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THE AUTHOR, THE BEGGAR, AND THE BUFFOON
IN CORYATE’S CRUDITIES(1611)

By

Geoffrey A. Johns

A THESIS
Submitted to
Michigan State University
in partial fulfillment of the requirements
for the degree of

MASTER OF ARTS
Department of English

2007

ABSTRACT

THE AUTHOR, THE BEGGAR, AND THE BUF F OON
IN CORYATE’S CRUDITIES(1611)

By
Geoffrey A. Johns

In the early 17th century, authorship was an emerging identity and vocation that
resisted easy definition, an instability epitomized by Author Thomas Coryate. Following
his exploits and ordeals, this essay traces the development of his author persona’s
tenacious climb to fame through its manipulation of the literary patronage system and the
appropriation of the travel narrative genre. Mimicking the style of the literary genre and
conventions of courtesy language, Coryate identifies and exploits their intersections to
achieve his goal of fame. A brief examination of the historical evolution of each of these
influences assists in the analysis of Coryate’s project. Ultimately, this study illuminates
the nature of authority and responsibility currently associated with texts, authorship, and
the written word by situating Coryate’s project in the context of the unstable categories of

genre, preferment, and social/class relations of his historical moment.

Tom Coriat, I haue seene thy Crudities,
And, me-thinkes, very strangely brude it is,
With piece and patch together glude it is,
And how (like thee) ill-fauour ’d hu ’de it is,
In many a line I see that lewd it is,
And therefore fit to be subdew ’d it is.

—John Taylor, The Worlds Eighth VVonder

iii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Though (I confesse, candid reader) it is a fairly common move to express thanks
to one’s thesis advisor on the acknowledgements page, let not this seem a rote, political
maneuver that would diminish the gratitude I owe to my own, Sandra Logan, without
whose uncommonly sincere and thoughtful advice this work—and, indeed, what is to

follow it—may not have been.

Equally grateful am I for the kind support of my partner, Jason Moon, whom I
drove, surely, to the brink of insanity with my own, and to whom, finally, the bulk of

these pages must rightly be dedicated.

iv

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF FIGURES ........................................................................................................... vi
THESIS
Introduction: An Author, Vomiting ............................................................................... 1
Part One: Print History and Copyright ........................................................................... 7
Part Two: Evolution of the Travel Narrative ............................................................... 20
Part Three: A Buffoon Abroad .................................................................................... 30
APPENDIX A ................................................................................................................... 44
APPENDIX B ................................................................................................................... 46
WORKS CITED ............................................................................................................... 47

LIST OF FIGURES

FIGURE 1: Coryate crossing the English Channel toward Calais; Emblem A
from the frontispiece to the Crudities ............................................................. 1

FIGURE 2: Coryate begs for gold in Germany in order to fool potential thieves;
Emblem N from the frontispiece to the Crudities ........................................... 7

FIGURE 3: Coryate carried in a chair by “certaine poore fellows” over the Alps
between France and Italy; Emblem D from the frontispiece to the
Crudities ........................................................................................................ 20

FIGURE 4: Coryate flees the Jewish ghetto of Venice after attempting to convert

its residents to Christianity; Emblem G from the frontispiece to the
Crudities ........................................................................................................ 30

vi

’ ' Figure I : C oryate crossing the
English Channel toward Calais.
' Emblem A from the frontispiece
to the Crudities.

 

Introduction: An Author, Vomiting

Upon compiling his notes for the construction of the now-infamous 1611

travelogue Coryate ’s Crudities, Mr. Thomas Coryate christened both his journey and his

travelogue—to say nothing of the ship on which he rode—not with champagne, as was

customary for

sea voyages, but rather with his own vomit. The first stop on his voyage

was France, and so the multi-lingual, classic-rhetorically trained Coryate set out across

the English Channel, and it is here that his story, his bookl, and his “Observations of

France” begin:

The vomiting

I was imbarked at Dover about tonne of the clocke in the morning, the
fourteenth of May, being Saturday and Whitsun-eve, Anno. 1608, and
arrived in Calais (which Caesar calleth Ictius portus, a maritime towne of
that part of Picardy, which is commonly called le pais recquis; that is, the
recovered Province, inhabited in former times by the ancient Morini.)
about five of the clocke in the afiernoone, after I had varnished the
exterior parts of the ship with the excrementall ebullitions of my
tumultuous stomach, as desiring to satiate the gormandizing paunches of
the hungry Haddocks (according as I have hieroglyphically expressed it in
the front of my bookez) with that wherewith I had superfluously stuffed
my selfe at land, hauing made my rumbling belly their capacious aumbrie.
(1.152)

author is a striking image for more than just its novelty; he is in fact a

producer of sorts, vomiting so as “to satiate” an audience of “hungry Haddocks,” eager as

 

N.b. the singular; the Crudities originally appeared as a single volume and it wasn’t until it was

reprinted that the division into two volumes was made.

i.e., In the frontispiece. Coryate here specifically refers to Emblem A (Figure. I); n.b. the violently ill

figure at the ship’s stern.

they are to consume the contents of the author’s “capacious aumbrie.” The metaphor,
more than simply digestive, imparts the notion of exchange value and a crude sort of
supply-and-demand relationship. In Lawrence Whitaker’s “Opening and Drawing
Distiches” that accompany the particular Emblem of the frontispiece depicting this scene
from the book, he interprets the event as follows: “First, th’Author here glutteth Sea,
Haddocke and Whiting / With spuing, and after the world with his writing. / Or, / Yee
Haddocks twixt Dover and Calais speake Greeke; / For Torn fild your mawes with it in
Whitsun weeke” (1.xv). Here, “spuing,” already associated with “writing” in the previous
passage, is further paralleled with knowledge; those who spoke no Greek before now can,
like the “Haddock,” by virtue of their having consumed the disemboguement of a Greek-
speaking author3. Thus, knowledge and lived experience are vicariously transferred upon
the audience by way of this regurgitative process.

The figure of the author vomiting is a multi-purpose satirical vehicle that
comments upon both the state of the Elizabethan/Jacobean printing industry and of the
Crudities’s own literary genre, the travel narrative. The passage, for example, delays
revealing its act and his own historical moment ual subject matter (i.e., the act of
vomiting) until the very last moment: instead, it first emphasizes the date and time of
Coryate’s embarkation from Dover and arrival in Calais, where a brief but thorough
historical review is made of the area’s name and possession. This rote (one might say
dry) cataloging of facts is a noticeable idiosyncrasy of many travel narratives
contemporary to Coryate, some of whose earliest forerunners were derived from shipping

records, merchant reports, etc. These texts often situate their authors as dispassionate

 

3 Extending the metaphor still further, the Greek language in Coryate’s use here functions as a

synecdoche of Classical Greek rhetorical tradition and historiography. This knowledge, too, was
therefore also transferred onto the author’s ravenous, aquatic consumers.

transcribers, unmoved by what they record. For this reason, it seems remarkable that the
Coryate-persona depicted in the opening paragraph of the Crudities is moved to such a
visceral reaction at the start of his journey. Similarly, once the passage gets around to
divulging its full purpose, the contrast between “high” language and “low” subject matter
gives the impression of a text that simultaneously attempts and refuses to be formal. In
effect, the pains taken by the passage to describe in excessively ornate and overblown
detail a very crude and vulgar act serve to parody the highly formal modes of courtesy
language utilized in court and, perhaps most notably, patron dedication letters that would
preface most books of this sort. Ultimately, while the classical, rhetorical elements
employed situate these introductory lines within the language of the court and the genre
of travel narrative, the scatological humor and mock-seriousness of the extended vomit
anecdote suggests that perhaps it—-—-and, by association, these constructs themselves——
push the limits of formality into the ludicrous.

The Crudities, through this introductory passage and countless others like it,
manifests and relies upon an unlikely author-as-buffoon charisma; the silly errors and
oversights of the always well-intentioned fool persona drive the narrative forward,
putting a unique spin on the typical English travelogue. The result of Coryate’s
buffoonery is an uncanny representation of the early travel narrative that at once is and is
not what it claims to be. The work, ostensibly a guide to travel on the European
continent, ultimately falls short in the act of guidance due to the narrator’s apparent

failure to recognize and record details that would seem important in a more typical text of

this genre. In “The Epistle to the Reader” included among the book’s hefty front matter",
Coryate acknowledges such a criticism:
It hath bene oftentimes objected unto me since my comming home [...]
that for the short time that I was abroade I observed more solid matters
then any English man did in the like space this long time. For I copied out
more inscriptions and epitaphes (said a certaine Knight that shall passe
namelesse) that are written upon solid peeces of stone, then any judicious
traveller would have done in many yeares. For which cause he branded
me with the note of a tombe-stone traveller. Whereas it had beene much
more laudable (said he) to have observed the governement of common-
weales, and affairs of state. (1.11)
The mischievous duality of the “solidness” of subject matter and the “solidness” of stone
grave tablets is indicative of the author’s penchant for word play and dissembling that
dances around and inside the spaces between what the focus of a travelogue “should” be
and that which appears in the Crudities. In reply to the argument made by this “certaine
Knight,” Coryate explains that “because I am a private man and no statist, matters of
policie are impertinent unto me” (1.11-12). This gesture at once fits with the expected
ignorance of the buffoon-traveler and subtly reverses the Knight’s argument; it is not
foolish of the author to exclude from description “matters of policie,” as he claims—
rather, it would be foolish of him to make such an inclusion without the proper
understanding a “statist” would possess. The Crudities, it is implied, is a buffoon’s
travelogue, and it would take a buffoon to expect it to contain descriptions that are
beyond the wit of a buffoon to describe. In this, the book performs a sort of double irony:
by producing a narrator who is ostensibly too foolish to write a “proper” travelogue, the
text wins the attention of a wide array of readers, both those who would enjoy laughing at

the narrator’s silly “mistakes” and those who, more familiar with courtesy language and

the travel genre, recognize the parody and enjoy it as such.

