Now from our Nine Days Wonder I'm telling. From our tachlis triumph, the greatest dare-journey ever in England, how my Will Kempe did the Morris dance he was already famous for, from London to Norwich, a hundred thirty-four English miles, with wagers I made for us, three-to-one monies I put out, but only collected from half or less was owed us by gallants and gentles liked gaming, so wagered against my Will. So we didn't get so much monies, but still, it was a triumph, a tachlis, and could maybe gone on to the biggest, greatest in the world, a dance from France across the Alp mountains to Italy could possibly have been. Listen.

My idea it was, me, Pincus Perlmutter, first impresario in England ever, me who convinced my Will he should do it, already from when I told him, "Will, you're wasting yourself in the comic jigs at the Globe, also in small roles in the plays, Master Shakespeare, he's taking all the famousness and also most the gelt with his plays, you should sell out, we'll do something greater, a dare-journey I got in my mind, we'll be more famous than motley Dick Tarleton ever when we do this, Will!"

Says he, my Will Kempe, "Ah, sweet Pinky pearl, an' if you dare me, then I'll dare it, and dare all to deny my renown or be a base-born knave an' if I fail!" Which it was so easy to make him agree since truth is he was in his cups, fap drunk gone like almost always by this time, the shicker!

So how it happened, Will sold his shares in the Globe to Master Will Shakespeare, Tom Pope, Dick Burbadge, Jack Hemmings, Phillips also, and also William Slye and Nick Tooley, this was late in '99 he did because I convinced him we'd triumph, which we did, like I'm telling. Which monies I put in a purse for us to pay expenses, horses and a wagon and inns to hire chambers from for on the road to Norwich, and also the cost to tell all London from this dare-journey we'd do.

After which for some weeks I was busied with telling London from the dare-journey, with handbills and broadsides and also some small ballads I hired hacks for composing and also singing about what my Will should do in the new year, so soon London was talking in all the theaters and taverns and on market days from the Nine Days Wonder to come soon. And also letters and broadsides I posted to Norwich, to Roger Wiler the Mayor of Norwich, saying what my Will would do in the new year coming soon. A macher impresario I was, so busy all in London everywhere!

At the same time, these many weeks, I'm keeping after my Will Kempe to keep him if I can from taverns and stews where he's spending our Globe monies on kurveh whores and drink like always. "Will," I'm telling him, "can you not leave off from drink and wenching, you want a pox or maybe also fall in a stupor like from the falling sickness and die, a French disease you want when you got to be strong for dancing a hundred thirty-four English miles in nine days only?"

"Marry, sweet Pinky," says he to me if he's not so fap he can't hardly speak plain, "thou art a true shrew, you so berate me as if I took you to wife, and a scold thou proved, Pinky!" But I took from him most of our Globe monies so's we should have it for wagers with the gallants and gentles knew him from the theaters and liked gaming, they came to me to wager against, like I invited in ballads and handbills, and also Will I got to dance short dance shtik in taverns and markets, even sing indecent songs and juggle some too so's his legs he'd have strong for our dare-journey.

"Zounds," said he to me, "I do fear you promise a mark I'll not measure, and where's all our coin gone then, Pinky?"

To which I said, 'Will, you'll do this, we'll be famous and also rich, and already I got ideas for something even more after this." Because I was already thinking of a dance from France across the Alp mountains to Italy after this, from world-famous already I was thinking!

To which he only says, "Why, my sweet Pinky Jew, you dream beyond all the learned and wise in all England! Would I had your knack for dreaming, Pinky, I'd give you these old legs to dance in my place!"

"Which," I told Will, "then you'd be the macher impresario and me the greatest clown in Queen Bess's realm." To which he smiled his big leering smile at me and called for a bowl to drink or went out to Southwark to find him a kurveh whore for all I could know.

So it was it came February 11th of 1600 in the new year, when we started.

Everything ready I had prepared. First, wagers on paper written, hundreds of pounds we'd get for this when we did it. And also three men I hired, first Tom Sly the taborer to make drum music and some on the pipe for Will to dance, who sometimes he was an actor for the Lord Chamberlain's at the Globe, also at The Rose and Blackfriars also he was sometimes a player. Also George Spratt, a man people could read and write and also do cipher said we could trust, as overseer I hired, so's he could swear and affirm a warrant Will danced all the English miles to Norwich, paper and quills and ink I bought so he could make a record, this to prove our wagers. And William Bee, a grauber lout I hired as servant, mostly to keep Will from drink and also bumerkeh wenches on the dare-journey.

So, seven in the morning it was, the first Monday from the English Lent we all came in front of London's Lord Mayors to start. Such a crowd of all, gentles and gallants, players, whores and market vendors, Hob and Dick, rude mechanics, apprentice boys, all came to see us go. Also schnorrer beggers and some mean louts could been cut- purses and pickpockets I saw gathered to see us go I noticed in the multitudes. Prayers and God-speeds they said to us, and monies they threw on the street for us, six-pences and grotes pennies I picked up from the street to put in my purse, and also I was busied selling schlock trinkets, points and garters and kissing comfit sweets, which idea I had, to sell and get the more monies because I knew a crowd loved my Will Kempe would come and buy from us. "Who'll buy Will Kempe's points just like he wears himself?" I cried loud. "Who wants comfits like Will Kempe sucks to make his breath sweet for kissing ladies?" I did good selling these, my purse jingling and thick.

