English almanacs, astrology and popular medicine, 1550–1700 9781526129864

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English almanacs, astrology and popular medicine: 1550–1700

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English almanacs, astrology and popular medicine: 1550–1700

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L O U I S E H I L L C U RT H

Manchester University Press Manchester

Copyright © Louise Hill Curth 2007 The right of Louise Hill Curth to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Published by Manchester University Press Altrincham Street, Manchester M1 7JA, UK www.manchesteruniversitypress.co.uk

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data is available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available ISBN 978 0 7190 6929 1 paperback First published by Manchester University Press in hardback 2007 This paperback edition first published 2013 The publisher has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for any external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

To the memory of my father Bernard Maurice Hill (1929–80), who taught me to reach for the stars, and of Vladimir Curth (1992–2003), now the brightest star in the heavens

Contents

List of figures and table Acknowledgements List of abbreviations

page viii ix xi

Introduction

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Part I: Setting the scene 1. 2. 3. 4.

The medical marketplace, popular medicine and print culture The genre of almanacs ‘Students of astrology and physick’: the authors ‘Courteous Readers’: the target audience

13 35 57 79

Part II: Structures of practice and knowledge 5. 6. 7. 8.

Astrology and popular culture Astrology and physick ‘To keep out disease’: preventative medicine ‘A putting to and a taking away’: non-commercial remedial medicine 9. Nostrums for sale: advertising and almanacs 10. ‘The care of the brute beast’: almanacs and medicine for animals Part III: Conclusion

105 117 136 161 184 206 231

Bibliography of surviving almanacs 1550–1700 Additional select bibliography Index

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236 246 276

Figures and table

Figure 2.1

John Woodhouse, A plain almanacke (London, 1618)

Figure 2.2

William Lilly, Merlini Anglici Ephemeris (London, 1660)

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Figure 2.3

Map of locations of regional almanacs

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Table 3.1

Almanacs with medical content

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Figure 6.1

‘Zodiac Man’, from Edward Fallowes, A New Almanack (London, 1636)

120

‘Physicall observations’, from Rodney Clarke, A new almanack and prognostication (Cambridge, 1633)

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Figure 8.1

Almanacs with recipes

169

Figure 9.1

Advertisements in almanacs

187

Figure 6.2

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page 41

Acknowledgements

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t is a pleasure to be able to publicly thank the many people and institutions who have played such important roles in the evolution of this book. I would like to begin by expressing my gratitude to Professor Bernard Capp for his unfailing enthusiasm and support of my work, and the staff of Duke Humphrey’s library at the Bodleian, where most of my research took place, for making it such a wonderful place to work. I am also grateful to the library personnel at the Wellcome Institute, the British Library, Lambeth Palace Library, the Company of Stationers and the Guildhall Library in London, as well as to staff at the Buckinghamshire Records Office, the Oxfordshire Records Office, Durham Cathedral Library, the Newberry Library in Chicago, and the New York Academy of Medicine. Also, many thanks for the permission to reproduce images by ProQuest Information and Learning Company as part of Early English Online* I would also like to thank the many colleagues and friends who have given me both feedback and encouragement. These include Peregrine Horden and the late Roy Porter, who both provided assistance in the early stages of this project, as well as the numerous others who have commented on the conference papers and essays that accompanied the various stages of my work. In particular, I would like to thank Patrick Curry for his comments on my chapters on astrology; Helen Berry, Karen Edwards and Adam Smyth for their remarks on authors and readers; Hilary Marland and Kevin Siena on medicine; and Peter Edwards on early modern animals. Finally, I owe two very special debts of gratitude to individuals who provided invaluable assistance during the preparation of this book. Firstly, I would like to thank Michael Curth, who has supplied endless encouragement as well as practical and intellectual help since the very earliest stages of this project. This has included the provision of large amounts of technical help, from designing the database that allowed me to save and analyse such vast amounts of data, to creating all of the excellent charts and tables for this book. I would also like to thank Alan Booth, who has patiently read and commented on my work, cheering me on through seemingly endless drafts of this book. All errors of fact or interpretation that remain are, of course, my own.

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Acknowledgements *Enquiries may be made to: ProQuest Information and Learning Company, 300 North Zeeb Road, Ann Arbor, Michigan 48106–1346, USA. Email: [email protected] Webpage: www.il.proquest.com

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Abbreviations

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n order to avoid unnecessary repetition, the almanacs used in this study have been referred to in footnotes by the author’s name, date and signature (as almanacs are generally not paginated). The full citations can be found in the bibliography. BAL

Balliol Library, University of Oxford

BL

British Library

BODL

Bodleian Library, University of Oxford

DCL

Durham Cathedral Library

DNB

Dictionary of National Biography

FSL

Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington DC

NWB

Newberry Library, Chicago

SCA

Stationers’ Company Archive

Wing

D. Wing, Short Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England . . . and of English Books . . . 1641–1700, 2nd edition, 3 vols (New York, 1994)

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Introduction

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The ancient Saxons used to ingrave upon squatted stickes, the Moones of the yeare, by which they could tell beforehand the severall Moones. Every such carved sticke, they called in their language an Almon-aght, that is . . . the regard of observation of the Moone. Thence came the word Almanacke, now used in a larger kind, to comprehend all the matters from which we are wont to describe the year.1

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his book is about almanacs and popular medical beliefs and practices in early modern England. Although both these topics have been the subject, to some degree, of academic interest, this is the first study that has examined the very important relationship between them. Since their format and content will be discussed in length in later chapters, it is sufficient to provide a very short definition of almanacs in this introduction. Simply put, almanacs were cheap, annual publications that contained ‘tables of the astronomical and astrological events of the coming year: the movements and conjunctions of the planets and stars in the zodiac and details of eclipse’.2 However, most early modern editions also disseminated a range of other astrological and nonastrological, useful, interesting, and even entertaining, material to a national audience that represented almost every segment of society. Written by a range of professional astrological and commercial authors, almanacs were produced in huge numbers, with individual editions appearing in their tens of thousands each year. By the end of the seventeenth century, some 350,000 to 400,000 copies were appearing on the market during the last two months of every year.3 The chapters in this book will focus on the medical advice and information disseminated by these unique little booklets between 1550 and 1700. As Chapter Two will discuss, the earliest printed almanacs date from the late fifteenth century, and the booklets are still published at the present day. However, the 1550s were a particularly important period for the English printing industry as a whole, marked by the acquisition of a royal charter for the Company of