 

4 See Appendix A for an account of the front matter to the first volume of the Crudities.

The spectacle of the buffoon, even one who merely affected such buffoonery,
could be a valuable and saleable commodity, as Coryate ultimately proved through the
successful effort to get his Crudities published. As it was very difficult for authors in
Tudor and early Stuart England to sell their manuscripts and earn a profit, they would
often appeal to members of the court or otherwise wealthy individuals according to the
system of literary patronage for funding and support. This was especially true of those
who, like Coryate, had never before produced work. Securing a patron was no small
task, as to do so, one needed to set oneself apart from the throngs of other social climbers
clamoring for the esteem and regard such an alliance would provide. The higher the
social standing of the patron, the more difficult and competitive the task of achieving
their patronage—and the more prestigious the alliance once attained. And so it was, in an
age when new authors had very limited control over the publication of texts they wrote,
Coryate succeeded in attaining a patron through the creation of this author-persona, this
Coryate-the-fool. It is remarkable enough that he achieved success at all; more
remarkable still is the fact that the patron he acquired was none other than Henry
Frederick Stuart, Prince of Wales, heir apparent to the throne of England.

To examine the construct of the buffoonish narrator-persona that lives in the
pages of Coryate’s Crudities from its creation through its various uses and successes, it is
necessary to investigate certain facets of the printing industry and the evolution of the
travel narrative through which the persona operates. The following pages will discuss the
fluidity and instability of the notion of copyright from its earliest inception through the
legal systems of patent, licensure, and patronage. Ultimately, this discussion will address

emerging trends of authorship present in Coryate’s timeframe that influenced his project.

Further, tracing the emergence of the travel narrative genre from its genesis as a
“historical” and/or “scientific” mode of writing through its appropriation by the English
and its eventual colonial implications will help lend the discussion of the Crudities a
cultural and temporal context within which to situate Coryate among his contemporaries.
Ultimately, by manipulating the expectations associated with the authorial roles in the
publishing industry and the genre of travel writing, Coryate was successful in his
campaign for the popularity of his own work, and the Crudities emerges as a text that
manages to successfully generate support for its own publication and success in an age

where the market was anything but hospitable.

 

Figure 2: C oryate begs for
gold in Germany in order to
fool potential thieves. Emblem
N from the frontispiece to the
Crudities.

 

Part One: Print History and Copyright

The notions of copyright and authorship have historically been very fluid; within
the print era, laws that protect authors’ rights to retain ownership of and distribute their
work are a fairly recent development. The modern notion of “intellectual property” was a
laughable suggestion to English law makers as late as 1774. During the Donaldson vs.
Becket copyright case of that year, Tory Attorney General Edward Thurlow—later Lord
Chancellor of Great Britain—scoffed at the use of the term literary property, which he
claimed “signiflied] nothing but what was too abstruse and chimerical a nature to be
defined” (qtd. in Loewenstein 14). Though Thurlow was known for his conservative
tendencies and resistance to reform, his comments provide a revealing insight into
contemporary anxieties in the copyright debate that persisted well after the introduction
of the English press. His focus on the absence of substance that could be attributed to the
written word was a fundamental concern in the post-Gutenberg English imagination.
This was especially true of the moment of exchange between authors and publishers. As
author and Renaissance print historian Leo Kirschbaum’s “Author’s Copyright in
England before 1640” explains, “the sole control the author had over his manuscript was
physical ownership. [...] Once the manuscript was sold, all his rights in the work
ceased” (44). Thus, the abstract, “chimerical” properties of an unpublished manuscript

noted above are nonetheless easily reduced to the physical dimensions of commodity in a

mercantile exchange. An author might then sell a stack of such manuscripts in much the
same way as heads of cabbage brought to market; after the initial sale, the author’s labor
and the process of cultivation was, if not rendered totally invisible, largely ignored. It
was only after the manuscript left the hands of the author and came into the possession of
a publisher that it was seen as more than a raw commodity and was thence granted any
protection under the law (Kirschbaum 44-5).

Despite perceptions that ideas embodied in texts lacked an easily-quantifiable
substance, the process of publishing incited much anxiety from both the Crown and the
Church since it made possible the production and dissemination of subversive and/or
heretical documents. In an effort to regulate the creation and diffusion of print materials,
numerous royal licensing restrictions were placed upon the process of granting approval
for materials going to print. This ultimately led to the formal establishment of the
Stationers’ Company in 1557 under the tumultuous reign of Mary I. In his The Author’s
Due: Print History and Copyright, author Joseph Loewenstein describes the function of
the guild as well as the circumstances surrounding its inception (28-29). At the most
basic level, the Stationers were a guild of skilled tradesmen that included publishers,
printers, and booksellers who sought to standardize the system of licensure mandated by
the Crown. They introduced what is perhaps the earliest forerunner of modern
copyright—the concept of “entrance” into the Stationers’ Register. While this move was
partially an attempt to assuage royal and ecclesiastical anxieties over illicit publications,
another of its functions, as Loewenstein explains, was to assert an “internal order” onto
the members of the guild. This order would “control competitive pressures within the

printing industry” by granting the holder of a stationers’ copyright the sole privilege of

printing, distributing, and selling copies of a work once it had been registered, or
“entered,” into the Company’s record (28-9). The manuscript then became the legal
property of the individual for whom the copyright was named, regardless of its actual
author(s).

Thus was established the monopoly of the Stationers’ Company, which regulated
and oversaw the entirety of the publishing process from the initial sale of the manuscript
to the final production and dissemination of finished copies. By law, only registered
members of the guild had access to the printing process, and only then within the London
city limitss. Under this system, a publisher would first purchase a manuscript from its
author at a one-time fee they would negotiate privately. After purchase—the author
having forever relinquished any future claim to the work—the publisher would then
apply for stationers’ copyright in order to license it for publication. Once granted, it
secured his or her rights as its sole owner and beneficiary of any future profit made from
its sale. The publisher would then seek out a printer, a skilled craftsman in the trade of
typesetting, to negotiate the price for the production of a given number of copies. After
printing, the copies would be distributed to and sold by booksellers6 to the public.
Throughout this process, the division of labor within the guild was typically hierarchical:
printers were generally regarded as manual or industrial laborers, booksellers stood in a
service capacity that often represented the guild to the public as its primary point of

contact, and publishers managed the process from beginning to end to ensure that a profit

 

5 This was an important limitation included in the original Stationers’ Company charter. In London, as

Loewenstein claims, “the smooth functioning of licensing and the commercial efficiency of the
registration system” could be made possible in this centralized location (53-4).

Let the term “bookseller” not give the reader the false impression that the final products generated by
the printer and sold to the public were books in the modem sense of the word. In fact, most
publications, including (though not limited to) “short quartos and other ephemera,” were sold unbound
to defray costs (Voss 743-4).

could be made on their investment7. Working according to this hierarchy, all decisions
concerning which manuscripts could be printed and which could not were essentially
made by the publishers as their initial investment was necessary to begin the process.
Numerous factors worked to complicate the organizational process and control of
the Stationers’ Company, however, the first and perhaps most vexing of which was royal
patent. These patents, usually granted to courtiers and other favorites of the crown, gave
exclusive right to publication of certain kinds of texts within the country (Loewenstein
29-30). In 1553, for example, a seven-year patent was issued by Mary I to the publisher
Richard Tottel, granting him the exclusive right to produce law books. In its final year of
efficacy, the patent was then extended by Elizabeth I for the remainder of Tottel’s
lifetime. Due, perhaps, to the assured success the lucrative law patent secured him, Tottel
began to venture into other interests outside of his new specializations. In addition to his
legal publications, he would become known for his influential anthology of English
poetry, Tottel ’s Miscellany, as well as widely-used editions of literature, including Sir
Thomas More’s Works and translations of his Utopia and Giovanni Boccaccio’s
T reatiseg, among others (Kirschbaum 34). The patent remained valid until Tottel’s death
in 1594, even though he had since retired and conferred use of it onto his son. Through

the enforcement of patents, the status quo could theoretically be maintained by restricting

 

7 There are numerous examples that, though outside the scope of this project, illustrate the delicate,

sometimes volatile nature of the relationship between these three guild factions. Ultimately, discontent
within the guild would serve to fuel the phenomenon of individual authors attaining control over their
work. For more information, see Loewenstein, esp. 82-9, 132-52.

A brief survey of titles published by such guild members reveals that it was not uncommon for members
of the Stationers’ Company to author and publish their own works after achieving such status in the
guild. It is tempting to think of this as a form of authorial ownership, but it is important to remember
that said ownership could only be achieved incidentally as a result of gaining status within the guild,
and was thereby not accessible to common authors. Importantly, these individuals were Stationers first;
their status as authors functioned only as an extension of that role.

9 Tottel ’s Miscellany, or, Songes and Sonettes: STC #13861; The V Vorkes of Sir Thomas More: STC

#18076; More’s Vtopia: STC #18095; Boccacio’s Treatise: STC #3177.

