historical note!
On this date in 1613, the original Globe Theatre burned down during a performance of Henry VIII (or All is True, hence the refrain of the following poem) when a stage-cannon misfired. Everyone made it out okay, although one fellow's pants caught on fire and were extinguished by a thoughtful person with beer (as the tour guides at the rebuilt Globe are fond of telling tour groups). The following day, this rather snarky ballad was published, which I reproduce here to commemorate the occasion.
Now sitt thee downe, Melpomene,
Wrapt in a sea-coal robe,
And tell the dolefull tragedie,
That late was playd at Globe;
For noe man that can singe and saye
But was scard on St. Peters Daye.
Oh sorrow, pittifull sorrow, and yett all this is true.
All yow that please to understand,
Come listen to my storye,
To see Death with his rakeing brand
Mongst such an auditorye;
Regarding neither Cardinalls might,
Nor yett the rugged face of Henry the Eight.
Oh sorrow, &c.
This fearfull fire beganne above,
A wonder strange and true,
And to the stage-howse did remove,
As round as taylors clewe;
And burnt downe both beame and snagg,
And did not spare the silken flagg.
Oh sorrow, &c.
Out runne the knightes, out runne the lordes,
And there was great adoe;
Some lost their hattes and some their swordes;
Then out runne Burbidge too;
The reprobates, though druncke on Munday,
Prayd for the Foole and Henry Condye.
Oh sorrow, &c.
The perrywigges and drumme-heades frye,
Like to a butter firkin;
A woefull burneing did betide
To many a good buffe jerkin.
Then with swolne eyes, like druncken Flemminges,
Distressed stood old stuttering Heminges.
Oh sorrow, &c.
No shower his raine did there downe force
In all that Sunn-shine weather,
To save that great renowned howse;
Nor thou, O ale-howse, neither.
Had itt begunne belowe, sans doubte,
Their wives for feare had pissed itt out.
Oh sorrow, &c.
Bee warned, yow stage strutters all,
Least yow againe be catched,
And such a burneing doe befall,
As to them whose howse was thatched;
Forbeare your whoreing, breeding biles,
And laye up that expence for tiles.
Oh sorrow, &c.
Goe drawe yow a petition,
And doe yow not abhorr itt,
And gett, with low submission,
A licence to begg for itt
In churches, sans churchwardens checkes,
In Surrey and in Midlesex.
Oh sorrow, pittifull sorrow, and yett all this is true.
The Globe was rebuilt with a tiled roof, but the second Globe was pulled down during the interregnum. The theater we all know and mostly love was reconstructed near the original location, of course, centuries later, and opened in 1997. It was the first thatched-roof building constructed in London since the Great Fire of 1666.
Oh, and thanks to anomilygrace for pointing this out! It had totally passed by my notice.
Now sitt thee downe, Melpomene,
Wrapt in a sea-coal robe,
And tell the dolefull tragedie,
That late was playd at Globe;
For noe man that can singe and saye
But was scard on St. Peters Daye.
Oh sorrow, pittifull sorrow, and yett all this is true.
All yow that please to understand,
Come listen to my storye,
To see Death with his rakeing brand
Mongst such an auditorye;
Regarding neither Cardinalls might,
Nor yett the rugged face of Henry the Eight.
Oh sorrow, &c.
This fearfull fire beganne above,
A wonder strange and true,
And to the stage-howse did remove,
As round as taylors clewe;
And burnt downe both beame and snagg,
And did not spare the silken flagg.
Oh sorrow, &c.
Out runne the knightes, out runne the lordes,
And there was great adoe;
Some lost their hattes and some their swordes;
Then out runne Burbidge too;
The reprobates, though druncke on Munday,
Prayd for the Foole and Henry Condye.
Oh sorrow, &c.
The perrywigges and drumme-heades frye,
Like to a butter firkin;
A woefull burneing did betide
To many a good buffe jerkin.
Then with swolne eyes, like druncken Flemminges,
Distressed stood old stuttering Heminges.
Oh sorrow, &c.
No shower his raine did there downe force
In all that Sunn-shine weather,
To save that great renowned howse;
Nor thou, O ale-howse, neither.
Had itt begunne belowe, sans doubte,
Their wives for feare had pissed itt out.
Oh sorrow, &c.
Bee warned, yow stage strutters all,
Least yow againe be catched,
And such a burneing doe befall,
As to them whose howse was thatched;
Forbeare your whoreing, breeding biles,
And laye up that expence for tiles.
Oh sorrow, &c.
Goe drawe yow a petition,
And doe yow not abhorr itt,
And gett, with low submission,
A licence to begg for itt
In churches, sans churchwardens checkes,
In Surrey and in Midlesex.
Oh sorrow, pittifull sorrow, and yett all this is true.
The Globe was rebuilt with a tiled roof, but the second Globe was pulled down during the interregnum. The theater we all know and mostly love was reconstructed near the original location, of course, centuries later, and opened in 1997. It was the first thatched-roof building constructed in London since the Great Fire of 1666.
Oh, and thanks to anomilygrace for pointing this out! It had totally passed by my notice.