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Introduction Stationers. ‘Ephemeral’ literature, such as pamphlets, ballads and chapbooks, did especially well during this period, with English almanacs appearing in ‘significant’ numbers for the first time.4 Over the following century and a half, the genre, which must be acknowledged as the first true form of British mass media, continued to rise in importance through ‘the golden age’ of almanacs, a period which lasted until the end of the seventeenth century.5 Although the majority of these almanacs have not survived, a large number still exist. This study is based on the content of 2,286 almanacs, over threequarters of which contain medical information or advice. Because such large numbers exist, it has been possible to chart the evolution of the genre over the span of 150 years. Interestingly, their medical content consistently focused almost exclusively on traditional, orthodox medicine based on astrological/ Galenic principles. Interestingly, there are few signs of any movement in medical theory from the Galenic non-mathematical, non-mechanical, qualitative humoral system into what has been called the ‘quantitative and objective’ system attributed to the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries.6 The most visible form of change during this period was the growth of the commercialization of medicine, as illustrated by the dramatic rise in advertisements for proprietary medicines and medical services. Far from being recognized for the important role they played in early modern society, almanacs have long suffered from a reputation of being ‘vulgar’ (as in ‘common or vile’) little publications that by the end of the year had lost any importance they might have had when brand new.7 This is at least partly due to the long-lasting misconception that most forms of ephemeral or ‘popular’ literature were not really worthy of serious study. It seems likely that much of this problem lay in the use of the word ‘popular’. In 1978, Peter Burke described ‘popular culture’ as that belonging to the ‘the non-elite’ and therefore ‘the culture of the illiterate’. Today, few historians would agree with such conclusions, recognizing that society was not divided up into such separate and easily recognizable groups, and that the lower strata were totally excluded from the growing print culture. In fact, many types of publications actually targeted those with rudimentary reading skills, while those with none could often listen to texts being read aloud in public places.8 In other words, while ‘early modern England may not have been a wholly literate society’, it was still a basically ‘literate environment’. Furthermore, it must be remembered that although certain types of cheap print may have appealed to the labouring poor or the ‘middling sort’, it does not necessarily follow that these would be the only groups who would purchase and/or consume them.9 Today, ‘popular literature’ is often defined as consisting of relatively cheap, easily accessible, small-format books for non-specialists, publications which went through a number of editions and sold in large numbers. Unfortunately, this implies that they were easily classifiable works that targeted their audi-

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Introduction ences purely by socio-economic factors.10 In fact, the term should include ephemeral or topical literature, such as pamphlets or news-books as well as chapbooks or many almanacs, which appealed to the entire spectrum of society. The last twenty years have seen a growing interest both in the study of early modern ephemeral literature and in the relationship between what has been called the ‘popular press’ and ‘popular medicine’. This use of ‘popular’ has again been accompanied by a debate over what that actually means, and whether it is an appropriate term to apply to culture, literature or any other aspect of early modern life. Roy Porter, Margaret Pelling and others have suggested that, in a medical context, ‘popular’ indicates simplistic dichotomies between what might be called ‘lay’ and ‘professional’ knowledge. Secondly, it implies that there was a huge gap between university- and non-universityeducated practitioners, which did not, in fact, exist.11 Another problem is that ‘popular’ is also often used almost interchangeably with ‘vernacular’, even though a vernacular piece might not be aimed at a mass-market audience. Strictly speaking the term ‘vernacular’ refers to texts written in the native tongue, in this case, English. It does not, however, discriminate between different types of English-language works which could include translations of highly sophisticated works by Hippocrates and Galen, which were usually only found in Latin or Greek editions until the early seventeenth century.12 There is a common misconception that English books were the domain of ‘public’ readers, while medical practitioners consulted traditional Latin and Greek texts. While university-educated physicians undoubtedly could and did read classical books, it seems likely that many also ‘shared’ English translations with less-educated healers and laypeople. It also brings into question the division within vernacular texts, which could be referred to as ‘professional’ versus ‘popular’. Unfortunately, both terms are fraught with potential dangers and must be viewed with caution, whether talking about medical practitioners or medical books. John Burnham has suggested that ‘professionals’ were men who ‘dealt with the gray, uncertain areas of human existence’ and being involved with ‘a person’s personal relationship to nature’. In twenty-firstcentury terms, this would include factors such as being trained in a ‘systematic body of knowledge’, enforcing ethical codes enforced by colleagues, functioning within a subculture which included professional organizations.13 Such a definition is not strictly accurate for describing the medical culture of early modern England. Although there were practitioners, such as members of the College of Physicians, who met these criteria, there were far more men and women who did not. That said, even those who would perhaps be better classified as lay or ‘popular’ healers, tended to offer either identical or similar services to those who were ‘professionals’.14

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Introduction A similar problem occurs when comparing and contrasting ‘professional’ and ‘popular’ medical books. If English-language texts were used by a broad spectrum of readers, then how would the two categories be delineated? It could, perhaps, be said that translations of what might be called highly technical academic texts by ancient Greek writers would be of most interest to university-educated healers. However, there is no definitive proof that they would have been the only people to read such works. Although there has been almost no academic discussion about who actually read English-language medical books, there is somewhat more debate about what constitutes a vernacular medical text. Lotte Hellinga has suggested that this includes any medical material which ‘serve[s] the physical well-being of mankind’, including pharmacy, herbals, distillery and viniculture. Paul Slack, on the other hand, uses a narrower interpretation of ‘all books and pamphlets deliberately and largely devoted to the description, analysis or treatment of human health and disease.’ This definition is honed still further by Ian Maclean, who focuses on therapeutic and astrological themes.15 While all three authors make valid points, there are problems with what they exclude. The most obvious exclusion is the absence of animal health-care which, as Chapter Ten will illustrate, was an important component of early modern medicine. Secondly, such definitions fail to acknowledge the vital role played by literature which is not immediately recognizable as ‘medical’, such as almanacs. While keeping these points in mind, for the purposes of this study ‘popular medical literature’ will be used to refer to relatively cheap, small-format Englishlanguage publications that would appeal to both lay readers and ‘professional’ medical practitioners. Whether such texts actually affected the way in which people understood ideas of health and illness is an incredibly difficult topic to investigate. Chapter Four, which discusses the readers of almanacs, points out a number of problems facing such an investigation. Many studies have focused on book ownership, even though possession does not guarantee that anyone ever read the text in question, or even that the owner could read at all.16 This book employs a number of other direct and indirect methods that can be used to help identify readers of almanacs, many of which pertain to the consumption of popular medical books in general. Until comparatively recently, a study of the medical content of cheap, annual almanacs would have been of little interest to an professional audience more interested in the history of ‘great discoveries’ and elite, scientific ‘medical men’.17 However, as Willem De Blecourt and Cornelie Usborne have pointed out, different times produce different types of historians.18 The later part of the twentieth century saw the burgeoning of a new type of ‘social history’ with highly segmented sub-disciplines. Each of these has developed its own sources, methods, topics, problems and concerns. In terms of medical history,