And so Will says, "Tickle your tabor, good Tom, for 'tis I, Cavalier Kempe, headmaster of Morris dancers, high head-triller of trill-lillies, best bell-shangler of all England do now frolick to foot it here for the right honorable Lord Mayors of London toward the right worshipful and truly bountiful Master Mayors of Norwich!"

Such a tummler was my Will! And so dressed he was in the fool's cap and bells on his legs and sleeves and cape once Dick Tarleton wore, buskins buckled and tied on his feet, so did Will Kempe begin to dance!

And he danced, hundreds, a thousand maybe from the city followed to see, cheers they shouted, past Whitechapel to Stratford Bow, where some left us to stop and eat cakes with cream, to Mile-End where he first stopped for a rest, reddish faced and blowing his breath hard, which is where what I was scared he'd do, he called for drink. Full cups tapsters came out of the inns to offer him. I said, "Don't drink, Will, we won't triumph, think of the wagers we got out!"

To which he says to me, "Pinky, to refrain from a draught stands not in congruity with my health," and drank two cups at least, strong beer it was. The shicker. But I told Tom Sly blow your pipe, beat the tabor, and he did, and Will stood up from drinking, danced again like he felt strong, over the bridge to Stratford Langton, where he stopped again because they had a bear-baiting just special for him, the sport he loved most of any.

So my Will says as how he wearies, we got to make a rest for his legs and catch his wind, which of course is only a ploy to quaff some more cups of strong beer the tapsters bring out to him, and also he makes merry with gleek jokes and japes with several ladies I think was only local, not London kurveh whores, because they were pretty clean, both their faces, and plain slops they wore even if they didn't wear shawls over their bosoms you could see easy.

So we had to watch the bear-bait, all the roaring and whimpering from the bear, the dogs howling and snapping, but I did good selling the points and garters and comfit sweets I had a big supply from in our wagon, also keeping my purse close in my hands because I seen at least two very coarse lout fellows looked like they could be pickpockets or cutpurses in all the crowd came to see the baiting and also my Will dance.

Will also drank what they call the Ilford Great Spoon, which is a ladle of strong beer, a quart, and I was scared he'd fall down fap drunk, but I got Tom Sly to beat his tabor drum, and my Will Kempe, he wiped his mouth on his puffed sleeve all hung with the Fool's bells, and he danced again the Morris. It was moonlight already because of the short winter days, all the way to near Ronford he danced.

Where we almost got stopped by two bumerkeh wenches it was having a fight on the road, fap drunk, swearing and screeches and pulling hairs, with fingernails scratching, and Will says, "Now here's two jades pawing with their forefeet like unto two smiths over an anvil, Pinky my sweet pearl! Shall I not dance 'twixt them, perchance to gain a piece by way of just recompense for acting the peacemaker and thus change me, wonder of wonders, to one who makes the both all in a tripping trice?"

To which I say, "Will, dance but!" And to William Bee our servant I said, "Don't let him mix in!" And I was surprised my Will, he just danced around right past the two drunk jades was fighting, so it didn't stop us.

But it was dark night now, we had torches to see, and cold the wind was, so when a country gentleman I think he was rode up on his horse from Ronford and offered his horse Will should ride to the town, I said okay, my Will was spent, nine English miles he danced the Morris that first day. So he rode to the inn at Ronford, where two whole days he rested himself to dance more.

Which is saying the shicker caroused and indulged I'm almost sure with one wench, and maybe two, at this inn, besides visitors come from London for the two days to see Will Kempe, which is proof how I was making him already famous for this dare- journey even after only day on the road to Norwich.

The first morning I was in the common room from this Ronford inn, warming by the fireplace smelled from yold louts pissing in it always instead of going outside to the jakes, before I broke my fast, in comes Will in the back door, all blue-eyed, squinting from his head it hurts from drink I can see, and I say to him, "Will, you went out instead you should have been sleeping upstairs in your chamber I hired for you to rest your legs and lungs! Where you been doing what?"

Says he, "Hither and yon, my pearl. And now needs must repose to restore what I've expended on that journey, sweet Jew mine."

"What's meaning hither and yon, Will?" I ask.

"Why, Pinky," says he, quick like always his chutzpa wit, "hither were two mounds like small mountains, but soft as 'twere snow upon them, and fair white as that, and yon's a pit both deep and dark, all fringed with furze, wherein I fell as far as I might, and might have fallen full in, so wide it gaped, had I not withdrawn to turn hither, whereto I scurried thither, and so it is I'm all spent, nay, overspent more than 'ere I did before, yet never trod a yard to reach either hither or yon!" Always from a quick gleek! And indecent also. "So 'tis," he says going for the stairs to his chamber I hired for his rest, "I scarce have strength nor yet will to reach yonder," and points up the stairs to his chamber like a player on the Globe stage with a toy sword.

To which I said, "No sleeping now! The courtyard's full from gentles and even their ladies too, playgoers come from London to see you because how I made you famous more than ever from your theater jigs and playacting the Fool! You got to greet them, Will, so wash off your face and put on your bells and cape, we'll sell trinkets."