10

the right to publish to particular individuals, which at once assured their allegiance and
stood as testament to the rewards of loyalty to the crown. The effect of the royal patent
in Tottel’s case was a 40-year monopoly on the potential market profit that such texts
could generate. As patent holder, not only were Tottel and, later, his son the sole
publishers of these works, but only those printers and booksellers personally selected by
them were granted access to the related profits from their printing and sale. As
Loewenstein notes, what instances like this indicate is that the royal concern over the
printing industry has generally been motivated ideologically, rather than economically
(29). This fact has always been a source of strain on the relationship between the guild
and the crown since the former was primarily a business. Royal patents and other
legislation mitigating free enterprise of the book trade worked to obfuscate the guild’s
more central objective of maximizing profit.

Another challenge to the authority of the Stationers’ Company was the system of
literary patronage. This was a common means through which authors encouraged the
publication of their books when they either couldn’t sell a manuscript directly to a
publisher or didn’t wish to surrender all claim to it in doing so. Often, as Jan van Dorsten
suggests, authors’ reasons for seeking patrons extended beyond economic concerns,
constituting “an attempt to improve their own social position through ‘preferment’”
(192). Frequent targets of literary patronage, therefore, were often more than simply
“enlightened connoisseurs” of the arts. These included members of the nobility, the
landed, or otherwise wealthy individuals of some social esteem who might be convinced

to support their projects and to whom they were dedicated”). The relationship between a

client and his or her patron simultaneously benefited both parties. The patron gained the

 

'0 This support was sometimes financial, but always social and ideological.

11

esteem of having his or her name affiliated with the text, while the client, in addition to
the increased access to publication the patron’s influence afforded, also similarly enjoyed
a heightened esteem through associationl 1. A residual benefit of the association between
a book and its benefactor was an increased sales prospect, as an alliance with a
particularly well-liked patron could often serve as a selling point for potential buyers of
the finished product. An important distinction, however, is that neither the author nor the
benefactor of a manuscript published via the patronage system gained final “ownership”
of the work. Publishers typically retained the legal copyright of any materials printed by
the guild, and it was only with their permission, therefore, that future printings could be
requisitioned’z. Publishers would, however, be more willing to meet the demands of
authors who had acquired support from patrons because it decreased the risk of
investment in a particular manuscript—finally, there was a greater likelihood of the
finished book’s success in the marketplace. The immediate benefit for an author in the
patronage system was a greater control over logistical matters such as to whom the
manuscript was sold, for how much, who would print and distribute it, etc. In this way,
“control” of one’s manuscripts was always mediated by economic concerns since the
relationship between authors and stationers, whether or not a patron had entered the

equation, was necessarily fiduciary.

 

This relationship could also be dangerous for both parties, however. The suppressed 1599 edition of
John Hayward’s The Life and Raigne of King Henrie III], for example, implicated its author in treason
due to its dedication to Robert Devereux, the second Earl of Essex, when the latter was brought up on
charges of the same in August 1600. Hayward, it was suggested, had written the account of Richard Il’s
overthrow in support of Essex’s alleged insurrection. The dedication also proved harmful to Essex,
whose patronage of the Hayward account, it was claimed, signified a desire to be associated with his
ancestor Henry 1111, and was further evidence of his treasonous intentions. For more details on this case
and its implications, see the introduction to John J. Manning’s edition of the work, esp. l7-34.

It should be asserted, however, that patrons, though holding no actual legal claim to works dedicated to
them, were still seen as having a sort of textual ownership granted through the use of their name. In this
way, a patron could have continued influence over the future of the work (Loewenstein 82-3).

12

Another function of the patronage system was the (at least ostensible) elevations
in status of the individuals upon whom favor was conferred. For example, an author with
a manuscript unlikely to be selected by a member of the Stationers’ Company could
acquire a temporary boost in status if he or she could capitalize on the notoriety of a well-
known or otherwise established patron. With this backing, the likelihood of attracting the
interest of a publisher increased, as would the sum of money negotiated for the sale of the
manuscript. In this way, the patronage system functioned to make somewhat permeable
the distinctions between social and professional strata. Over time, this also served to
elevate the status of common readers since their potential as consumers grew. Elizabeth
Eisenstein, in her seminal study The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe, notes
that one function of such trends was to make the process of public address more
“atomistic” through the encouragement of individual readership (105). With the
widening of the book trade that this system made possible, it became more and more
common for an author and publisher to appeal directly to the end consumer when
composing and designing material for print”. One of the foremost examples of this
practice, as outlined in Peter Voss’s “Books for Sale: Advertising and Patronage in Late
Elizabethan England,” is the proliferation of frontispieces. Often printed with a blank
verso, the page could double as an announcement or poster of sorts to be produced in

'4. When prospective buyers came

excess of finished copies and posted in public spaces
across these posted advertisements, they could learn from them the titles of new works

and the various names of individuals involved in their printing, including to whom they

 

'3 As Paul Voss notes, this was especially true of the 15905 onward (733).

‘4 Consequently, Voss argues, woodcut illustrations became more and more common inclusions on
frontispieces as attention getters. This introduced new a importance to the role of the printer within the
stationers’ guild and, as Tessa Watt claims, further opened the printing market to include those
individuals “on the fringes of literacy” (qtd. in Voss 738).

13

were dedicated. Perhaps most importantly, the posters also described where copies were
being sold and persuaded buyers seek out these vendors to make purchase (Voss 737).

Although the meaning of “copyright” was still limited by modern standards, the
shift in early print culture from the complete monopoly of the Stationer’s guild to the
patronage system constituted a shift in authorial access to the means by which an
individual could address a literate, educated reading public. Equally important is the
implication that this shift constituted a reassessment of barriers that blocked the
dissemination of information, thereby questioning the assumptions of who was
authorized and/or credible enough to make or have access to records of such an address—-
what Eisenstein refers to as a “democratizing aspect” of print culture (90). Literary
patronage, then, while by no means supplanting the roles of the publishers in selecting
texts for publication, functioned to somewhat soften the absolute control they exercised
on the printing process and granted authors a greater amount of control over the final,
printed product (Loewenstein 205). Thus, patronage ultimately made accessible a wider
scope and circulation of information by allowing for the publication of materials in which
publishers might previously have been unmotivated to invest.

One example of the sense of importance that developed concerning the patron’s
role in the success of a publication appears in the first printing of William Shakespeare’s
Othello. Widely thought to have been written in or around 1603, this play didn’t make its
appearance in print until 1622—11 years after the author’s death. Though four other
plays of Shakespeare were published the same year, these were all subsequent editions to

originals previously published”. Readily noticeable in each of these other publications is

 

'5 King John, 1 Henry IV, Romeo & Juliet, and Richard III ; STC #5 14647, 22285, 22325, and 22305,
respectively.

14

the complete lack of any front material: the text of each play begins on the leaf
immediately following its frontispiece. The publisher Thomas Walkley, perhaps because
it was the play’s first edition, saw fit to include a prefatory “dedicatory” statement in a
section he titled “The Stationer to the Reader.”
To set forth a booke without an Epistle, were like to the old English
prouerbe, A blew coat without a badge, & the Author being dead, I
thought good to take that piece of worke vpon mee: To commend it, I will
not, for that which is good, I hope euery man will commend, without
intreaty: and I am the bolder, because the Authors name is sufficient to
vent his worke. Thus leauing euery one to the liberty of iudgement: I haue
ventered to print this Play, and leaue it to the general] censure. (A2)
While not especially common, it is also not altogether unheard of for a publisher to make
an address at the start of a work he or she commissioned, especially in the absence of the
author or another benefactor”. What is remarkable, however, is Walkley’s insistence
that, even as “the Authors name is sufficient to vent his worke,” he is still apprehensive
about publishing a new work without the customary patron dedication. By endeavoring
to simultaneously introduce and refuse to introduce the play, Walkley reveals a peculiar
anxiety regarding the authority and viability of print material in Early Modern England.
Although Shakespeare was fortunate enough in his lifetime to enjoy a renown that would
ensure continued market demand for printed versions of his plays even after his death, the

printing industry of the Elizabethan and early Stuart periods did not recognize authorial

fame as sufficient to justify publication. Just as the proverbial police officer or “blew

 

’6 Single quarto versions of dramatic works, however, didn’t commonly have dedications at all. As plays
were primarily written for performance, printed copies were not viewed in the same way under the
system of theatrical patronage as with the literary (Loewenstein 83-4). It is thus all the more significant
that Walkley found it necessary to include his “epistle” to the edition in question. Though speculation,
one might imagine that his reasoning had something to do with this publication being among the first
original editions of the author’s works printed since his death.

15

coat” is distinguished by the official “badge” of law, so too did publications require the
“badge” of support and authority of a dedicated patron.

While the role of authors in the publication process began to expand somewhat
over time, it was still difficult for them to achieve recognition when their work became
successful and/or profitable. The same cannot be said, however, in cases of scandal
aroused by their publications, as can be seen in the following 1643 Order of the
Commons:

[T]he Master and Wardens of the Company of Stationers shall be required
to take especiall Order, that the Printers doe neither print, nor reprint any
thing without the name and consent of the Author. [...] If any Printer
shall notwithstanding [do so] he shall then be proceeded against, as both
Printer and Author thereof [. . .]. (qtd. in Loewenstein 162-3)
The order, as Loewenstein suggests, is evidence that the term author refers not to one
who produces materials—a definition he attributes to more modern attitudes—but rather
one who must be held responsible for publication. Hence, the author constitutes “a
potential object of punishment” in the event such materials are found to be seditious
(162). Importantly, the order seems to designate responsibility for published texts to the
producer of copy—which allows for the address of the widening reading public—and not
the producer of content”. A prominent example of punishment over such a “seditious”
text and its proliferation was the 1579 case of John Stubbs’s brief tract The Discouerie of
a Gaping Gulf a condemnation of the marriage negotiations of the Protestant Elizabeth
and the Catholic Duke of Alencon in which Stubbs ostensibly prayed for God to “[Iet] her

Maiestie see the sin and punishment thereof” (Al). In addition to the subject matter, the

copyright is remarkable in its being entered into the register as “to be printed ‘at the peril’

 

'7 These identities potentially, but not necessarily, overlapped as authors and printers occasionally worked
together to disseminate published materials.