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Introduction this has resulted in a growing interest in the patients’ as well as the physicians’ point of view. Over the last thirty years, the new discipline of the social history of medicine has thrived, and gone from strength to strength.19 Modern medical historians employ a variety of source materials and methods in order to examine the ways in which the workings of the body were understood and conceptualized by people. However, until fairly recently, the use of popular literature containing medical information has been relatively neglected. For example, it has now been over twenty years since Paul Slack wrote about the use of such material during the Tudor period. In the early 1990s, Andrew Wear discussed medical books aimed at the customers, or patients rather than physicians. Mary Fissell has also considered the medical content of various types of publications including almanacs which were ‘one of the chief vehicles for vernacular astrological explanations of illnesses’. However, the only attempt that Fissell has made to discuss this content is through the use of the crude, perpetual prognostications found in Erra Pater, a type of publication which is considered to be outside the scope of this study.20 In general, there has been very little academic interest in almanacs over the past hundred years, particularly with reference to their medical content. During the first half of the twentieth century, the publications enjoyed a brief vogue among historians. Several journal articles discussed seventeenthcentury almanacs, the most notable being Eustace Bosanquet’s pioneering work of 1930. By modern historical standards, however, this appears to be a dated piece by an antiquarian who felt that almanacs were of little interest after the year that they were written for had ended.21 Two other pieces on almanacs appeared in the academic press during this period. The first was a short book, which briefly described almanacs in the early years of the seventeenth century. ‘English almanacs and the new astronomy’ appeared two years later, and was a more scholarly piece. The author, Professor Marjorie Nicolson, was interested in the relationship between ‘professional’ astronomy, and the type of astrology presented in almanacs. She felt that 1640 was the turning point in the development of almanacs – from handbooks of general reference to more complex works of interest to ‘students of intellectual history’. Nicolson also, wrongly, advised readers that the once common medical content found in almanacs ebbed away during the century ‘thanks to the growth of medicine’.22 The second title, The Distribution of Almanacks in the Second Half of the Seventeenth Century’ by Cyprian Blagden, appeared almost twenty years later. Paradoxically, Blagden was not interested in the content of almanacs at all, but only in their physical nature.23 The medical content in almanacs has also attracted some mainly passing notice in books dealing with science or astrology, such as the Star-Crossed Renaissance or the multi-volume History of Magic and Experimental Science.24 While providing a general discussion of almanacs, K. Thomas’s Religion and

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Introduction the Decline of Magic, which was first published in 1971, fails to go into any great detail about their medical content.25 The major turning point in the serious study of almanacs was in 1979 with the publication of Bernard Capp’s magisterial book Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500–1800.26 Although this book is based on a tremendous amount of research carried out by Bernard Capp, it is now over twentyfive years since its publication, and there are many areas that could be re-examined. This is due, in part, to the rapid growth of computers and the Internet since the early 1980s, which means that huge quantities of material can now be analysed at many different levels in seconds. In addition, the new technology has enabled researchers to easily access collections of archives all over the world. While Capp managed to examine a vast number of almanacs in the 1970s, online databases such as Early English Books Online have made it possible to study an even larger number of editions, many of which would previously been inaccessible due to lack of time and money to visit the libraries in which they are held.27 As Maureen Perkins has so succinctly stated, if it were not for Bernard Capp, she ‘would hardly be able to conceptualize my own [work]’, a view which must surely be shared by all academics interested in almanacs.28 However, because his work covered so many aspects of the genre over such a long period, it is inevitable that some areas could be expanded upon. For example, the relatively brief section on medicine comes to the conclusion that the astrological medical advice that they provided was ‘utilitarian’.29 Other historians, such as Michael MacDonald and Doreen Evenden Nagy, have agreed with the viewpoint that the medical content in almanacs was restricted to basic information. Harold Cook generally concurs, although he has also pointed out that almanacs sometimes advertised medical services. Even books such as Prophecy and Power by Patrick Curry, discuss astrology in great depth, but refer only briefly to the ‘medical prognostications’ that almanacs contained. Other fairly recent works on seventeenth-century astrology, by historians such as Charles Webster, Michael Hunter, Doreen Evenden Nagy and Peter Wright, also contain only limited references to the basic, utilitarian medical information that they contain.30 In fact, such descriptions obscure the true relationship between almanacs, health and illness. This is not to say that almanacs do not contain a great deal of basic, utilitarian medical advice, but that such a statement ignores four central points. Firstly, that many almanacs also contained either more detailed or more complex medical advice. Secondly, that there was a strong emphasis on ways of maintaining health and preventing illness. A third important factor is the presence of animal health-care in many almanacs, and finally, that the growing numbers of advertisements provide important insights into contemporary medical services and products.

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Introduction In order to provide an understanding of the relationship between the early modern print culture and medical beliefs and practices, this book is divided into two main sections. The first part, on ‘Setting the Scene’, is meant to provide readers with what might be called ‘background’ information, which will provide a context for the second half. It begins with a discussion of the ‘medical marketplace’, a term coined to describe the vast range of medical options available in early modern England. One of the most important channels for the spread of medical information was through the vast range of easily accessible literature. Therefore, the second part will provide an introduction to the genre of what might be called ‘self-help’ books to provide an introduction for the in-depth commentary on almanacs themselves in Chapter Two. The next two chapters will look at the authors of almanacs and the people who actually purchased and read them. The second part of the book will focus on ‘Structures of Practice and Knowledge’, or in other words, the various types of medical information and advice that almanacs contained. Chapters Five and Six provide an introduction to the principles of early modern astrology and astrological physick, which will be useful for readers unfamiliar with these topics. The latter will also discuss the relationship between astrological medicine and almanacs, with the following two chapters providing an in-depth examination of preventative and remedial medicine. For much of the period covered by this study covers, this medical advice revolved around ‘kitchin physick’ and items that could be obtained easily from around the home, the garden, or from the apothecary. By the end of the century, however, a radically different type of medicine had overtaken this form of ‘domestic physick.’ Chapter Nine will centre on what might be called ‘commercial medicine’, of which the main components were heavily advertised nostrums and other medical goods and services. Chapter Ten will discuss health-care for animals in early modern England, an area of medical history that has been shamefully neglected by historians. As Roy Porter rightfully pointed out, for many academics the very term ‘medical historian’ is synonymous with someone who studies human medicine.31 Although there are now a number of historians working in veterinary history, almost all focus on the period after the first London Veterinary College was founded in 1791. Chapter Ten, however, will discuss the medical options available to animals in what is often referred to as ‘pre-veterinary’ medicine. The material in these chapters will help to fill a gap in the current understanding of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century popular medicine. As the most widely produced and distributed form of printed material in early modern England, almanacs had an immense power to propagate and reinforce traditional, orthodox ideas about medical care throughout England. While vernacular medical literature played an important role in the shaping of medical beliefs and practices, it was superseded by almanacs, which played an even