At which he said to me, "Gentles I'd disdain, but ladies, 'an if they're gentle to both touch and be touched, and sweet of speech, e'en saucy, yet I'll gird myself in cap and cape and bells to greet them both gently and merry too!" And went to clean himself some and dress for the visitors come on horses and in wagons from London with little gifts and monies to buy trinkets from me.

Which is my Will Kempe, always good to do what I told him what was good for him to do!

Such a progress from London came to visit at Ronford, only a little rude village, at our inn. Such schmatta attires they wore! Gentles with embroidered codpieces and costly doublets over their loose shirts and waistcoats, fine sleeves they wore puffed up, wrist-ruffs and turned-back cuffs, made from brocade and satin and taffeta and even velvet. And their women, bosoms bare you could see, but with ruffs starched with Dutch starch just like old Queen Bess at court, and farthingales under their shirts to they should stand out like tents, and fur mittens and scarves and ruffles because of winter cold it was. The both men and women had hairs dyed gold and red, the ladies their faces fair white from white lead and vinegar, and all o them smelling from sweet marjoram scent and rose and lavender waters, and pomanders hung from fine chains around their necks so you shouldn't smell their bad breath from rotting teeth, these ladies from London.

Such a progress! And monies they had plenty to spend on my trinkets, and my Will came out in his motley in the yard to make japes and gleeks for them, showed them how to dance his stage jig, and also of course he spoke merry, which is mostly indecent, to these gentle ladies who laughed the same as wenches like who he slept by the night before– hither and yon--like he said, giving them little pinches and tickling palms when they gave their hands out. I sold trinkets to them, holding close my purse because coarse lout fellows came to gape him also in that crowd.

We left finally from Ronford after two days to Brentwood because it was market there on Thursdays. First though Will rode out on a horse to where we stopped, then danced back through Ronford, because George Spratt our overseer had to be able to swear and affirm he danced the whole way so we could win our wagers, and then almost a disaster going out from Ronford toward Brentwood because my Will strained his hip muscles he said, from dancing there the other side from Ronford.

"I'll get a surgeon or a barber could bleed you, Will!" I said, scared it was the end, from the monies we wouldn't get. But Will Kempe said no.

He said, "Now, Pinky pearl, look you, for you'll mark me how I remedy my pain by the like labor that hurt me!" And kept dancing the Morris to Tom Sly's tabor and pipe also, and said as how his pain in his hip muscles it went away, and he danced to Brentwood where the market crowd was, and where, in Brentwood, there was now four cutpurses, two the coarse lout fellows I seen, and two more, got caught stealing from the crowd, and maybe after my purse fat with gelt they wanted to steal, which scared me.

What happened was, we was at our Brentwood inn where again I hired chambers, but only for the day for my Will's rest, where constables, the local watch, carried in the four coarse louts, two the ones I seen at Ronford already, which they caught these four thieving from the crowd followed Will here.

Which they denied thieving, these four, but Will Kempe knew them from the Globe. Says he to the constables, "Now here's full two pair of whoreson hook-men, dy-doppers all say I, for I do mark the visage of rough One-Eyed Tom Kennedy, and t'other's none else save his ditch-born half-brother Paul! So tell us, good Tom, recall you not that day at the Globe you were nabbed for the pure cut-purse we tied to a post on the stage for all to see whilst we played our poor jig close by? And how do you, sad Paul? Still keeping close bad company will render you sadder still an' if these fair folk of Brentwood do keep a whipping cross will make you dance as fast as I were your feet free to try a Trenchmore if not a sprightly Morris too!"

To which these half-brother yold louts don't say nothing, but to which the constables said they had a cross to whip thieving knaves on, and asked my Will if he knowed the other two, who said they was following us only for monies they wagered against our dare-journey. Will don't know them, but I said right out, "They didn't make no wagers, because me, Pincus Perlmutter, impresario, I keep all wagers I write down at three-to-one odds, so these two are also coarse louts to steal from our crowds and possible also my own purse!"

So One-Eyed Tom Kennedy and his half-brother Paul they took to Brentwood's jail, the other two I proved was thieving knaves also, they got a whipping and sent off back to London where I don't know from what was did them there. About which I said to Will Kempe, "Will, we maybe need to get us cudgels or maybe short swords or what for if brigands try robbing us on the road!"

To which he says, "N'er fear, pearl Pinky, for I'll mark a knave on the instant, for who knows a knave better than another?" A gleek always!

And I said, "So rest yourself, Will, we only hired day chambers, we'll go by moonlight to Ingestone, we got to make more miles faster to win our wagers, okay?" As I was thinking my Will would argue we should wait to the morning to go, he's wearied, but my Will Kempe smiled me his leering smile and said for a certain he'd dance to Ingestone the faster without a big progress following. Which he did, but even under the bright moon maybe fifty peoples followed with torches, so famous we were already. Fourteen and a half of English miles he danced in all that day!

Friday the morning we started to Chelmsford, again probably two hundred of a progress we made. And there was more waiting on us at Whitford Bridge, where I made Will stop to go up and see the country knight Sir Thomas Mildmay, a country gentle, who was watching by the fence of his big estate park, so Will could make him a gift from points and garters and also a good pair of embroidered gloves. This was a gift, I didn't ask for no monies because it's good business to be nice to important personage gentles in case you ever need influences in some future time. And Will was merry with Sir Thomas, who was also merry but not indecent, saying how he appreciated and would treasure the trinkets, and wished us a Godspeed when Tom Sly struck up his tabor and we left.

