Google Maps

To convert the code above to sheet music, or listen to the tunes, copy the code for a single song, then paste it here and [submit].