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Introduction more vital part in promoting a system of orthodox medicine based on traditional, astrological/Galenic principles. The most noticeable form of change during the 150 years of this study was the growth of advertisements for medical services and products, an increase which mirrored the increasing demand for all manner of consumer goods during the later part of the seventeenth century.32 NOTES 1 N. Einer, 1621, sig. B1v. 2 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500–1800 (London, 1979), p. 25. 3 C. Blagden, The Stationers’ Company: A History 1403–1959 (London, 1960), p. 188; and C. Blagden, ‘The distribution of almanacks in the second half of the seventeenth century’, Studies in Bibliography, 11 (1958), 107–116. 4 J. Howell, Londinopolis, an historicall discourse or perlustration of the city of London (London, 1657), p. 45; R.C. Simmons, ‘ABC’s, almanacs, ballads, chapbooks, popular piety and textbooks’ in J. Barnard and D.F. McKenzie (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, IV, 1557–1695 (Cambridge, UK, 2002), pp. 504–513; and J. Raymond, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain (Cambridge, UK, 2003), pp. 11 and 25–26. 5 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 24. 6 A. Wear, ‘Medical practice in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century England: continuity and union’ in R. French and A. Wear (eds) The Medical Revolution of the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1989), pp. 294–295. 7 W. Cock, Meteorologia, or, The true way of foreseeing and judging the inclination of the air (London, 1671), sig. B1r; and E. Coles, An English Dictionary (London, 1677), p. 306. 8 P. Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe (Aldershot, 1978; reprinted 1994), p. xi; P.L. Rossi, ‘Society, culture and the dissemination of learning’ in S. Pumfrey, P.L. Rossi and M. Slawinski (eds) Science, Culture and Popular Belief in Renaissance Europe (Manchester, 1991), pp. 143–175; D. Underdown, ‘Regional cultures? Local variations in popular culture in the early modern period’ in T. Harris (ed.) Popular Culture in England c.1500–1850 (London, 1995), pp. 28–48; and B. Reay, Popular Cultures in England 1550–1750 (London, 1998), p. 1. 9 J. Barry, ‘Literacy and literature in popular culture: reading and writing in historical perspective’ in T. Harris (ed.) Popular Culture in England c.1500–1800 (London, 1995), pp. 69–94; A. Fox, Oral and Literate Culture in England 1500–1700 (Oxford, 2000), p. 37; and T. Watt, Cheap Print and Popular Piety, 1550–1640 (Cambridge, UK, 1991), p. 3. 10 E. Lane Furdell, Publishing and Medicine in Early Modern England (Rochester, NY, 2002); P. Isaac, ‘Pills and print’ in R. Harris and M. Myers (eds) Medicine, Mortality and the Book Trade (Folkestone, Kent, 1998), pp. 25–49; L. Hunter, ‘Books for daily life: household, husbandry, behaviour’ in J. Barnard and D.F. McKenzie (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book, IV, 1557–1695 (Cambridge, UK, 2002), pp. 514–532; and A. Johns, ‘Science and the book’ in J. Barnard and D.F.M. McKenzie (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book, IV, 1557–1695 (Cambridge, UK, 2002), pp. 274–303.

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Introduction 11 M.R. Porter, ‘Lay medical knowledge in the eighteenth century: the evidence of the gentleman’s magazine’, Medical History, 29 (1985), pp. 138–168; and M. Pelling and F. White, Medical Conflicts in Early Modern London: Patronage, Physicians, and Irregular Practioners, 1550–1640 (Oxford, 2003), p. 10. 12 J. Henry, ‘The matter of souls: medical theory and theology in seventeenth-century England’ in R. French and A. Wear (eds) The Medical Revolution of the SeventeenthCentury (Cambridge, UK, 1989), p. 93. 13 J.C. Burnham, What is Medical History? (Cambridge, UK, 2005), p. 18. 14 D. Nagy, Popular Medicine in Seventeenth-Century England (Bowling Green, KY, 1988), p. 53; A. Wear, ‘The popularisation of medicine 1650–1850’ in R. Porter (ed.) The Popularization of Medicine, 1650–1850 (London, 1992), p. 19; and M. Pelling and F. White, Medical Conflicts in Early Modern London: Patronage, Physicians and Irregular Practitioners 1550–1640 (Oxford, 2003), p. 10. 15 L. Hellinga, ‘Medical incunabula’ in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) Medicine, pp. 73–86; P. Slack (ed.), ‘Mirrors of health’ in C. Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979), pp. 237–273; and I. Maclean, Logic, Signs and Nature in the Renaissance: The Case of Learned Medicine (Cambridge, UK, 2002), pp. 40–41. 16 D. Cressy, Literacy and the Social Order: Reading and Writing in Tudor and Stuart England (Cambridge, UK, 1980), p. 55. 17 A. Wear, ‘Religious beliefs and medicine in early modern England’ in H. Marland and M. Pelling (eds) The Task of Healing: Medicine, Religion and Gender in England and the Netherlands 1450–1800 (Rotterdam, 1996), p. 145; F. Huisman, ‘Shaping the medical market: on the construction of quackery and folk medicine in Dutch historiography’, Medical History, 43 (1999), p. 360; and M. Pelling, ‘Trade or profession? Medical practice in early modern England’ in M. Pelling (ed.) The Common Lot: Sickness, Medical Occupations and the Urban Poor in Early Modern England (London, 1998), p. 232. 18 W. De Blecourt and C. Usborne, ‘Situating alternative medicine in the modern period’, Medical History, 43 (1999), p. 283. 19 A. Wilson, ‘The politics of medical improvement in early Hanoverian London’, in A. Cunningham and R. French (eds) The Medical Enlightenment of the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1990), p. 4; R. Porter, ‘The patient in England, c. 1660–c. 1800’ in A. Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society (Cambridge, UK, 1992), pp. 91–118; and S. King and A. Weaver, ‘Lives in many hands: the medical landscape in Lancashire 1700–1820’, Medical History, 44 (2000), p. 174. 20 P. Slack, ‘Mirrors of health’, p. 273; A. Wear, ‘The popularization of medicine in early modern England’ in R. Porter (ed.) The Popularization of Medicine 1650–1850 (London, 1992), pp. 33–36; M. Fissell, Patients, Power, and the Poor in Eighteenth-Century Bristol (Cambridge, UK, 1991), p. 22; and ‘Readers, texts and contexts: vernacular medical works in early modern England’ in R. Porter (ed.) The Popularization of Medicine 1650–1850, pp. 70–82. 21 E. Bosanquet, ‘English seventeenth-century almanacks’, The Library, 10 (1930), p. 22. 22 F.R. Johnson, Astronomical Thought in Renaissance England (Baltimore, 1937); and M. Nicolson, ‘English almanacs and the “new astronomy” ’, Annals of Science, 4 (1939), pp. 2 and 4. 23 C. Blagden, ‘The distribution of almanacs’, pp. 107–116.