At Chelmford so big was the crowd waiting it took us a hour to our inn I hired, they made such a noise I got Will to go stand in his chamber window and give them gleeks and some merry speech so's they'd quiet some so's we could sleep.

Next morning we danced three of the English miles toward Briertree, at which then Will swore he was sudden wearied, we got to ride back to Chelmford for resting more, which I know was untruth. What it was, the Chelmford tapster had a wife and also a daughter, both comely if a little fat, one or both he wanted I think to do indecent dalliances. I'm not for certain which, and also he was wanting I believe to drink more.

So I argued, and Tom Sly beat his tabor and played on his pipe when I said to, but Will said he'd go to Chelmford even if the devil was waiting for him there, so we had to ride back the three miles, which worried me we would lose our wagers.

Two days we stayed at Chelmford. What indecencies he did, with which, the fat wife or the fat daughter, both comely, I don't know because I didn't sleep on the pallet in his chamber I hired. And how much drinking he did I can't say because I slept by our wagon on the straw with the horses in the stable from this inn because I was scared from possibly louts coming in the nights to steal trinkets or my purse, and made Tom Sly and George Spratt also stay by me for numbers to fight any louts came. William Bee I now seen was a shicker himself, and possibly enjoyed indecencies with one or the both from the tapster's family too. I could hear from the stable the carouse they did. But no louts came to steal at least, which was good.

The Sunday afternoon there Will did go to the house of this Mr. Sudley, where he said he showed the daughter, a maiden fourteen years aged, how to do his Morris. He put some bells on her arms and legs, for a hour they danced in the house's big common room until she fell down wearied and all sweated, Will said. I think he was hoping for indecent merriment with this maiden, but I don't think he did because her father Mr. Sudley didn't go from the room ever while my Will was there. He said to me, "Zounds, Pinky, no playgoers ever watched my jig so close on any stage, yet he n'er smiled nor laughed the while. Think you he feared I might dance a country step you'll n'er see in any dance I do where folk might see?" And laughed from this gleek.

Monday early before birds sing or the cock crows, I went out from the stable to his chamber I hired and woke him, said, "We got to go, Will. You can ride the three miles out to where we left off, but then you got to be dancing on!"

To which he said, "'Tis a foul fellow wakes a fellow of a foul day's foul morn to dance on a foul road, Pinky!"

To which I said, "You want we should lose our wagers? You want you won't get famous more than any in England?"

To which he said, "Tickle the tabor and blow the pipe, you madcap, an' yet I'll dance e'en if I dance my death in the doing, and show us all madcaps gone stark mad for this mad Jew!"

So we rode the three miles out, and he danced, but it was a foul day this day. It was thick woods on both sides the road, raining, and the road was full from deep holes he stumbled and fell in the water and mud, and I was scared he'd hurt his legs or feet or hip muscles, and no wagers we'd win. But he didn't.

A funny thing happened this day. Two country fellows, rude yold bumpkin swains they was, got them up early to see Will Kempe dance by on this foul road, and they danced some along with him for larking, until we came to a big puddle from water and mud. At which Will looks on it, says, "Now see me how I may fetch a rise!" and jumps, my Will, almost to the other side this big puddle, almost all across, he landed in over his ankles, buskins all down in the dirty water and mud.

So the young swain, one of the two, he makes a jump, only he only got halfway over, so drops in up to his waist, stuck there he was, so calls out to his friend the other swain, "Come, George, call ye this dancing? I'll go no further!" And he couldn't until his friend George waded out into this puddle and pulled him out from it.

"Like two frogs you labor!" says Will, and laughs loud for this. But even so, all with dirty water and mud on them, these two rude swains said us a Godspeed, and said even if Will Kempe danced this dirty way seven years hence they wouldn't try to dare to dance it with him no more.

How they loved my Will! The two swains and our progress, all, because he made them laugh on a foul day.

On which we got to Braintree about noon, but there my Will stopped there this Monday night at an inn I hired chambers from, and the whole next day except three miles out he danced, but said he had to get more rest back at our inn because he was full wearied, which I believe he told truth. I was scared more we'd lose our wagers, but he was up dancing Wednesday, this second week of our Nine Days Wonder dare-journey I hoped was going to make us rich from wagers and also famous. And he danced all the way to Sudbury this day.

So by Sudbury this Master Foshew, who was in our progress all the way from London to here, a friend from Will at the theaters, said he had to go back now to London for his businesses, and I got him to say to Will in parting how he should eat and drink only temperate if he wanted to get to Norwich dancing. To which I said, "See, Will? Master Foshew knows! Listen his counsel!"

To which Will said, "Thou art a rogue, Pinky sweet, for though I daresay good Foshew loves me wells, I believe he but speaks a part you writ for him like a player to recite to the author's end, nor none of his!" Which was truth, but I didn't confess it.

From Sudbury dancing on more, two peoples from there tried to dance along by Will also, like the swains on the foul road behind us.