16

of the registrant” (Loewenstein 29). The queen and her court were outraged at the
publication and Stubbs was subsequently brought to Westminster along with his
publisher William Page and printer Hugh Singleton under charges that the pamphlet was
“seditious, if not treasonous.” While Singleton, partially owing to his advanced age, was
eventually pardoned, Stubbs and Page were found guilty and sentenced to the amputation
of their right hands (Mears 644-5; Ray 23).

What makes the affair particularly noteworthy is its illustration of the decisive and
harsh consequences that could befall members of the Stationer’s Company who violated
the relationship between the guild and the crown by publishing subversive, “seditious”
texts. Throughout the affair, Stubbs maintained that his advice had been well-
intentioned, and that he was “genuinely shocked” at both the severity of queen’s sentence
and her refusal to give clemency. Finally, at the public execution of his sentence in
Westminster marketplace, Stubbs dramatically declared atop the scaffold, “[...] my
greatest greffe is, in soe many weekes and dais of imprisonment, her Majestic hath not
once thoughte me worthie of her mercie, which she hath often times extended to divers
persons in greater offences” (Mears 630). For her own part, Elizabeth “declared that she
would rather lose a hand herself than mitigate [... the] punishment” (qtd. in Ray 23).
Elizabethan historian Natalie Meats suggests that The Gaping Gulf may have been the
target of such harsh censure owing not to its content but rather the fact that “Stubbs and
Page had deliberately attempted to disseminate [it] to a [...] socially diverse and
geographically dispersed readership” outside London (648). As a target of punishment,
then, Stubbs’s authorship of the tract was of less concern to the queen than his

participation in the process of its publication and dissemination. Examining the public

17

proclamation against the pamphlet, Mears finds that it was “explicitly condemned for
‘offering to every most meanest person of judgement authorite to argue and determine,
in every blinde corner, at their several wills, of the affaires of publique estate’”:
The social inclusivity of debate and counsel this represented was,
Elizabeth considered, “A thing most pernicious in any estate.” Unlike her
appointed “counsellors” and “faithfull Ministers,” ordinary subjects did
not have the access to “true information,” the ability to examine it and
offer constructive advice, nor her own “motherly or princely care” to
evealuate what was “honorable to her Majestic, profitable to the state of
the Realme, and not hurtful] to the continuance of the peaceable
government of the same, both in the state of religion and policie.” (648-9)
Complicating this account is the fact that Stubbs and Page could not have hoped to reap
great profit from the dissemination of such a tract. Theirs was a task conceived and
executed solely for the purposes of disseminating a tract that attempted to shape public
policy. As such, it can again be asserted that the royal interest in this case arose from
ideological concerns owing neither to legal licensure nor patent and, additionally, to the
perceived appropriateness of access granted individual subjects of the crown to “affaires
of publique estate.”

However “abstruse and chimerical” the notion of literary property may have
seemed to law makers throughout the early years of printing, it is evident that this did not
affect their perceptions of the press as a very real potential threat. Thus, they were quick
to use every means within their power to limit, censure, and deflect possible injury to the
established authority of crown and church. What may seem remarkable is the tenacity of
the individuals involved in the printing trade despite the various obstacles and dangers
entailed. In spite of royal, ecclesiastical, and legal censure, for example, the publication

of political pamphlets persisted that variably advised certain individuals in authority,

condemned or lauded measures taken by them, and suggested further actions. In spite of

18

the overwhelming opposition authors faced when attempting to have their works
published, to say nothing of reaping financial benefits from such endeavors, there still
was no shortage of print throughout this era. Perhaps it was the romantic notion of public
address that kept the industry alive. Perhaps it was the opportunity it afforded social
climbers to exercise their skills at “promoting reputations, establishing expertise,
advancing knowledge, and encouraging investment” (V 053 734). In any case, the trade
did persist, ever challenging those in authority to recognize it as more than simply a

potential threat.

l9

Figure 3: C oryate carried in a chair

_. by "certaine poore fellows ” over the
,1 Alps between France and Italy.

‘ .; Emblem D from the frontispiece to

the Crudities.

 

Part Two: Evolution of the Travel Narrative

As long as there has been knowledge of lands and cultures outside the boundaries
of a “home” space, there have been travel narratives. Though “historical” and “travel”
writings are often regarded as separate genres in a modern sense, it is difficult to
distinguish them from each other in their earliest manifestations since many of the first
“historical” narratives were exploratory in nature. The earliest work of “history” in the
Western canon is the massive nine-volume Histories written by the Greek Herodotus in
,about 440 BCE. The work chronicles the author’s travels around the Mediterranean
Sea—notably throughout Egypt, Persia, and other areas largely unexplored and unknown
to his contemporaries. For this reason, Herodotus is regarded by many as the “father of
history” (Adams 3). The purpose of the work, as he claims in its introductory passages,
was “to preserve the memory of the past by putting on record the astonishing
achievements both of our own and of other peoples; and more particularly, to show how
they came into conflict” (Herodotus 41). The work is more than a simple record of
political happenstance, however. Herodotus includes in his account a sort of rudimentary
journal of his travels as he set out from his homeland to report on nations, cultures, and
lifestyles outside of his own. Some scholars for this reason regard The Histories as the
first piece of travel literature. The narrative deviates, as scholar Percy Adams claims,

from simple historical record by devoting space to “descriptions of buildings and cities

20

and battlefields [Herodotus] saw, of roads he traveled, and of religious practices he
encountered” (3).

What seems to distinguish “travel” from “historical” writing in Adams’s account
is the subject of the author’s gaze and attention on topics that might be considered
mundane. About halfway through his second volume, however, Herodotus pauses to
record a noteworthy change in his methodology that might offer a more complete insight
into the genre. In the midst of documenting the lifestyles and habits of the Egyptians
encountered on his journey, he declares the following:

Up to this point I have confined what I have written to the results of my
own direct observation and research, and the views I have formed of them;
but from now on the basis of my story will be the accounts given to me by
the Egyptians themselves—though here, too, I shall put in one or two
things which I have seen with my own eyes. (165)
Herodotus here defines two different types of historical narratives. The first of these is a
rote cataloging of facts and eyewitness accounts by a narrator detached from his or her
subject. For the second, the narrator interacts with surroundings and locals to derive facts
that cannot be obtained by observation alone, weighs them against his or her own
observations and experiences, and passes judgment on their validity. Both types of
narratives concern travel, but the latter’s deviation from the standard “historical” mode of
record is what initially distinguishes it. The motif of melding various perspectives with
one’s own is key, the result of which is the development of a unique narrator persona that
extends outside of the individual author’s role as subject of the dominant culture”. The

author’s perspectives, while still prevailing and distinct, are joined to and informed by

others, giving the final account the impression of omniscience. By assimilating

 

'8 That is, dominant in the narrative because it is the culture through which the author perceives and
expresses experiences abroad and, ultimately, through which intended readers will interpret the account.

21

information in this way, the final written narrative produces a unique knowledge base
that, while certainly dominated by perceptions of the author, nevertheless includes
perspectives and information relating to another culture that would be otherwise
inaccessible to an outsider"). As a medium through which such lived experience may be
shared and understood by proxy, the travel narrative constitutes a powerful
epistemological tool for cataloging and defining cultural difference and selfltood. It is
perhaps this functionality, more than the descriptive nature Adams notes, which
distinguishes it from more classically “historical” writing.

Curiously, with the exception of various English translations of works from other
countries”, there is a notable lack of English travel writing until about the final quarter of
the 16th century“. While it is true that English international exploration prior to this time
was limited when compared to the rest of Europe, it was not nonexistent. Similarly,
documentation of voyages and exploration was certainly produced, These included, as
Jack Beeching, editor of Richard Hakluyt’s Principle Navigations, notes, “ships’ logs,

salesmen’s reports to head office, secret economic intelligence, captured enemy papers”

 

'9 This is especially important considering the historical roles such documents often played. In her work

on Holinshed’s Chronicles, Annabel Patterson asserts that “a national history should not and could not
be univocal, but must shoulder the responsibility of representing diversity of opinion [...] expressed as
multivocality” (7).

Translation of such works played an important role in the encouragement of the later English
travelogue. One important forerunner of this trend was John Frampton in the 15703, who will be
discussed shortly. Another is Richard Eden, who published a wide array of translations in the 15505
concerning the West Indies. Though his task appears generally similar to Frampton’s, there is a notable
absence of scholarship devoted to him.

A notable exception is Sir Thomas More’s political satire The Common- Wealth of Vtopia, a work
which appeared in a 1516 Latin edition but was not published in English for another 40 years. Though
sharing many of the same observational and speculative functions key to the genre, this work deviates
from more mainstream travel narratives given its principally satirical nature and third person frame
narration. Also of note is Sir John Mandeville’s Voyages and T rauailes, which appeared in Norman
French ca. 1357 and went to the English press in 1582. Recent scholarship, however, has determined
that “Mandeville,” despite long held belief to the contrary, was actually a persona developed by the
French author Jehan dc Bourgogne (Seymour 15). In addition, it is now believed that Bourgogne was
actually a “fireside traveler”—one who “conflates and inflates [existing] accounts into his own allegedly
first—hand report”—-—and had probably never actually traveled to the places he describes (Seymour 15).