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Introduction 24 D.C. Allen, Star-Crossed Renaissance: The Quarrel about Astrology and Its Influence in England (Durham, NC, 1941); and L. Thorndike, History of Magic and Experimental Science, Volume VIII (New York, 1958). 25 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1971; reprinted 1991), pp. 189, 347–424. 26 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press. 27 M. Perkins, Visions of the Future: Almanacs, Time and Cultural Change 1775–1870 (Oxford, 1996); and T. Feist, The English Almanac Trade in the Early Eighteenth Century (Philadelphia, 2005). 28 M. Perkins, Visions, p. vii. 29 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 24. 30 C. Webster, The Great Instauration: Science, Medicine and Reform 1626–1660 (New York, 1976); M. MacDonald, ‘Astrological medicine’, p. 52; H. Cook, The Decline of the Old Medical Regime in Stuart London (London, 1986), p. 39; P. Curry, Prophecy and Power, p. 99; M. Hunter ‘Science and astrology in seventeenth-century England: an unpublished polemic by John Flamsteed’ in P. Curry (ed.) Astrology, Science and Astrology (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 1987); D.E. Nagy, Popular Medicine; and P. Wright, Astrology and Science in Seventeenth-Century England (London, 1975). 31 R. Porter, ‘Man, animals and medicine at the time of the founding of the Royal Veterinary College’ in A.R. Mitchell (ed.) History of the Healing Professions, Vol. III (London, 1993), p. 19. 32 L. Weatherill, ‘The meaning of consumer behaviour in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century England’ in R. Porter and J. Brewer (eds) Consumption and the World of Goods (London, 1993), p. 206.

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Part I

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Setting the scene

Chapter 1

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The medical marketplace, popular medicine and print culture

The Subject Matter of our Discourse is the Art of Healing, which we have considered in a twofold Relation, to wit, Astrall and Physical: wherein we have laboured to unfold the principal secrets thereof, in both general and special Terms, that so by a plain and perspicious Method, we might make the matter intelligible, even to a very mean understanding, and fit for ordinary use in Practise.1

I

n order to understand the importance of almanacs, it is necessary to begin with a broader picture of the ‘medical marketplace’, including the structure of medical beliefs, the types of ‘healers’ and other medical options available to the general public. The second section of this chapter will provide an introduction to the important role that the advent of printing and the Company of Stationers played in the dissemination of medical information. Finally, the third section will focus on of the role that ‘popular’ medical texts played in the dissemination of information and the perpetuation of traditional medical beliefs through to the end of the seventeenth century, before moving on to almanacs in Chapter Two. THE ‘MEDICAL SCENE’ IN EARLY MODERN ENGLAND

Our current understanding of early modern practice is diametrically opposed to the way in which it was viewed sixty years ago. At that time, historians such as G.M. Trevelyan focused on the absence of academically trained physicians outside of London.2 In common with those of Continental academics, such attitudes illustrate the fact that medical historians were only really interested in the story of great doctors and/or unilinear scientific, medical progress. This is hardly surprising, given that in 1951 Henry Sigerist defined a medical historian as ‘a physician, trained in the research method of history’.3 As a result, much of this earlier work displayed a tendency to transpose contemporary concepts and beliefs on to the past. Kenneth Dewhurst has argued that this is

13

Setting the scene valid behaviour by those who have been ‘nurtured on a more sceptical and scientific approach to medicine.’4 In fact, this is a nonsensical comment, which suggests, firstly, that early modern patients and practitioners were naïve and perhaps even ignorant, and secondly, that only ‘scientific’ medicine is good or right. Such ideas not only negate the validity or worth of earlier belief systems of health and illness, but the way in which people chose to deal with them. Fortunately, the tendency to immediately negate earlier medical practices and practitioners is no longer the norm. Medical history is now ‘a greatly expanded discipline [with] a far closer relationship with the social sciences, especially sociology and anthropology’. This has resulted in a variety of new ways of looking at issues of health and illness, with many historians now focusing almost entirely on the close link between illness, society and healing.5 Barry Coward has suggested that the many ‘unique features’ of this period make it ‘unwise’ to draw any kind of blanket conclusions.6 This holds true, of course, for every society and culture, regardless of the time frame under study. However, in the case of early modern England, the ways in which ideas of health and illness were perceived were dramatically different from modern ones. This is hardly surprising, given that the ways in which health and illness are defined differ markedly between societies and cultures. Far from being the sole result of biophysical changes, what constitutes a healthy or ill state is influenced by our social and cultural context. As a result, different societies respond in various ways that influence the type of health-care systems that are developed and the ways in which illnesses are defined, measured and labelled. The current, predominant model in Western Europe and the Americas is a biomedical one, and begins with the idea that the mind and body can be ministered to separately in much the same way as a malfunctioning machine. Treatments depend mainly on technological interventions which target biological changes in the body, rather than social or psychological factors. Furthermore, all of these are influenced by the ‘doctrine of specific aetiology’ which states that every disease is caused by ‘disease entities’ such as a virus or bacterium.7 As Roy Porter has noted, modern Western medicine portrays sickness ‘principally in terms of the body itself – its own cosmos’.8 The early modern model, however, was based on principles first introduced by Hippocratic writers and later refined by the second-century Greek physician Galen of Pergamon.9 These ideas suggest that humans and animals were a microcosm composed of four primary elements of earth, air, fire and water, and four qualities of heat, cold, moistness and dryness which corresponded with those in the macrocosm (i.e. universe). Each living creature had their own nature or temperament, related to a unique composition of the four humours of blood, yellow bile, phlegm and black bile.10