One a butcher he was, his apron all bloody smeared from butchering, his name was Bob Burton, a big knife and a cleaver he wore in his belt, said he could dance with Will Kempe from Sudbury if we'd let him. I said no, but Will said, "Art a bloody fellow, Bob Burton, and bloody fool too to dare dance with William Kempe!" And when Bob Burton this butcher from Sudbury quit from dancing only half a mile, and said for even a hundred English pounds he couldn't dance so fast as my Will, Will said, "Ah, Bloody Bob, know you now my pace in dancing is not the ordinary, but rather a mad dancing faster than your fool's feet will e'er measure" To which our progress, and even me, we laughed at this gleek vitz.

And then a lusty country lass steps up and says, "Bob Burton's a faint-hearted lout! If I had begun to dance, I would have held out one mile though it had cost me my life!" Our progress and also I and also Will, we laughed at her, but she was a big fattish country lass by name of Ellen Hardy, big thick legs and arms she had. She said, "Nay, if yon dancer will lend me a leash of his fine bells, I'll venture to tread one full mile with him!"

This I didn't like because I seen in Will's eyes was mirth, and as he liked saucy bold words from a wench always, I was scared he'd do this in trade or hope or a wager of indecencies with this Ellen Hardy. And it could of been that later, I don't know.

I seen how he watched her when she tucked up her russet petticoat in her belt so's he could tie with points a string from his bells on her big thick leg, touching lots at which she laughed saying his fingers was cold on her skin, and he leered, telling Tom Sly tickle his tabor. "Here's a fine leg," he says, "to stand or dance upon, and a leg I'd fain fash an' it were a joint of mutton nor beef e'en so tough to the teeth, what, Pinky?"

"Dance only, Will," I said, and they did, the two of them, more than one mile I think to Melford, where I was scared he'd go off someplace private with this Ellen Hardy, but he only drunk some pots with her which made her half-fap because she never had so much to drink before, but also he got from my purse an English crown he gave her, which is more monies than for certain she seen before in her hand. To which she dropped him curtsies, I think to let him see her bosoms that way, and said God to bless this dancer.

So I thought it was good, we could dance farther yet, but then a Melford gentle, Master Colts, he invited Will to his big house where he stayed all until Saturday, making a carouse, so I feared bad for our wagers more. And I wonder still if he got that Ellen Hardy lass or wench to come there to carouse indecent with him, but don't know because I stayed in Master Colts's stable with our wagon and horses and also Tom Sly and George Spratt with me to guard our trinkets and my purse also. Again William Bee stayed on a pallet in Will's chamber, and I'm for certain he made merry and did drinking with Will again.

It wasn't until Saturday this second week I could make him to dance again. "Good Pinky," says he, "you'll ne'er do for a piper, for you pipe ever the selfsame dance, which is always but dance on, Fool Kempe!"

To which I said, "This ain't no gleek, Will. This is monies and fame in all of Bess's English realm, and if we do it, it's the more of gelt monies and the fame of all the world I got an idea for, okay?"

So we danced on toward Bury, except we took a road past Clare, which was a mistake because it was longer that way to Bury, and the road was the same foul way of water and mud in holes, and cold rain. And when we got just by Clare was another trouble.

Came an invitation from this Widow Everett to Will to come to a fete she was having at her big rich house with thirty country gentles want to meet famous Will Kempe, famous already from London's stages, and more now on this dare-journey.

To which I said, "No, Will. We can't stop more for frolics. Keep doing!"

To which he says, "Your imaginings, Pinky pearl, are so foul as this day and this road. Why, I hear this lady's late yoeman husband died rich, so the like is she as his widow, and I'll swear she's a widow both modest and friendly in repute, and of good presence I hear, and if a Fool may judge, of no small discretion, think you not?"

What happened by this fete this Widow Everett had by her big house for Will Kempe I don't know. Because me, Pincus Perlmutter, the impressario made possible this great and most famous dare-journey, I didn't go to it. I went back by Clare with our wagon and the horses except the ones Will and William Bee rode to the fete, me and Tom Sly and George Spratt we slept in a stable we hired from a rude mechanic had a house there and room for us in his stable. So we could guard against thieving from louts and knaves and the violent Abraham Men pretend they're Bedlamites, the countryside was full from them, and also old soldiers from the Low Countries and Spanish wars with no money or place to live after being in various wars across the Channel or in Ireland always fighting. Cudgels nor short swords we didn't have for this to protect us, just the knives we all carried to eat our dinner meats, but nobody came to thieve.

What I'm saying is my Will, yes, a great and famous Fool from the Globe and even before, which I'm now making more famous and also rich from wagers, he did a fete with this Widow Everett and thirty country gentles, with warm fires and fressing beef and muttons and rabbits and cheese, brawn and oranges in a sauce to eat, canary wine to drink, also sack, gleeks and japes and probably indecencies, but me, Pincus Perlmutter, I stayed in a mean stable on cold straw with horses, pottage and coarse bread only to eat, which I still say it wasn't right to happen. A great and famous stage Fool my Will was, and also a friend like was his blood born brother, but who also made him the more famous and could have been rich, me I stay in a stable. Is this right? I still say no, not. And I was scared from possible thieves and also sad from this, in a stable by Clare.

Which I said to him when he came with William Bee from the big fete, "So, Will, you ate and drank rich and ample fare by your widow's fete which you also I think shtupped her, we ate poor pottage like you feed horses and dogs, with only church-ale to drink. So where you going next, Will Kempe?"

