#  Physical Deformity on the Jacobean Stage 

 



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Thomas Heywood, *The Fayre Mayde of the Exchange* (London: Valentine Simmes for Henry Rockit, 1607):

 *Phil. & Vrsu*. Helpe, helpe.  
 *Crip*. Marry and will, knew I but where, and how.  
What do I see?  
Theeues full of lust beset virginitie!  
Now stirre thee cripple, and of thy foure legs  
Make vse of one, to doe a virgin good:  
Hence rauening curres: what, are you at a prey?  
Will nothing satisfie your greedy chappes  
But virgins flesh? Ile teach you prey on carrion,  
Packe damned rauishers, hence villaines.  
*Fight & beat them away.* (B2)

 \[*Crip*.\] Knowing my vnworthy selfe  
Too foule for such a beautie, and too base  
To match in brightnesse with that sacred comet.  
That shines like Phaebus in Londons Element;  
From whence inferior starres deriue their light:  
Wherefore I will immediatly you take  
My crooked habite, and in that disguise  
Court her, yea win her, for she will be wonne,  
This will I doe, to pleasure you my friend.  
 *Frank*. For which my loue to thee shall neuer end.  
 *Crip*. About it then, assume this shape of mine. (H3)

\[*Fran*.\] Am I not like my selfe in this disguise,  
Crooked in shape, and crooked in my thoughts  
Then am I a Cripple right. (H3-H4)

 \[*Fran*.\] Now would the substance of this borrowed shape  
Were here in presence, and see where he comes,  
*Enter the Cripple.*  
Poore in the well framd limbes of nature, but  
Rich in kindnesse beyond comparison.  
Welcome deere friend, the kindest soule aliue,  
Here I resigne thy habite backe againe. (I2)

William Shakespeare, *The Tempest* (1611), in *The Riverside Shakespeare*, ed. G. Blakemore Evans and J. J. M. Tobin, 2nd ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1997):

 *Pros.* This misshapen knave –  
His mother was a witch, and one so strong  
That could control the moon, make flows and ebs,  
And deal in her command without her power,  
These three have robb’d me, and this demi-devil  
(For he’s a bastard one) had plotted with them  
To take my life. Two of these fellows you  
Must know and own, this thing of darkness I  
Acknowledge mine. (5.1.268-76)

Thomas Heywood, *The Brazen Age* (London: Nicholas Okes for Samuel Rand, 1613):

 *Pyrag*. I heard her once mocke that polt-foote of yours  
How came it pray?  
 *Vulcan*. I'le tell thee man, I was when I was borne  
A pretty smug knaue, and my father *Ioue*  
Delighted much to dance me in his lap.  
Vpon a time as hee was toying with mee  
In his high house aboue, that *Phaeton*  
Had at that instant set the world a fire,  
My father when he saw heauens bases smoake,  
Th'earth burne, and *Neptunes* broth to seeth with heate;  
But startles vp to thunder-strike the lad,  
And lets me fall: downe tumbled I towards the earth:  
I fell through all the Planets by degrees,  
From *Saturne* first, so by the *Moone* at last:  
And from the *Moone* downe into *Lemnos* Isle  
Where I still liue, and halt vpon my fall,  
No maruell if't lam'd mee, for, *Pyragmon*.  
How high I tumbled, who can gesse aright,  
Falling a Summers day from morne to night? (I1)

John Fletcher, *Cupids Reuenge* (London: Thomas Creede for Josias Harison, 1615):

 \[*Cl*.\] Zoylus your Brothers Dwarfe went out but now.  
 *Hidas*. I thinke twas he: how brauely he past by:  
Is he not growne a goodly Gentleman?  
 *Cleo*. A goodly Gentleman Madame?  
He is the most deformed fellow i'the Land.  
 *Hidas*. O blasphemy! he may perhaps to thee  
Appeare deform'd, for he is indeed  
Vnlike a man: his shape and colours are  
Beyond the Art of Painting; he is like  
Nothing that we haue seene, yet doth resemble  
Apollo, as I oft haue fancied him,  
When rising from his bedde he sturres himselfe,  
And shakes day from his hayre.  
 *Cleo*. He resembles Apollos Recorder….  
 *Cleo*. Zoylus is heere Madame.  
 *Hida*. Hee's there indeed.  
Now be thine owne Iudge; see thou worse then mad,  
Is he deformed? looke vpon those eyes,  
That let all pleasure out into the world,  
Vnhappy that they cannot see themselues.  
Looke on his hayre, that like so many beames,  
Streaking the East, shoore light ore halfe the world.  
Looke on him all together, who is made  
As if two Natures had contention  
About their skill, and one had brought foorth him.  
 *Zoyl*. Ha, ha, ha: Madame, though Nature  
Hath not giuen mee so much  
As others in my outward shew;  
I beare a heart as loyall vnto you  
In this vnsightly body (which you please  
To make your myrth) as many others doe  
That are farre more be friended in their births:  
Yet I could wish my selfe much more deformed  
Then yet I am, so I might make your Grace  
More merry then you are, ha, ha, ha. (C2)

Thomas Heywood, *The Iron Age* (London: Nicholas Okes, 1632):

 \[*Ther*\] What if Thersites sprucely smug'd himselfe,  
And striu'd to hide his hutch-backe: No not I.  
Tis held a rule, whom Nature markes in show  
And most deformes, they are best arm'd below. (1.3.1)

Courtier? tush, I from  
My first discretion haue abhor'd that name,  
Still suiting my conditions with my shape. (1.3.1)  
 \[*Achi*\] Deformed slaue. (1.3.1)

 *Ther*. And I Thersites, lame and impotent,  
What honour canst thou get by killing mee? (1.4.1)

 *Syn*. Sure there is something  
Aboue a common man in yon same fellow,  
Whom nature hath so markt, and were his mind  
As crooked as his body, hee were one  
I could bee much in loue with….  
Thou haft a face like mine, that feares no weather·  
A shape that warre it selfe cannot deforme:  
I best loue such complexions.  
 *Ther*. By the gods  
Wee haue two meeting soules: be my sweete Vrchin·  
 *Syn*. I will,  
An thou shalt bee mine vgly Toade. (Part 2.1.1)

Thomas Heywood, *Loves Maistresse: or, The Queens Masque* (London: Robert Raworth for John Crowch, 1636):

 \[*Ven*.\] For thee,  
As crooked in thy manners as thy shape;  
I thought, great foole, you durst not harbor him.  
 *Vul*. No more I did, sweete wife. (I1)