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The medical marketplace Illness occurred when imbalances occurred within the body, causing by specific movements of the heavenly bodies orchestrated by God who was their ‘chief Gouvernour’. The specific humours that would be affected, and the resulting illnesses that could be caused in individuals, whole communities, or even nations, would be determined by the way in which ‘the various and different Aspects and Positions of the Stars’ were manipulated.11 This meant that, in theory, ill-health could only be avoided or cured ‘with the blessing of God’, who provided assistance in the form of raw materials for medicines such as ‘Hearbes, Fruites, Plantes and Trees’.12 HEALERS Medicine is the Art of healing and restoring all defects, to which Mankind is subject to, in reference to the Body and healing or curing, is taking care of the Sick, and applying such Medicines, with directions for ordering the Patient, that Recovery may be with speed and safety.13

Simply put, a healer was someone who helped expedite recovery from illness and according to English Common Law, if the patient consented, anyone could prescribe medical treatment. (However, if the patient died, the practitioner could be tried for a felony.)14 As Margaret Pelling has pointed out, there was a huge demand for medical services, which could be fulfilled through a variety of methods and practitioners.15 This often dizzying range of options resulted in a ‘buyer’s market’ or medical marketplace, where physicians were forced to compete with a variety of other practitioners. University-educated physicians were far from the first choice for most people, with treatment by lay healers being the commonest and often only form of medical aid to be administered.16 There is, however, an ongoing debate about whether the term ‘medical marketplace’ is appropriate. Margaret Pelling feels that it limits transactions to those involving qualified practitioners, raising the issue of what actually makes someone a ‘professional’.17 This is a topic that has long been of interest to academics, with the development of medicine simply being one component of the larger movements in the rise of professions in general.18 According to David Coburn and Evan Willis, medicine is frequently used as an ‘analytical example to advance theories of the professions’, because ‘it is assumed to be the epitome of what profession means’.19 John Henry dates the beginnings of ‘professionalism’ of medicine to the Renaissance, pointing out that although medicine was established in the late Middle Ages as one of the higher university faculties alongside theology and law, it only became professionalized through early modern licensing.20 Despite these efforts to define what a ‘professional’ medical practitioner was, it is clear that there were numerous types of healers, many of whom offered similar services that are not easily categorized. In order to present an

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Setting the scene understandable picture of available health-care, it has been necessary to adjust some modern definitions. The title ‘physician’ is a prime example of this. By using this heading, it must be stressed that this is not meant to refer to modern physicians, who must follow rigidly defined guidelines in order to gain their legal qualifications. During the early modern period, the term might have implied that the physician was university trained and licensed, but there were even larger numbers of practitioners who claimed the title although they had no legal right to do so.21 In other words, there was no assurance that an individual ‘physician’ had any qualifications, or even knowledge. The same holds true for other titles that signify legally recognized qualifications in our own time, such as ‘surgeon’. These practitioners did not have an academic background, but learned through apprenticeship. Some of these people may have been licensed, while most were probably not.22 This means that it is not possible to categorize by title or even through a ‘legal’ qualification, but only through the most rudimentary categorizations. Judging by contemporary accounts, a large proportion of healers would have been disparagingly referred to as quacks or mountebanks by ‘professional’ practitioners, such as members of the College of Physicians.23 Interestingly, several almanac writers, who were often on the receiving end of such insults themselves, had no compunction about labelling others as ‘ignorant Pretenders, which too frequently Quack about the city’ and warning their own readers to ‘loath Imposters and Quack-salving Knaves; That bring all People to untimely Graves.’ In fact, the widely published author of medical books and almanacs, William Salmon, who was denounced as a quack by a number of his contemporaries, claimed that his long experience provided better qualifications than that of university-educated men.24 Andrew Wear has suggested such sentiments were normal characteristics of a system of orthodox medicine where practitioners constantly claimed to know more than their competitors.25 This is a logical conclusion, and one which can readily be viewed in the way in which modern biomedical and ‘complementary’ practitioners refer to each other in the media.26 According to many sociologists, the reason for this hostility is due to the desire by biomedical physicians to protect what has been their ‘monopoly . . . over the production and distribution of health care’ in Britain.27 Although a discussion of modern practitioners is outside the scope of this book, it is clear that early modern university-educated physicians did not enjoy such conditions. Traditionally, such people have been portrayed as occupying the top level of a triangle followed by surgeons and apothecaries. They were regarded as gentry, the surgeons as artisans, and the apothecaries as merchants. Theoretically, members of the College of Physicians were the only people allowed to use that title as well as to be the only practising doctors in and within a seven-mile radius of London.28 Prospective members of the

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The medical marketplace College had to be university graduates who had followed an arduous academic path of seven years to obtain a master’s degree, followed by an additional seven years of studying classical medicine. In today’s terms, these people would be said to have learned to be ‘medical philosophers’ rather than physicians. Their practical, hands-on training only came later, either on its own or during an apprenticeship.29 Outside of London and the jurisdiction of the College of Physicians, a different system of licensing existed. In rural areas, licences were granted by a bishop or university or possibly provincial medical guilds.30 The Directory of English Country Physicians estimates that there were 814 university-trained doctors practising in England between 1603 and 1614.31 In the Whiggish view of history, such figures were used to ‘prove’ that there was a severe lack of medical aid available in early modern England. However, in reality, the majority of medical practitioners calling themselves physicians had no academic qualifications, and only a minority held any sort of a licence.32 As David Harley has pointed out, patients were seeking health, rather than a specific type of medical service, and in many cases the reputation of the practitioner may have been more important than any academic or legal qualifications.33 One almanac writer reminded readers that ‘No Man is a Good Physician but he that be born so’, while another stipulated that a good healer should merely be ‘learned, gentle, diligent’.34 Such statements, however, must be viewed in the light that neither of these authors was a university-educated or licensed physician. Most historians believe that there were, in fact, few differences between the type of treatments that different ‘physicians’ administered. Learned physicians were trading in a rather nebulous commodity, for although patients wished to be cured, all these practitioners actually had to offer was advice.35 As Andrew Wear has noted, heavy competition for patients meant that practitioners could not afford to mystify or alienate patients by promoting chemical or Newtonian medicine too heavily.36 This idea is supported by the type of medical content found in almanacs. Rather than offering new and unfamiliar theories and treatments, most writers continued to provide familiar, time-honoured information to their readers, as illustrated in the second half of this book. Although London did not have a College of Surgeons during this period, there was a guild of Barber-Surgeons. During the 1640s, they had a remarkably thorough distribution over the whole City within the Walls, and some of them were women allowed to serve an apprenticeship with a member of the company. There were also provincial surgeons’ companies or guilds, although membership or a licence does not seem to have been a prerequisite to practise. The most common procedure carried out by surgeons was bloodletting, followed by treatment of wounds fractures, dislocations, bladder stones and other urinary tract disorders; amputations, skin diseases and syphilis.37