Which he said, "Ah, sweet Pinky my pearl, art sullen? Marry, I'll make you merry if you'll but prompt me like some slow player's forgot his line if you'll but give me e'en one small Jew's sickly smile!"

I said, "I don't feel like no vitz gleeks from you, Will. I'm cold and sore from not sleeping enough to rest because of guarding from louts or Abraham Men coming to steal our purse."

"Why then, " says my Will, "the only cure for this Jew's a dance, and since you dance not a step, Will Kempe will dance thee into mood for japes and revels, for no man, e'en less a pearl-pink Jew, sees Will Kempe without it makes him laugh and wish he were a dancer, Jew or none, in his heart if not his feet! See now how I dance you a jig all your own will jingle up coins enough, Pinky!" This he says, and starts again his Morris on the road to Bury, I had to get our wagon and horses to follow, so fast he danced to the tabor and pipe, all his bells ringing like coin in a purse, all the way to Bury!

And I was laughing from this, at Bury, because my Will so danced everyone got merry even if they was sad or in a pout even, both of which I was from staying in that cold stable by Clare while he caroused a fete with country gentles and a widow I think wasn't one from discretion, which I think he did a filthy dalliance with her.

So I was happy, we was at Bury, we was going to win our wagers and be the both of us rich and famous, except then was a big storm of snow and wind, which made us stay stopped at Bury until Thursday the next week, you couldn't dance nor even walk, not even horses couldn't go from the deep snow on the roads until Sunday, so I was scared again and I had to hire him chambers, and won't even say how he caroused and did indecencies and drank himself pure fap, all which I had to pay from my purse, and I got again sad and sullen from sleeping on stable straw and eating poor fare again for five days from this foul storm of snow.

But it was a big crowd by Bury waited for us before the storm came sudden, even the town's Lord Chief Justice, who was coming in at another gate to town, he stopped his progress to watch us dance into Bury, and half-twelve times we got stopped by the crowd on the way to the inn where I hired chambers for my Will, and I sold plenty trinkets, so was glad until the storm came, which then I wasn't no more.

Until Friday morning when we started for Thetford, which made me glad again because my Will danced the ten English miles in three hours only, from seven of the clock until ten the forenoon. Which made me happy again. So quick Will Kempe made people go from sad to merry!

I said to him, "Will, you done good dancing today!"

To which he said, "Indeed, good Pincus my pearl, considering how my buskins were so booted in a foul road's mire e'en now, and all this way was o'er a heath, though still wet, I felt I flew like a knave escaped from the stocks who runs to 'scape the constable! So light were my heels I count this ten mile no better than any common dancer's leap!" Chutzpa cheek my Will also always had!

And the progress was so big at Thetford because it was the assizes there where they judge disputes and give whippings to knaves and scolds, and put boisterous people in stocks, and do branding and cutting noses with notches and cropping ears for thieving, so I sold so much points and garters I didn't say nothing when a knight Sir Edwin Rich invited Will for Saturday and Sunday at his big house for entertainment revels. And I didn't care from sleeping in the stable there, which was warm and with new clean straw, and also I got glad more because this Sir Edwin gave Will five English pounds for a gift when we left on Monday, which I got from Will and put in my purse.

And on Monday we danced to Rockland to an inn I hired, which the host got all attired from his slops to fine dress with points and codpiece even, new-blacked shoes with bright new buckles on them, and fashion garters he put on to greet us in his hall. He said to us, "Oh dear Master Kempe, you are e'en as welcome as any of the Queen's best retainers!" Which was yold bumpkin speech trying to speak gentle like he was at Court, but it shows how famous already we was from our dare-journey. Which made Will laugh, from the yold bumpkin trying to speak gentle, and we had a carouse this host gave us, a roast goose and a kid with pudding in its stomach, and good drink, before we danced on to Hingham, and this host tried to follow with us, but he was a big fat-belly couldn't stay by us. So he left us to go back to his inn, and said, "Dancer Kempe, if you dance in God's name, God speed you! I cannot follow you a foot more, but farewell, good dancer Kempe, and God speed thee if you dance in His name!" Which was such a bumpkin's Godspeed, because we knew what we danced for was fame and gelt monies.

Says Will to him, "If 'tis ever my future to meet thee at more leisure, good host of Rockland, I'll make you as welcome as you did me with your full cup of canary!" which was a jape only because when he was gone back to Rockland to his inn, Will Kempe said a indecent little poem about him I forget the words, which made us all merry while we danced on to Hingham.

Which on the way there was twenty or thirty or forty waiting at each mile's end to cry out Goodspeeds and say, "The fairest way to Hingham lies through our village!" and such, but we went straight on to Hingham because we had wagers to win.

My Will did good at Hingham, just resting in his chamber I hired, no carouse he didn't, and I sold plenty trinkets, so was glad. And now we was close to Norwich and winning our wagers!

Early the morning we was up and dancing all the way to Barford Bridge, which there was five young swains from Hingham ran alongside us all the way for a lark. We made a rest at Barford Bridge, and then danced toward Norwich, and I thought now we made our dare-journey, and I thought from those monies clanging in my purse, but we seen the progress was multitudes waiting, so I decided we better stop because my Will couldn't dance a Morris in such a throng all touching and shouting him his name and welcome to us all.

