Tonbridge Daily Snippet

Tonbridge was a forerunner in the theatre world as a theatre/playhouse known as 'Tunbridge Playhouse' and was one of only four theatres known outside London in the 17th century.

The evidence of this comes from the records at Maidstone Assizes Court and Tonbridge Parish Records stating that a number of attackers fatally wounded a man at 'Tunbridge Playhouse', during the Midsummer Fair in 1610.  The dead man was connected to a performing company so could have been an actor.

So why would Tonbridge be one of the rare towns to support theatre?  Tonbridge Castle and Tonbridge Manor was at the time in the care of Henry Carey who was known to have a keen interest in drama, and to have connections with the theatre, he was patron to a playing company known as The Lord Chamberlain's Men, and would probably have invited the players to Tonbridge. This company included William Shakespeare. Carey also established the Annual Fairs in Tonbridge where he would have encouraged permormances.

Penshurst Place may have also played its part as an occasional meeting place of many of the Renaissance writers, dramtists and intellectuals such as John Donne, Ben Jonson, Hobbes, Bacon and Shakespeare.  Donne became Rector of St. Nicholas's Church in Sevenoaks in the early 17th century, and Jonson wrote the pastoral masterpiece 'Ode to Penshurst'.  The intellectuals of the Renaissance were a close knit group and it is perfectly likely they were guests at both Tonbridge Castle and Penshurst Place, and a possibility why a playhouse/performing space was successful in Tonbridge.

ODE TO PENSHURST

Penshurst Place and Gardens

With all the talk of A level results yesterday I searched out my own A level folders in which I had written a piece on pastoral and country house poetry.  As regular readers of the blog will already know I have a great love of Penshurst Place, the village and the surrounding countryside.

The poem, Ode To Penshurst (1616), by Renaissance poet and dramatist Ben Jonson is now used as a model for country house poetry.  A patron would pay for a poem to be written about their property, in the same way they would for their portrait to be painted by an artist.  Ode To Penshurst compliments Robert Sidney on his property referring to its hospitality and warmth rather than grandeur, and of the pastural landscape surrounding the house and Medway, by alluding to the bountiful fruits and animals found around Penshurst.

Gardens

Thou art not, PENSHURST, built to envious show Of touch, or marble ;  nor canst boast a row Of polish'd pillars, or a roof of gold : Thou hast no lantern whereof tales are told ; Or stair, or courts ;  but stand'st an ancient pile, And these grudg'd at, art reverenced the while. Thou joy'st in better marks, of soil, of air, Of wood, of water ;  therein thou art fair. Thou hast thy walks for health, as well as sport : Thy mount, to which thy Dryads do resort,   Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made, Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut shade ; That taller tree, which of a nut was set, At his great birth, where all the Muses met. There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names Of many a sylvan, taken with his flames ; And thence the ruddy satyrs oft provoke The lighter fauns, to reach thy lady's oak. Thy copse too, named of Gamage, thou hast there, That never fails to serve thee season'd deer,   When thou wouldst feast or exercise thy friends. The lower land, that to the river bends, Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do feed ; The middle grounds thy mares and horses breed. Each bank doth yield thee conies ; and the tops Fertile of wood, Ashore and Sydneys copp's, To crown thy open table, doth provide The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side : The painted partridge lies in ev'ry field, And for thy mess is willing to be kill'd.   And if the high-swoln Medway fail thy dish, Thou hast thy ponds, that pay thee tribute fish, Fat aged carps that run into thy net, And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat, As loth the second draught or cast to stay, Officiously at first themselves betray. Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land, Before the fisher, or into his hand, Then hath thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours.   The early cherry, with the later plum, Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come : The blushing apricot, and woolly peach Hang on thy walls, that every child may reach. And though thy walls be of the country stone, They're rear'd with no man's ruin, no man's groan ; There's none, that dwell about them, wish them down ; But all come in, the farmer and the clown ; And no one empty-handed, to salute Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit.   Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, Some nuts, some apples ; some that think they make The better cheeses, bring them ; or else send By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend This way to husbands ; and whose baskets bear An emblem of themselves in plum, or pear. But what can this (more than express their love) Add to thy free provisions, far above The need of such ?  whose liberal board doth flow With all that hospitality doth know !   60 Where comes no guest, but is allow'd to eat, Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat : Where the same beer and bread, and self-same wine, That is his lordship's, shall be also mine. And I not fain to sit (as some this day, At great men's tables) and yet dine away. Here no man tells my cups ;  nor standing by, A waiter, doth my gluttony envý : But gives me what I call, and lets me eat, He knows, below, he shall find plenty of meat ;   Thy tables hoard not up for the next day, Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray For fire, or lights, or livery ;  all is there ; As if thou then wert mine, or I reign'd here : There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. That found King JAMES, when hunting late, this way, With his brave son, the prince ; they saw thy fires Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires Of thy Penates had been set on flame, To entertain them ; or the country came,   With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here. What (great, I will not say, but) sudden chear Didst thou then make 'em ! and what praise was heap'd  On thy good lady, then !  who therein reap'd The just reward of her high huswifry ; To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh, When she was far ; and not a room, but drest, As if it had expected such a guest ! These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all. Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal.   His children thy great lord may call his own ; A fortune, in this age, but rarely known. They are, and have been taught religion ; thence Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence. Each morn, and even, they are taught to pray, With the whole household, and may, every day, Read in their virtuous parents' noble parts, The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee With other edifices, when they see   Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else, May say, their lords have built, but thy lord dwells.