20

21

22

etc., but were simply not disseminated (9). In 1582, a writer by the name of Richard
Hakluyt published a collection of such travel literature titled Diuers Voyages Touching
the Discouerie of America. Upon the favorable reception of this work, he set to
compiling a greater body of such texts for publication as The Principal] Navigations,
Voiages, and Discoveries of the English Nation. This new work was an encyclopedic
attempt to chronicle the presence of England in the discovery and exploration of foreign
lands. By collecting and publishing these sorts of documents, Hakluyt intended to reveal
a history of English exploration that had been largely invisible as well as to encourage
further interest in exploration and travel for the profit of the nation22 (Beeching 11-12).
As his works would for many be their first encounter with a text on travel and
exploration, Hakluyt treats the familiarization of the people with his Discoveries as a
learning experience. He begins the Epistle Dedicatory of his first edition by reminiscing
on the genesis of his own interest in travel and geopolitics. Hakluyt describes an
occasion that he as a young man visited one of his relatives—an elder Richard Hakluyt:
[...] I found lying open upon his board certain books of Cosmography,
with a universal Map: he seeing me somewhat curious in the view thereof,
began to instruct my ignorance, by showing me the division of the earth
into three parts after the old account: he pointed with his wand to all the
known seas, gulfs, bays, straits, capes, rivers, empires, kingdoms,
dukedoms and territories of each part, with declaration also of their special
commodities, and particular wants, which by the benefit of traffic, and
intercourse of merchants, are plentifully supplied. (31)

One cannot help but notice the allegorical implications of the older, learned Richard

Hakluyt instructing his young namesake and prote’ge’, who is at once ignorant of and

 

27' Hakluyt’s notion of preserving neglected documents as a way to assert a national heritage is akin to a
similar methodology utilized in the assemblage of Holinshed’s Chronicles. According to Patterson,
“one of the functions of a national history was to discover, salvage, and preserve in print ephemeral,
manuscript or otherwise endangered records.” Such projects, she continues, “were conceived from the
start as ‘documentary history,’ as much a part of the national archive as the enrolled statutes stored in
the Tower of London” (7).

23

fascinated by the world that surrounds him. The features of the maps he lists parallel the
expanding and maturing interests brought on by instruction; bodies of water and other
geographic features transform into political boundaries that define the edges of nations,
each with their own potential merchandise and position in mercantile exchange. Finally,
the elder Haklyut proffers a segment of biblical verse as religious justification for both
travel and mercantile contact with other nations: “[...] turning to the 107 Psalm, [he]
directed me to the 23 and 24 verses, where I read, that they which go down to the sea in
ships, and occupy23 by the great waters, they see the works of the Lord and his wonders
in the deep, &c.” (31). Instructed thusly, the younger Hakluyt would go on to set himself
to a similar task of instruction for the English nation at large. His rationale is apparent in
his accusation of English “obloquy” in their “sluggish security and continual neglect” to
make public such histories as those he had “both heard in speech and read in books [of]
other nations [that were] miraculously extolled for their discoveries and notable
enterprises by sea” (32).

Hakluyt’s enterprise would enjoy much popularity in and even after his lifetime,
expanding to three volumes in the second edition of 1598 and finally inspiring interest in
the relatively new genre of travel writing. In both Principal] Navigations and the earlier
Divers Voyages, Hakluyt privileges eye-witness accounts of information from his own
countrymen, building up his text as very much for and by the English nation. “For the
benefit and honour of my country,” he claims in his preface to the second edition, “[I

have] zealously bestowed so many years, so much travail and cost, to bring antiquities

 

2’ The phrase “and occupy by the great waters” as it appears here, probably culled from The Book of
Common Prayer, would later be emended in the first edition of the King James Bible, 1611, to read
“that do business in great waters.” It is likely that occupy, as young Hakluyt read it, retained this
connotation.

24

smothered and buried in dark silence, to light and [...] do (friendly reader) presume to
offer unto thy view this discourse” (34-5). In this statement, Hakluyt identifies his task
as one that provides a sort of proxy eye witness to the subjects of the realm, making
available to all “certain memorable exploits of late years by our English nation achieved,
[and preserve them] from the greedy and devouring jaws of oblivion” (34). Though he
does not expressly identify it, he implies here a use for travel writing beyond the
historical: enriching the individual lived experience of his readers. Ultimately, as
Beeching claims, “the real function of [Hakluyt’s] book is to promote national
confidence” by revealing a history of travel and exploration—a knowledge base—extant
in English society in light of the general appearance that none existed (11).

Though the proliferation of Principal] Navigations clearly indicates its poplularity
as reading material, its principle intent, as stated in the Epistles Dedicatory, was to
advocate royal investment in further foreign exploration and discovery. Hakluyt held
these endeavors to possess three “great and unlooked for effects” for the nation: to
“increase her dominions, enrich her coffers, and reduce many pagans to the faith of
Christ” (37). Many of the narratives contained in his collection include proposed
methods of attack to accompany descriptions of a nation’s resources. In this way, the
tales were as much military assessments as they were accounts of discovery. As
Beeching mentions, this practice also occasionally included providing detailed
assessments of enemy possessions: which were vulnerable, which were strong, which
might be susceptible to capture, etc. (17). By reducing exploration in this way to a
means of acquirement, Hakluyt identifies travel writing by association as a hegemonic

discourse that necessarily views other nations and cultures only as resources to be

25

exploited. Ultimately, this frames travel and contact in terms of desire for territory and
resource acquisition.

Though certainly the most prolific, Hakluyt was not the first Englishman to
encourage travel and exploration through the publication of travel narratives. A decade
earlier, the merchant John Frampton attempted a similar task by translating various
popular travelogues of other nations into English. “Translation,” as Donald Beecher
explains, “was the only means of access [in Frampton’s time] to news about remote
countries that might prove useful to merchants and the organizers of expeditions” (321).
The most well known of Frampton’s translations was Marco Polo’s famous travels (ca.
1300), with which he hoped to “introduce English readers to the exotica and riches of the
Orient,” thereby inciting interest in expanding mercantile relations (Beecher 323). In his
own words, Frampton translated the work in order to “giuc great lighte to our Seamen
[...] and otherwise delight many home dwellers, furtherers of trauellers” (Frampton ii).
That this passage recognizes the importance of readerly intrigue to the encouragement of
travel is hardly accidental. Here and elsewhere, F rampton seems to couch an
“ideological and mercantile intent” in his selections of texts to translate (Beecher 323).
Invariably, these works served the “historical” aims of an early travel narrative by
cataloging various commodities available in foreign lands then unavailable to the
English. In Beecher’s estimation, this sort of “publication in English could only suggest
utility and need, and raise the troubling question of supply once a sense of demand had
been raised in the reader’s mind” (324). While Hakluyt’s work was intended largely to
build a sense of national pride, Frampton’s texts use pride as leverage to encourage

exploration and expansion through the recognition of commodity deficit.

26

Because of the travel narrative’s investment in the representation of the self and
the cultural Other in various international social and economic exchanges, it has become
of particular interest to many postcolonial scholars. One such scholar is Mary Louise
Pratt, whose Imperial Eyes focuses on the role of travel narratives in the proliferation of
18th century colonialism. In addition to bringing several relatively unknown travel
narratives to light, Pratt’s book develops a working terminology for the genre that has
become widely used by other scholars in various fields. One of the terms that she
introduces is the “contact zone” of colonial encounters, or the spaces “in which peoples
geographically and historically separated come into contact with each other and establish
ongoing relations” (6). Pratt characterizes contact zones as sites of “coercion, radical
inequality, and intractable conflict.” It is here, she argues, that the colonial narrative
begins, as it works to produce “the rest of the world” for European readership (5). The
sense of “production” mentioned here is important to Pratt’s analysis, as she portrays the
origins of travel writing—as in the case of Herodotus—principally as a learning tool
through which European science could explore, catalog, and create the world outside of
its own borders.

The metaphor of exploration as learning, as in Hakluyt’s context, carries with it
implications of a certain naiveté on the part of common citizens who are either unwilling
or unable to recognize the consequences of hegemony and colonialism implicit in such
narratives. This same naiveté finds its way into travel writing in what Pratt calls the
“anti-conquest” narrative, which she defines as “the strategies of representation whereby
European bourgeois subjects seek to secure their innocence in the same moment as they

assert European hegemony” (7). The narrator persona of this sort of travelogue is

27

referred to in her analysis as the “experiential unhero,” one who appeals to sentimental
ideology by depicting themselves as the main character in the narrative—a layman, as
opposed to “his scientific counterpart” (78). Pratt uses the example of Mungo Park’s
1860 travelogue, Travels in the Interior of Africa, to characterize trends in such
narratives. She explains that in Park’s work and others like it, “There is no landscape
description at all. Nature is present [only] in so far as it impinges on the world” (76). In
other words, the subject of the text is the author; everything encountered on the journey
functions merely as an immediate catalyst for reaction. This is a marked shift for the
travel narrative in terms of its original fashioning as a vehicle for the creation of
historical knowledge. Instead of fusing the perspectives of the author with those of the
subjects of the gaze, the colonial travel narrative privileges the dominant culture’s
perspectives through the use of sentimentality, which Pratt suggests “both challenges and
complements the emergent authority of objectivist science” (9).