We was just at St. Giles Gate when I said to him, "Stop, Will, we'll ride into the city, then come back and dance from out here tomorrow when the progress ain't so huge, okay?"

To which says he, "Sobeit, sweet Pinky, for I'll not let a crowding be a let to my determined expedition, nor mar my humor, for I'll delight this city so far as my long- traveled sinews allow, and so saith William Kempe!" My Will!

So we rode the horses and also our wagon, from which I sold more trinkets. And after I hired us chambers, for myself also because I wasn't sleeping no more on stable straw, came a delegation, the mayor Master Roger Wiler and his dignitaries from city offices, which I spoke to them. I said, "My Will Kempe's got to rest him, so we'll rest us until Saturday, which then we'll dance in from St. Giles Gate, okay?" To which they agreed, and which was good because I was thinking Mayor Wiler and his dignitaries would tell everyone from Saturday, and there'd be such a progress waiting I could sell them all what schlock trinkets was left in our wagon. Also I got the mayor and his city Norwich to pay all our expenses from hiring chambers and also food and drink and fodder for our horses, which is why I took chambers myself instead of sleeping on stable straw in Norwich, which is proof I knew from being an impresario macher for this most famous dare- journey in England ever.

And from Wednesday to Saturday we rested, except Will who was invited by the mayor and some aldermen to their fine houses for carouses, which I didn't know for certain what Will Kempe did there, because I stayed in my hired chamber to guard our purse with just the knife I wore in my belt for eating dinner meats. Which I didn't eat no poor fare in Norwich because the city paid for all of us, and so also I didn't care I wasn't invited to any carouses by dignitaries in our honor.

So Saturday we rode out through St. Giles Gate, and my Will did again his dance, through St. Stephens Gate this time back into the city. The mayor, he appointed because I asked officers from his watch to keep a way open for us so we could dance through the throngs to the open market place, where a gleek somewhat indecent happened.

There was a maid with a plain face but large bosoms, she was attired fancy in a long- waisted petticoat tied with nice points, but her petticoat was maybe not tied right, so my Will, he fetched a leap in his dancing and came down stomping with his buskin on her petticoat so it fell off and showed her smock. Which was a gleek, but not nice. This maid shrieked, so embarrassed she was, but we all laughed merry, and some rude boys grabbed at her petticoat when she tried to tie it back on with the points, and I gave her a small coin for her being embarrassed. At least her smock was pretty clean, not dirty like most country maids.

And then Will Kempe said, "Now, Pinky, an' you give a maid a coin for naught, have you nary a thought what you might have in return?" Which was another gleek made the progress laugh, at me this time, so I was also embarrassed.

And so big was the multitude so much trinkets they bought from me where I sat on the wagon, Will had to jump over the churchyard wall at St. Johns the church, from which he danced to the city hall.

Which was a problem because George Spratt couldn't follow in the progress, and said he wouldn't swear and affirm Will danced the whole way unless he came out back there and danced it again to city hall, which we did the next Tuesday, so's we could be certain to win our wagers.

But at the city hall from Norwich some good gentle with fair wit said a poem, acrostic on my Will's name it was, in honor of my Will Kempe, but nothing about me in it, and they took his buskins from his feet and nailed them up on the city hall, which I suppose ain't there so many years after, stolen maybe by louts I suppose. But also the mayor made Will a gift from five pounds all in Elizabeth Angels, and the merchant gentles from Norwich also made him a freeman from their guild, with a pension from his life of forty shillings every year.

I got no gift nor not any pension, even being the macher impresario had the idea and made it so it could happen, which I still think wrong, not right.

But I was merry as my Will, who soon got full fap drinking cups offered him in celebration, and I took his five pounds and put it in my purse, and I was merry because we done the dare-journey like we wagered, so was certain I thought of both fame and riches, so I was so happy I cried like some poor child lost.

Which Will Kempe said to me, "Sweet Pinky my pearl, rejoice you! Why weep you like some maid's lost her virtue to a knave professes not to know her name much less confess him the deed that took her sole jewel for a mere jape?"

I said, "Will, I'm so glad, it makes me cry because we done it, Will!"

To which he said, "Now dry your runny orbs, Pincus Perlmutter, and take a drink with me, for I do love you though you're a Jew, and will drink with all I love, be they Jew or Turk or Moor!"

Which I didn't, because I'm no shicker, except small beer with my dinners, but I hugged my Will Kempe like he was my blood born brother, that day the ninth from March in 1600 in Norwich we done what I wagered we could, and which it was me, Pincus Perlmutter made to happen! Such ayontif celebration it was, such a simcha rejoicing we all did!

So what's the end in the end from this, the greatest dare-journey ever we made, me and my Will Kempe? Famous we got in all of Queen Bess's realm of fair England. Riches we didn't.