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Setting the scene Apothecaries were the third component of the traditional tripartite model of early modern medical practitioners. Originally descended from wholesale merchants who imported spices, they were incorporated in the Grocers’ Guild in 1605. Twelve years later they obtained a charter to form a separate society that had the sole right to dispense and sell medicines within the city and a seven-mile radius around it.38 In 1618 the new Society of Apothecaries published the London Pharmacopoeia, which was a compilation of older medical works joined by a range of unusual and expensive materials from the New World. This book served two aims; to help standardize remedies prepared and dispensed by apothecaries, and for physicians to dictate the only medicines that they were allowed to dispense.39 There were large numbers of apothecaries in both urban and rural areas. In London alone, it is estimated that they had increased eightfold between the end of the Elizabethan era and the beginning of the eighteenth century. Within the city itself, they were mainly concentrated around the central commercial thoroughfares of Fenchurch Street, Bucklersbury and Cheap [sic] and St Paul’s. Many apothecaries undertook medical consultations and some even offered surgical treatments.40 The astrologer William Lilly, for example, had blood taken from his left foot by a Mr Agar ‘an Apothecary (and no less a good Chirurgion)’ after which he ‘began to be more at ease, and the fever abated.’41 The fact that many apothecaries offered such consultations led to one of the major medical debates of the seventeenth century. This argument was spearheaded by university-educated, traditional physicians, such as Jonathan Goddard, a member of the College of Physicians, who complained that apothecaries were vying for business that rightly belonged to physicians. The debate between the two groups continued to rage to the point where one contemporary author expressed the fear that ‘in time they will destroy both professions’. This did not in fact happen, as the argument was legally brought to an end in 1703 after the conclusion of what became known as the ‘Rose Case’, after an apothecary who had been both diagnosing and prescribing remedies. A ruling in the House of Lords determined that both constituted lawful work for apothecaries. This was tempered somewhat by an additional proviso stating that apothecaries were not, however, allowed to charge for their advice, but only for their medicines.42 Other types of practitioners in the medical marketplace included what might be referred to with the modern title of ‘specialist’, or someone with a particular expertise. During the sixteenth century and for most of the seventeenth, when childbirth remained under the sole jurisdiction of women, this included midwives. Although most midwives were unlicensed, some were licensed by bishops; this practice began around 1512, when religious authorities decided to take more control over midwifery.43 Before taking the oath of office, a woman was expected to pass three criteria. The first was the ability to

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The medical marketplace show she had at least a decree of professional competence. Secondly, the woman needed to have been baptized. Assuming this was the case, she would then be subject to an examination by midwives and surgeons concerning her character and skill.44 David Cressy believes that most country midwives learnt their trade from each other, by attending births, by ‘using their ears, their eyes and their hands’ often during a formal phase as an apprentice.45 However, judging from vernacular medical books aimed at midwives, there was also a huge demand for printed information. In a way, magical healers could also be seen as a specialist group. Before the Reformation, ‘magical’ healing had been the remit of clergy or saints. Protestant ministers, however, did not attempt the supernatural healing that their Catholic counterparts had offered, partly because the sacraments were meant to be symbolic, and because of new attitudes about healing the soul rather than the body. Incurable maladies were still, however, often attributed to supernatural causes, which required assistance from men or women practising as charmers, cunning or wise-folk, blessers and conjurers, or the use of amulets that contained both ‘natural properties and religious symbols’.46 Some modern historians have suggested that cunning-folk, who were sometimes called ‘white witches’ helped to fill the void left by religious healers, particularly for fighting diseases caused by ‘black witches’. These included cases of ‘fascination’ or bewitchment by sight, ‘melancholy’ or ‘the devil’s bath’ and ‘lycanthropy andephialtes’ or nightmares.47 The most common type of medical care, however, was that rendered by the patient, or other, generally female, laypeople. What we now call a ‘healthy lifestyle’, as well as ‘primary health-care’ would have been the responsibility of the female head of the family, who might also offer medical assistance to the poor.48 The well-known writer Gervase Markham remarked that knowledge of physick was one of the housewife’s ‘principal virtues’. Roy Porter has suggested that the motivation for women included ‘good housekeeping’, neighbourliness, religious duty or simple self-help. Andrew Wear has added that there were often economic or logistical reasons, such as help being a long distance away.49 Even for Londoners, there was no assurance that proficient medical practitioners would be available, as evidenced during the times of plague or other epidemics, when many members of the College of Physicians fled the city.50 However, such explanations seem to be missing the major point. This is simply that traditionally, and even today, medical care generally begins in the home. In the twenty-first century, medicine cabinets filled with commercial medicines provide the core of household health-care, while in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries this focused on ‘kitchin-physick’, later joined by proprietary drugs.51 There were, of course, situations that demanded professional intervention, such as the letting of blood. Religion also played an important role

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Setting the scene by providing a form of therapy through prayer and repentance.52 Simple logic, however, concedes that minor injuries or illnesses would have been tackled within the household, a topic that will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Eight. EARLY MODERN ENGLISH PRINTING Amongst many temporall Benefits which Divine Bounty hath in severall ages manifested to mankinde, the invention of the Mystery, of Art of Printing may rightly be acknowledged one of the greatest, as an exact and exquisite Instrument, opening to the understanding, not onley all naturall Sciences, but even supernaturall Mysteries.53

Although such sentiments may sound somewhat melodramatic to modern ears, this would probably not have been the case several hundred years ago. The impact of Johannes Gutenberg’s printing press, which could reproduce large numbers of identical images that could be widely disseminated to a local, regional or even national audience, had a major impact on every facet of European society and culture, as well as playing a large role in the growth of literacy.54 As with the twenty-first century Internet, printing was seen as an exciting new technology that offered the potential for novel ways of disseminating information. While the positive aspects of print were widely acknowledged, as Eugene Kintgen has pointed out, it was also clear that it could have ‘politically or religiously deleterious effects’ that ‘represented a potential threat’ to the contemporary cultural, social and political order.55 Peter Borsay has described printing as playing a primary role in the ‘formulation, evolution and dissemination of an improving culture’, while Peter Fox has argued that the ways in which it influenced society and culture is ‘one of the key questions in the human and social sciences’.56 In fact, many academics feel that the development and growth of printing had such a dramatic, fast-moving effect on the way in which information was communicated that it should, in fact, be referred to as a ‘revolution’. This term has been, and continues to be, debated as to whether it is appropriate to attribute it to a process that continued over a long period of time.57 It would, perhaps, be more realistic to think of the late fifteenth century as the starting point of a technological process that would take many decades, if not centuries, to gain total dominance of the dissemination of the written word in England. Initially, news of Gutenberg’s new technology was presumably accompanied by both excitement and apprehension as word of it spread throughout Europe. Although Gutenberg’s fifteenth-century system was based on the long-established method of wood-block printing, it had several major differences. Firstly, it separated text into individual components, such as lower- and