Regardless of the various agendas to which many of these works catered, the
genre became very popular as reading material. Much of the travel narrativc’s allure was
the vicarious lived experience to be gained through reading. Subjects who could not
afford to dedicate fiscal or temporal resources to travel could share the travels of another
through such a text with very little energetic or financial expenditure. The motif of
eyewitness accounts that permeate many such narratives situates them in such a way as to
make it easier for readers to imagine themselves as participants of the narrative. This has
important implications in terms of the viability of source materials. As has been
mentioned, one of the original tasks of travel writing was to meld various pieces of

information and knowledge into the dialect of the dominant culture. This feature,

28

couched within the frame of the eyewitness account, gave the genre a sense of objective
empiricism. Clearly, this may not always have been the case, and it was invariably
difficult for readers to determine—if they would even wish to—whether the lived
experiences expressed in published travel accounts could claim to adequately synthesize

non-dominant experiences and viewpoints.

29

 

‘ Figure 4: Coryateflees the Jewish
. ghetto of Venice after attempting to
‘ convert its residents to Christianity.
Emblem G from the frontispiece to
' the Crudities.

 

Part Three: A Buffoon Abroad

Returning now to the spectacle of Coryate vomiting off the stern of his ship as it
sailed the English Channel, it perhaps becomes all the more apparent how peculiar and
unique a figure he struck against the prevailing traditions of travel writing, courtly life,
and publication. By opening the Crudities in this way, Coryate introduces a metaphor of
digestion that will be further utilized throughout the work. In turn, this will refer to both
the consumption of foods from various cultures encountered on the journey as well as the
metaphorical “consumption” of texts by an audience upon his return home. Digestive
double meanings abound; the “crudities” mentioned in the title refer literally to raw
vegetables and to the unrefined quality of the “greene fruits of [Coryate’s] short travels”
(1.1). The frontispiece advertises the book as “Coryate’s Crudities, hastily gobbled up in
five Moneths trauells [...] Newly digested in the hungry aire of ODCOMBE in the
County of Somerset & now dispersed to the nourishment of the trauelling Members of
this Kingdome” (1.x, insert). Thus rendered as roughage, the title suggests both the ease
of the text’s “digestibility” and the beneficial, “nutritive” value to be found in its reading
and, by extension, in the act of travel, which is one of the principal arguments made in
the prefatory materials. Coryate, then, having “superfluously stuffed [him] selfe at land”
with the formal court language and the methodical, “historical” travel writing of his

predecessors, begins his own narrative by loudly and crudely expelling the indigestible

30

language “varnish” into the sea. A passage parodic of the language and style native to
the genre, it is at once a nod to and a defiance of convention, both elegant and course,
clever and uncouth.

At times, Coryate himself makes it but too easy to dismiss his buffoonery as idle
silliness worthy only of cursory attention. Behind the fool figure, however, is a
calculating mind that condescends to such spectacle because he recognizes the value of
popularity within the court and London society, however it may be attained. Born in
Odcombe, Coryate would come to be known with some affection as “the Odcombian
leggc-stretcher” and “the Perigrine of Odcombe” for the voyage he proposed that would
later constitute the Crudities. Both of these epithets he encouraged even in his own
Epistles Dedicatory where he uses them as part of his closing signatures (1.6, 15). The
fondness many bore him was only due in part to his foolish affectations; Coryate was in
fact also a great wit, able to rival any member of the courts of Prince Henry, which he
frequented. Of his relationship to the court, historian Thomas Fuller would write in 1662
that Prince Henry “kept him for his servant” (qtd in Strachen 13). The extent of the
literality of Fuller’s term “servant” has long been a point of contention for those
interested in Coryate, particularly in light of Fuller’s further claim that the prince
“allowed him a pension.” While it is tempting to conclude that Coryate was then
employed as a professional fool in the prince’s house, Michael Strachen refutes this
claim“, concluding that a more apt description of the role he held was that of an
“unofficial court jester” (13). It seems more probable, then, that the “pension” Coryate

received was less a wage than it was a token of patronage and esteem. “Sweetmeats and

 

2" As Strachen claims, “Coryate does not appear in either of the lists of the Prince’s Household drawn up

in 1603 or 1610” (I3).

31

Coryate,” writes Fuller, “made up the last course at all court entertainments. Indeed, he
was the courtiers’ anvil to try their wits upon; and sometimes this anvil returned the
hammers as hard knocks as it received, his bluntness repaying their abusiveness” (502).

While, again, it is tempting to think of Coryate as the fool of Prince Henry’s
courts, it is similarly appealing, upon reading Fuller’s extended account, to imagine him a
courticr, or at least as socially comparable. In truth, however, Coryate was largely
outclassed among those of the court whom he entertained. As the family of a country
reverend, the Coryates were, while certainly respectable, by no means noble. In addition,
it seems as though the family was often strained for money after, and even before, the
death of Coryate’s father in early 1608. As R.E. Pritchard explains, this may have been
one of the reasons Coryate left Odcombe to pursue his career of social climbing in
London, where he “established himself, not only as a comic but also as someone to be
taken notice of, remarkable and independent, with a place among them, whilst not being
altogether of them” (7). Given his humble beginnings, it is remarkable to note how far
his machinations took him in his tenuous ascension of the London social ladder. Even
this was not enough, however, and so he began to conceive of his infamous peregrination
that would take him through France, Italy, Switzerland, and Germany—much of it on
foot—before heading back home five months later.

So p0pular was Coryate with the wits of London society and the royal court, and
so amused were they with the news of his enterprise, that he was faced with a dilemma
upon the publication of the Crudities. Wanting for a number of dedicatory panegyrics25

for the front matter of his book, Coryate put out a request for some among a few of his

 

25 From the OED: “A public speech or published text in praise of a person or thing; a laudatory discourse;
a eulogy, an encomium.”

32

acquaintances. Usually, the purpose of panegyrics in this sense was a sort of mini-
endorsement of the work to which it was appended. Like that of the patron, the esteem
and popularity of the panegyric’s author was affixed to the work and might thence
become a valuable asset in promoting the sale of printed copies. In the case of the
Crudities, however, news of his request spread and Coryate received so many dedicatory
verses—over half of which were unsolicited, if his account can be believed—as to render
them of little or no practical value. Ultimately, he includes 55 of these panegyrics in the
pages prefacing his own travel account”. In his introduction that precedes them, Coryate
suggests that he was compelled to include “such a great multitude of Verses” by Prince
Henry who, agreeing to serve as the book’s patron, “gave me a strict and expresse
commandment to print all those verses which I had read to his Highnesse” (1.20-1).
Written variously in English, Latin, Greek, and French, the panegyric verses to the
Crudities represent the engagement of nearly every English wit of the day with Coryate’s
project and his buffoon persona, including Ben Jonson, Lawrence Whitaker, Inigo Jones,
John Donne, and Michael Drayton, among others. Altemately flattering and
derogatory—sometimes scathingly so—the “panegyrics” mocked nearly as often as they
praised. Ironically, the result of this scenario is the complete reversal of what the
panegyric’s task is supposed to entail. Individuals fancying themselves wits and
intellectuals clamored to write verses for the Crudities, not to offer their support to the

manuscript, but in order to be associated with the great fad that Coryate’s fool persona

 

2" As can be seen in Appendix A, these are divided after the 45th entry in the series by an apology from
the author in which Coryate reveals his anxiety that his readers will “censure [him] for a most absurd
writer to adde unto these precedent verses” (1.99). Nevertheless, ten more panegyrics follow, the last of
which is written by the author himself. Continuing, his account explains that “after all these former
verses were printed, I was most importunately perswaded by them that have no small interest in me, to
adjoyne these ensuing unto the rest, by way of a supplement or overplus.” While it might certainly
seem characteristic of a buffoon to go overboard in prefacing his book, what this development suggests
is the possibility of Coryate’s own underestimation of and surprise at the extent of his renown.

33

had become. In this way, the Crudities in many ways had become a forum for
intellectual vanity and showboating that mirrored the spectacle of Coryate as the
“courtiers’ anvil.”

In addition to his famed quick wit, what perhaps had made Coryate such a popular
oddity was the uniqueness of his humble beginnings—exactly the thing against which he
had to struggle in order to gain repute. The figure of the country buffoon, who was
nonetheless able to hold his own in bouts of repartee with the greatest wits of the age,
would have seemed quite a novelty indeed to those who fancied themselves in the upper
echelon of London society. Capitalizing on this novelty, Coryate carved for himself a
distinctive market niche in the publishing industry through his popular role as a sort of
rustic intellectual who was not above enduring mockery and even self-deprecation.
Ultimately, it was his creation and fulfillment of this market demand that paved the way
for a success that ironically arose from his willingness to lower himself to being the

27

target of jokes. This particular aspect of the “Odd Torn” persona is manifested in

Emblem N of the Crudities’s frontispiece (Figure 2) that corresponds to a “notable
accident” that befell him outside of Baden, Germany (11.198).

It was my chance to meetc two clownes commonly called Boores, who
because they went in ragged cloathes, strooke no small terrour into mee
[and because] I found them armed with weapons, my selfe being
altogether unarmed. [...] Whereupon fearing least they would eythcr have
cut my throate, or have robbed me [...] I undertooke such a politike and
subtile action as I never did before in all my life. For a little before I mette
them, I put off my hat very courteously unto them, holding it a pretty
while in my hand, and very humbly (like a Mendicant Frier) begged some
money of them [...] in a language that they did but poorcly understand. [...]
And so by this begging insinuation I both preserved my selfe secure &
free from the violence of the clownes, and withal obtained that of them

 

27 So named by Ben Jonson in his “Character of the Author” appearing in the Crudities’s front matter

(1.19).