Because when we left from Norwich, Will he took some monies from our purse to go for a long carouse, I didn't know where because he wouldn't say. But I had to give him from our purse monies was rightful he should have. And I paid from our purse to Tom Sly for playing the pipe and tabor, and William Bee also, the shicker I paid who went off with my Will on this carouse and I never saw nor didn't ever know nothing from him ever again, supposing he probably could have died from a pox or killed in a tavern tummel brawl just like Kit Marlowe the feygeleh was which can easy happen doing that way in a life, to which I could say good, he deserved. And George Spratt our overseer I paid from our purse, and he made me a warrant which he swore and affirmed and made his name on that Will Kempe danced his Morris a hundred and thirty-four English miles, London to Norwich, which I needed to collect our wagers, that we did this in nine days dancing. So I didn't have so much monies left in my purse, but I sold our wagon, also two from the gelding horses we rode we didn't need no more, so I had monies to hire inns on my travel back to London to do our business, no stable straw I didn't sleep on nor eat poor fare, while Will Kempe and also William Bee was on a long carouse I don't know where. Which I think Will should have gone to London with me to collect the wagers, this still I think.

Because in London didn't come riches from wagers we should have got. What was in London was some who wagered and loved Will Kempe like I did, they paid three for one like they wagered, which was good and right. But some I found, they said they would pay soon, they had to borrow or pawn plate or collect from others owed them from gambling or what, these monies they'd pay with, three for one, I had a list I made from all wagers, and all I showed the warrant George Spratt made sworn and affirmed. But this they always said, soon or later, and never paid. And some, lots, gentles and merchants and even good honest mechanics, they said my warrant from George Spratt was a lie, the nine days wasn't true because of all the days we stopped to rest and from the storm of snow and foul roads and his carouses like with the Widow Everett . And some, plenty and diverse characters I couldn't find, not in inns or taverns nor the theaters nor even at Court, and I never found them because they hid from me like knaves hiding from constables, so they never paid us the wagers they owed three for one, all such gonif knaves!

And worse it was, there started slanders and jibes on Will Kempe and also me, calling him arrant knave and me wily and skulking Jew, broadsheets I saw, and hired ballad singers, they sang about Will Kempe that he didn't do the dance to Norwich in nine days like we wagered. Slanders on my Will was all over London, talk in inns and taverns and Court and stews, that we should be in Clink for fraud or in stocks or whipped and turned out from the city, so we wasn't famous only for the dare-journey, but now from fraud pretenders they called us.

Will I couldn't find, so I did what I could. I hired me a hack, which I had him write a pamphlet, Will Kempe's Nine Days Wonder I made the title, which I had this hack write Will Kempe himself wrote it, which I paid this Nicholas Ling a printer to print, and we sold it in his shop at the west door from St. Paul's church. Which I also had this hack dedicate it to Mistress Ann Fitton, one of Queen Bess's Maids of Honor at Court, which Will once said he shtupped her, this for influences I did, even if I didn't know if it was true what he said from shtupping this gentle lady. This I did to say back the truth against the lying broadsheets and ballad singers singing slanders, but didn't get still the monies we should have would make us rich, which is because such gonif rogues and knaves who didn't pay us got no shame, I think, nor never did.

So when I found my Will again, in a tavern by the Southwark stews I found him, of course half-fap and merry, there wasn't so much monies left in our purse, which I had to tell him. I was scared he'd show me ire and scorn for this, a tsimmes he'd make, but he didn't.

All what he said was, "Why, Pinky, my sweet Jew pearl, would you lament a common fall in fortune while you yet breath and the world's still a green and merry place all lively with good meat and better drink at hand? Doff that long visage, my Pinky! Now show me a smile if you've still some fair teeth in your head to shine forth. Quiet you those groans we ought save to spend only when Death's on the doorstep! Come, Pinky, and mayhap I'll dance you a jig and say you a gleek and yet you'll laugh a laugh with me, or I'm no Master Dancer Will all the green world loves for laughter!"

My Will Kempe.

To which I said, "I ain't like you, Will. I can't laugh for everything happens to me, too much sad and bad tsoris I know from my life, but I been thinking. Enough monies we still got, we can do greater yet, from a Morris dance up and over the Alp mountains to Italy we would do, fame and riches both we could both get!"

Which he said, "Hush, Pincus! This night I mean to spend twixt pints and quarts, and know a wench lives not far I mean to quench a deeper, hotter thirst upon. Tell me on the morrow, Pinky, an' I'll listen like a 'prentice boy means to please his mean master, so swears William Kempe!"

Which I did, tell him all the next day when he was quiet with the blue eye from his drinking, from my greatest idea ever, to dance up and over the Alp mountains to Italy where I never been before, and never went, because we never did, which I'll tell why later.

Here what I'm telling is only the Nine Days Wonder, which was to make us famous and rich, which it did the one and not the other, but still was a great dare-journey we did, me, Pincus Perlmutter, impresario macher, and Will Kempe the greatest tummler Fool and Clown from ever, the both of us did it, which is a something even if it didn't bring us gelt monies much.

Telling this, I think from Will Kempe, and from myself also then, the dance London to Norwich, the multitude progresses waited on us and cheered Godspeed, all this I think again, and it's strange, how it makes me, old Pincus Perlmutter, to weep tears fall down my face into my white bart, but also to smile and laugh some, like I always did when my Will was merry so much so long ago then, even when I was sad from tsoris and feeling ire some at him.

He was my Will Kempe, a mensch, he had neshoma soul in him, so I weep tears into my bart from rachmones pity I feel because he's gone so long now, and for myself I weep also, because it was so long and I'm so old now.

So that's all from our Nine Days Wonder I told. Gordon Weaver, "Nine Days Wonder Chapter"/Kempe