34

which I neither wanted or expected. For they gave me so much of their
tinne money [...] as paid for halfe my supper that night. (11.198-9)

Given Coryate’s unique social positioning, he is able to ftmction in and through normal
class barriers and can therefore partake of the illusion of beggary here described.
Begging in order to avoid being robbed, the “fool” exhibits a survival instinct that reveals
his penchant for quickly assessing and adapting to given situations. In this case, he very
literally plays the role of the supplicant in order to attain (or in this case, retain) his
desires. Simultaneously, however, the scene also fimctions as a manifestation of the
buffoon traveler who misreads the situation. For example, the narrator persona is overly
proud of his deception, calling it “subtile” when one might actually think it rather blunt.
Ultimately, the scenario proves to be innocuous given the generosity of the supposed
thieves, but “Odd Tom” is so proud of himself in his “politick” that this fact does not
seem to register.

The different levels of engagement in this situation and others like it create
multiple readings. Some of these connect with Coryate “the intellect,” some with “Odd
Tom” the buffoon traveler. Some readings are able to fuse both into an aggregation of
narrative meaning. In any case, the result of readers’ “consumption” and “digestion” of
the Crudities will vary depending on their level(s) of engagement. Throughout the text
and front materials, Coryate seems to intentionally promote these multiple levels of
interaction. In the Epistle Dedicatory to Prince Henry, he describes his book as
containing only “silly observations” of a voyage that will, lest Henry “deigne to protect

9

them with [his] favorable and gracious Patronage,’ expose the author to “the severe
censure at the least, if not the scandalous calumniations of divers carping critics” (1.1).

By representing himself and his work as timidly vulnerable to the disparagement of

35

obstinate “Momi”28, Coryate pandcrs for advocacy at the same moment that he promotes
his public image of the buffoon persona who, above all else, takes himself too seriously
and is the object of scorn from his social betters.

The patronage and public esteem he could acquire through the continuance of his
“Odd Tom” persona were not, however, the sole aims of his enterprise. The Epistle
continues, suggesting that Henry, by endorsing the Crudities,

may perhaps yield some little encouragement to many noble and generose
young Gallants that follow your Highnesse Court, and give attendance
upon your Peerlesse person, to travel into forraine countries, and inrich
themselves partly with the observations, and partly with the languages of
outlandish regions, the principall meanes (in my poore opinion) to grace
and adome these courtly Gentlemen. [...] Thereby they will be made fit to
doe your Highnesse and their. Country the better service when the
opportunity shall require. (1.1-2)
Coryate here situates himself alongside famous individuals like Richard Hakluyt who
wished to promote the security and strength of the English nation through travel. Notably
unique in Coryate’s case is his assertion that the observation and learning of these
“courtly Gentlemen” will—more than simply preserve a heritage of national presence
abroad—actually serve as a testament to their worthiness as subjects.

Devoted to supporting the idea of travel for citizens of the English crown, Coryate
was careful not to allow the buffoonery of his narrator persona to prevent this message’s
importance from being considered seriously. Invested as he was in being “no scholar,”
“Odd Tom,” however beloved, did not have enough authority to properly posit travel and

travel writing as essential practices for the betterment of the realm. As such, Coryate

supplements his book with his own translation of two orations by German scholar

 

28 That is, followers of Momos, the Greek god of derision and satire, known for his malevolently unfair
ridicule and criticism.

36

Herman Kirchner”. Kirchncr’s sentiments largely echo those of Coryate as expressed to
Prince Henry in the Epistle Dedicatory, especially in terms of travel being an enriching
experience that gives the traveler certain qualities that will prove useful to the homeland
upon return. A striking difference in the tone of the orations—and one that Coryate
neither mimics nor addresses in his own writing—is the decidedly unfavorable
descriptions of subjects who do not travel as compared with those who do. At one point,
for example, Kirchner (via Coryate”) rails against those who persist in their habit of
staying homebound in spite of the numerous benefits he describes. Even the negative
aspects of travel, he claims, are of value, for “who is so tender, effeminate, & cowardly,
whom the heat of the sun, cold, snow, raine, hard seats, stony pillows, and such infinite
inconveniences of travels, so many wailayings, and dangers of theevs, wil not make more
coragious & valiant?” (1.131). Thus, for Kirchner, the decision to travel or not has
broader ramifications than Coryate’s suggestion of giving “better service” to king and
country; travel, in fact, is a distinguishing factor of nationhood and, finally, manhood3 1.
While Coryate is content to posit the increased worth of individuals who venture abroad,
Kirchner goes so far as to cast doubt upon the value of subjects who do not travel.
Another element of Coryate’s buffoon persona is the very nature of the journey he
chose to undertake and record in his travelogue. Many contemporary travel narrative
destinations, such as Hakluyt’s Americas and the Indies and “Orient” of Frampton and

Eden, were decidedly more “exotic” than Coryate’s proposed trudge to Venice and back.

 

See Appendices A and B for his inclusion in the Crudities.

And, it should be mentioned, it is unclear to what extent Coryate’s translation is filtered through his
own agenda. This is especially suspicious given the largely identical assertions both men make in their
encouragement for their fellow countrymen to travel abroad.

For more on a gendered reading of Coryate and Kirchner-via-Coryate, see Katharine Craik’s “Reading
C oryats Crudities ( 161 l ).”

30

31

37

The project of the Crudities was different than those that came before it, however; this
was not advocacy of travel for mercantile or political gain, but for the increase of an
individual’s learned experience. As such, the Crudities constitutes one of the earliest
records of travel-for-pleasure and was among the more important factors in popularizing
what would later be called the “Grand Tour” of Europe (Pritchard 8). Additionally,
Coryate’s decision to mark out the European continent as the subject of a travel narrative
functions to demonstrate the relative insularity of the English nation and a general feeling
of reserved superiority in the mock exploration of Europe as though it were as “exotic” a
destination as the more standard travel narrative fare. Such dominance is implied
graphically in Emblem D of the frontispiece wherein Coryate is carried over the
mountains near Savoy in a chair affixed atop planks that rest on the shoulders of two men
(Figure 3). Upon arriving with a company of travelers at the base of the mountain,
Coryate was approached by several “certaine poore fellowes” to negotiate transportation
up the mountain and down the opposite side. Carrying the travelers thusly in chairs,
these individuals made a living out of serving the growing culture of travel, and with it an
influx of individuals from strange, foreign lands. The image of Coryate’s ascension up
the mountainside, cradled in a chair borne by two drivers, is certainly a testament to the
affluence and dominance of the English subject while abroad.

Interestingly, Coryate’s account of the trip up the mountain is devoid of much
description. Before his climb, he remarks only that it is “a mile and a halfe to the toppe”
and that “the waycs were exceeding difficult in regard of the steepnesse and hardnesse

thereof, for they were al rocky, petricosm & salebrosan, and so uneven that a man could

 

32 “Stony and rugged” (PritChard 3 l)-

38

hardly find any sure footing on them.” Having reached the summit, his comments relate
not to describing his surroundings, but rather his position relative to the mountain’s base:

When I had tandem aliquando33 gotten up to the toppe, I said to my selfe
with lEneas in Virgil: / Forsan & hac alim meminisse juvabit34. /
then might I justly and truly say, that which I could never before, that I
was above some of the clowdes. For though that mountain be not by the
sixth part so high as some others of them: yet certainly it was a great way
above some of the clowdes. For I saw many of them very plainly on the
sides of the Mountaine beneath me (1.216-7).

 

That Coryatc’s descriptions of the mountain and his no doubt spectacular view from the
top are so underwhelming is a particularly interesting feature recurrent in the Crudities’s
narrative tendencies. As Pritchard notes, “the romantic pleasure in the sublime, in
dramatic vistas or wild nature, are after his time and unknown to him” (31). When
Coryate does give description of natural surroundings, it is typically couched either in
terms of impediments posed to his journey or in dry, mathematical measurement of size
or distance. In this way, Coryate can perhaps be seen as an early forerunner of Mary
Louise Pratt’s “experiential unhero,” for whom “nature is [only] present in so far as it
impinges on the world” (76).

Though written more than 100 years before the time period on which Pratt
focuses, the Crudities functions in many ways as a precursor to her concept of the anti-
conquest narrative. This is especially evident in scenes that showcase Coryate’s religious
beliefs. Early in his observations of Calais, for example, he describes his experience in
observing “a great prophanation of the Lords supper” in a Catholic mass, which he

regards as a “mutilated Sacrament [given] to the lay people under one kind35 only,

 

33 “At last” (Pritchard 31).

3" “Perhaps one day this too will be pleasant to remember” (Pritchard 31).

3’ Communion “in one kind” was a Catholic practice adopted in 1551 by the Council of Trent. It was
hotly contested by proponents of the Protestant Reformation because it denied the consecrated wine to

39

namely that of bread, defrauding them of the Wine, contrary to the holy institution of
Christ and his Apostles” (1.154). While Coryate’s Catholic-slamming is hardly
remarkable for its mere inclusion—it was only a matter of time, after all, before a subject
of Protestant England traveling through France and Italy would make mention of it—it is,
however, interesting that he partakes of it as early as the third page of the Crudities
proper. Coryate’s religious hegemony escalates as he travels deeper into Europe, and it
comes to its climax in Venice. Venturing into the Jewish ghetto, “I casually met with a
certaine learned Jewish Rabbin that spake good Latin, I insinuated my selfe after some
fewe termes of complement into conference with him, and asked him his opinion of
Christ, and why he did not receive him for his Messias” (1.374). The two get into what
no doubt quickly became a heated discussion, and “in the end he seemed to be somewhat
exasperated against me, because I sharpely taxed their superstitious ceremonies. For
many of them are such refractory people that they cannot endure to hearc any
reconciliation to the Church of Christ” (1.375). Finally,
[...] after there had passed many vehement speeches to and fro betwixt us,
it happened that some forty or fifty Jewes more flocked about me, and
some of them beganne very insolently to swagger with me, because I durst
reprehend their religion: Whereupon fearing least they would have
offered me some violence, I withdrew my selfe [...] with an intent to flie
from them [... and so] conveighed mee safely from these unchristian
miscreants, which perhaps would have given mee just occasion to
foreswear any more coming to the Ghetto. (1.376)
Emblem G of the frontispiece illustrates Coryate’s flight from the “insolent Jewes” in this
scene (Figure 4); the accompanying verse “Explication” by Lawrence Whitaker

concludes with the advice for him to “flie from the Jewes, lest they circumcise thee”

(I.xvii).

 

the laity whilst allowing the priest or “celebrant” to partake. It is hence unsurprising that Coryate, the
son of a parson of the Church of England, would find it unusual and worthy of his scorn.

40

Remarkable in his account of the scene is his ostensible astonishment at the
reactions of the residents in the Jewish neighborhood into which he has encroached. The
veracity of this astonishment is questionable, however, since several of such accounts

36. Instead, what seems

appear throughout the text of the Crudities with varying results
more likely is that Coryate realized the spectacle of religious diversity and conflict as
popular and interesting reading material for the largely uni-religious English nation, and
so sought out to incite such conflict with persons of other nations and faiths whenever he
could so as to record the results in his travel account”. The cultural naiveté of “Odd
Tom” the buffoon and his stubborn assertion of his own faith served at once as a
spectacle for laughter and mockery and as a warning for other travelers to avoid
potentially dangerous religious conflicts that included, according to Pritchard,
“imprisonment by the Inquisition, or, worse, conversion to Catholicism” (10). Though
Coryate expresses no such anxiety of religious conversion, interestingly enough,
Whitaker’s Explication of the corresponding Emblem from the frontispiece expresses it
for him—“[...] lest they circumcise thee”—even as Coryate has just himself attempted the
conversion of the Jews in the Venetian ghetto.

When Coryate began writing the Crudities in 1610, it was true that, as he laments
in his Epistle to the Reader, “we want rather readers for bookes than bookes for readers”

(1.7). It fell to him then, a well-liked but relatively poor buffoon, to figure out how, in an

inhospitable marketplace, he could make himself a noted author. Ultimately, he seems to

 

36 Though the situation described above is portrayed as the most dangerous to Coryate’s person, he has
several less notable arguments with various people he encounters throughout his travels that typically
end in his assertion that they are too obstinate to acknowledge Christ as “the onely true God” (1.212).
Coryate would later record a similar encounter while abroad in India on his last voyage. In a letter
home to his friends and mother, he includes a “copy of a speech that I made to a Mahometan [Muslim]
in the Italian tongue” upon being called a “Giaur” by the same. In it, he harshly “quits” the offending
Muslim and rails against the Islamic faith (Mr Thomas Coriat to His Friends Sendeth Greeting D). No
reaction to this speech is disclosed.

37

41

have achieved this through widening the scope of the audience for his book through
multi-layered readings to include courtly aristocrats, London intellectuals, and the
common reader. Each of these groups had their own levels of interaction with the sites of
engagement offered in the text: the courtly language, the intellectual banter, and the
comic buffoon persona. In working this way, Coryate succeeds in the creation of a new
type of travel narrative that caters to and flies in the face of audience expectation. The
aristocrat is made the object of humor in passages that parody court language; the
intellectual is the subject of ridicule in the mock-panegyrics that serve to expose the
vanity and overbearing self-promotion of the role; and the common cveryman is
embodied in the character of the buffoon who travels from place to place with only his
high opinions of himself as protection from danger. By working inside of and defying
convention, Coryate fulfills a unique market niche that greatly intrigued all levels of
London society. Ultimately, what he created both was and was not a travelogue in the
conventional sense. Ostensibly a guide for travel, the Crudities on repeated occasions
fails to guide its readers as its attention is so drawn to matters other than what “had beene
much more laudable” to address. Similarly, the frontispiece both functions and fails to
function as a table of contents for the book; while it does index its events in a more or
less chronological matter, both the Emblems and the accompanying Explications of
Whitaker and Jonson are largely unhelpful to the first-time reader. In these and many
other ways, Coryate ultimately mirrors his situation as a subject both inside and outside
the goings on of courtly activities—both belonging and not belonging there. Utilizing the
genre of the travel narrative and the conventions of the London press and patronage

system, therefore, Coryate is able to communicate various messages to different potential

42

audience members depending on their own previously learned knowledge and subsequent
levels of engagement with his text. He produces new meanings for travel writing and
patronage through his alternating personae of the author, the beggar, and the buffoon.
Finally, Coryate is able to make novel a genre and a topic that, for all intents and

purposes, would otherwise be crambe bis cocta38.

 

38 “Cabbage boiled twice”; a criticism that Coryate anticipates for his account of Venice when “we have
the historic of Venice [...] already translated out of Italian into English” in Gasparo Contarini’s The
Commonwealth of Venice (12-3).

43

APPENDIX A

Table of contents to Coryate ’s Crudities, Vol. 1

FRONTISPIECE ..................................................................................................... x (insert)
VOLUME 1 TITLE PAGE .............................................................................................. xiii

CERTAINE OPENING AND DRAWING DISTICHES

Those of Lawrence Whitaker ...................................................................................... xv
Those of Ben Jonson .................................................................................................. xix
EPISTLE DEDICATORY ................................................................................................... 1
EPISTLE TO THE READER .............................................................................................. 7
JONSON’S CHARACTER OF THE AUTHOUR ............................................................ 16
A “CHARACTERISME ACROSTICK” ........................................................................... 19
INTRODUCTION TO THE PANEGYRICS .................................................................... 20
PANEGYRIC VERSES
Attofinuouwétptkog ...................................................................................................... 22
Henry Neville ............................................................................................................... 26
Ludovic Lewknor ......................................................................................................... 27
Henry Goodier ............................................................................................................. 28
John Payton, Jr. ............................................................................................................ 29
Henry Poole ................................................................................................................. 29
Robert Phillips ............................................................................................................. 30
Dudley Digges ............................................................................................................. 31
Rowland Cotton ........................................................................................................... 32
Robert Yaxley .............................................................................................................. 34
John Strangeways ......................................................................................................... 34
William Clavel ............................................................................................................. 35
John Scory .................................................................................................................... 36
John Donne .................................................................................................................. 37
Richard Martin ............................................................................................................. 39
Laurence Whitaker ....................................................................................................... 40
Hugo Holland ............................................................................................................... 43
Robert Richmond ......................................................................................................... 50
Walter Quin .................................................................................................................. 54

44

Christopher Brooke ...................................................................................................... 56

John Hoskins ................................................................................................................ 58
John Pawlet .................................................................................................................. 62
Lionel Cranfield ........................................................................................................... 63
John Sutclin .................................................................................................................. 64
Inigo Jones ................................................................................................................... 64
George Sydenham ........................................................................................................ 65
John Gyfford ................................................................................................................ 67
Richard Corbet ............................................................................................................. 70
John Dones ................................................................................................................... 71
John Chapman .............................................................................................................. 72
William F enton ............................................................................................................ 73
John Owen ................................................................................................................... 74
Peter Alley ................................................................................................................... 75
Samuel Page ................................................................................................................. 76
Thomas Momford ........................................................................................................ 77
Thomas Bastard ........................................................................................................... 78
William Baker .............................................................................................................. 79

To Opog-oét’) ................................................................................................................. 81
Josias Clarke ................................................................................................................ 82
Thomas F amaby .................................................... . ....................................................... 82
William Austin ............................................................................................................. 83
Glareanus Vadianus ..................................................................................................... 86
John Jackson ................................................................................................................ 96
Michael Drayton .......................................................................................................... 97
Nicholas Smith ............................................................................................................. 98

C oryate ’s Apology ................................................................................................. 99
Laurence Emley ........................................................................................................... 99
George Griffin ............................................................................................................ 101
John Davis .................................................................................................................. 101
Richard Badley .......................................................................................................... 107
Jean Loiseau de Tourval ............................................................................................ 111
Henry Peacham .......................................................................................................... 113
James Field ................................................................................................................. 115
Glareanus Vadianus ................................................................................................... 116
Richard Hughes .......................................................................................................... 119
Thomas Coryate ......................................................................................................... 120
KIRCHNER’S ORATION IN PRAISE OF TRAVEL .................................................... 122
WHITAKER’S ELEGY OF THE BOOK ....................................................................... 149
CRUDITIES, VOL. 1 ....................................................................................................... 152
END OF VOL. 1 .............................................................................................................. 428

45

APPENDIX B

Table of contents to Coryate ’s Crudities, Vol. 2

CR UDITIES, VOL. 2 ........................................................................................................... 1
KIRCHNER’S ORATION IN PRAISE OF TRAVEL IN GERMANY ........................... 71
CR UDITIES, VOL. 2 (continued) ...................................................................................... 88
EPISTLES
From Thomas Coryate to Gaspar Waserus (1) .......................................................... 113
From Thomas Coryate to Gaspar Waserus (2) .......................................................... 121
From Gaspar Waserus to Thomas Coryate ................................................................ 122
From Thomas Coryate to Rodolphus Hospinianus .................................................... 113
From Thomas Coryate to Henry Bullinger ................................................................ 127
From Thomas Coryate to Marcus Bulcrus ................................................................. 130
From Marcus Bulcrus to Thomas Coryate ................................................................. 135
CR UDIT IES, VOL. 2 (continued) .................................................................................... 137
END OF VOL. 2 .............................................................................................................. 376
SELECTED POEMS OF REV. GEORGE CORYATE .................................................. 377

46

 

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