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The medical marketplace upper-case letters, which were then used to form words. While wood would eventually disintegrate, the new moveable type was cut into the face of a longlasting steel block, which was placed in a form and inserted into a screw press. By the late 1460s this technology had spread to Mainz, Bamberg, Strasburg, Augsburg, Basle and Nuremberg, and to Paris by 1470.58 William Caxton, who is credited with the introduction of printing to England, is thought to have learned this new craft while in exile in Cologne in 1471. He began producing books for the English market in Bruges, where he had been the Governor to the English Nation and returned to England to set up a press in Westminster in 1475 or 1476. According to one early history of printing, the first London printers were Europeans John Lettou and William Machlinia, who were probably encouraged to come to Britain by William Caxton in 1481. Another printer known as Winken, Wynkyn or Wynandus de Worde worked for Caxton at his house in Westminster, which he took over after his master’s death in 1491.59 Ian Green has suggested that the English print trade began in the late fifteenth century, for the purpose of reducing the cost of manuscript texts.60 However, the early stages of the industry were far from smooth. Although foreign printers had initially been encouraged to bring their skills to London, the fledgling English printing industry felt so threatened by their production that the government was forced to intercede. The first major acts of 1523 and 1529 limited the rights of foreign workers in general, while that of 1534 applied exclusively to the book trade.61 Native printers, particularly those involved in producing ‘naughty’ books, also became subject to a growing limitations on their freedom. In 1538 it was decreed that all English books were to be examined either by the king’s council, or others appointed by the king, and that those which were approved were to carry both the printer’s name and the motto ‘cum privilegio regali ad impremendum solum’.62 This was only the beginning, however, of what would eventually become draconian efforts to control what had once been a self-regulating body once known as the ‘mistery of stationers’. The story of the people involved in first producing manuscripts, and later creating printed works, is somewhat difficult to piece together, due to the paucity of pre-1554 records.63 On the other hand, there is a great deal of surviving material from the later part of that decade. It is often said that the real history of the Stationers began with the royal charter of 4 May 1557 issued by Philip and Mary, which concentrated printing in the hands of relatively small number of people. This marked the end of what had previously been an unincorporated City-sanctioned ‘mistery’ since 1403.64 Traditionally, the 1557 Act has been described as a governmental attempt to ‘harness the religious or political power’ of print; however many academics now believe that the most important considerations were economic. The act resulted in the creation of a

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Setting the scene joint-stock fund, whereby work would be performed by members at regulated prices, with the resulting profits divided according to the amount of work done.65 In 1562 the Stationers received a set of ordinances with rules for selecting Masters and Wardens, and four years later they were given additional powers, including the authority to enter and search any London premises containing a printing press.66 Although this effectively made the Company an ‘executive’ tool for the government, it also began a trend that resulted in more internal efforts to control ‘disorderly’ printers through a system of fines and other penalties. In the following decades, the Stationers set even stricter rules, which included prohibiting the foundation of any new presses until an opening was made by the death – or other absence – of an existing master printer. It also required that printers obtain a licence either through a civil or ecclesiastical authority; that all titles were to be entered in the Company’s register; and that any ‘suspect’ printed material would be seized and destroyed. In addition, the Company’s wardens gained the right not only to search premises, but to seize any suspect printed materials.67 The presence of such regulations did not, of course, mean that they were always followed. In the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, approximately 150 titles were registered with the Stationers’ Company each year. While some of these were never printed, and there were many others which were illegally published, David Cressy has estimated that an average of 200 titles a year appeared between 1576 and 1640. If each edition had an average run of 1,500 copies, which was a high estimate for this early period, there would have been a maximum of 300,000 new volumes each year.68 The early years of the seventeenth century saw a number of changes in the Company of Stationers. One of the most notable was in the composition of the members, whereby booksellers and publishers began to dominate both in terms of wealth and position at the expense of printers.69 It also marked the beginning of efforts to gain greater control over print production. This was partially due to the growth of cheap printed materials such as pamphlets and broadside ballads, many of which were of a politicized nature.70 For example, during the reign of James I, a number of printed works disseminated conspiracy theories or rumours of plots, and anti-Scottish or anti-Catholic sentiments. Continuing domestic and international political conflict played a major role in the development of English ‘corantos’ in the early 1620s which disseminated both news and propaganda throughout the country, as well as through various types of manuscript ‘newsletters’.71 In an effort to stem the dissemination of potentially dangerous news, Charles I appointed George Weckherlin as official government censor. However, the continuing appearance of anti-royal sentiments, or what was meant to be classified information, resulted in a 1632 ban on the publication of all English corantos and gazettes,

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The medical marketplace followed by efforts to stop the importation of foreign imprints.72 The greatest changes occurred in the 1640s with the political upheaval of the Civil War period. All types of press control disappeared during this period, which resulted in a dramatic increase in all sorts of literature, much of which was produced on new, illicit printing presses.73 In 1643 a Parliamentary Ordinance introduced a new multi-layered system of licensing, which included twelve divines, four lawyers, and heralds to oversee writings on their areas of specialty. Sir Nathaniel Brent, master of Paul’s School (at St Paul’s Cathedral) and a Mr Farnaby were licensers for philosophy; the Stationers’ clerk was responsible for pamphlets; and almanac writer John Booker dealt with mathematical or astrological works. In 1647 these licensers were joined by a number of parliamentary appointees and army licensers in 1649, with the fines for offenders ranging from whipping to destruction of presses and materials.74 The collapse of the Protectorate and Commonwealth in 1658–60 resulted in short-lived freedom for the press, which ended with the restoration of Charles II. In an attempt to regain control the industry, the Licensing Act of 1662 dictated a system of pre-publication censorship by the church, universities, Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State. A year later Sir Roger L’Estrange was appointed ‘Surveyour of the Press’, aided by Messengers of the Press, who were ‘instruments for discovery and intelligence’. As in earlier years, however, counterfeit editions of a variety of printed works continued to slip through this net.75 In 1665 the fortunes of the entire industry were severely damaged by the Great Fire of London, which destroyed St Faith’s church and St Paul’s churchyard, where there had previously been twenty-three booksellers. While the Company of Stationers were said to have lost between £150,000 and £200,000 in stock, many individual printers were faced with either partial or complete ruin. Within a few years, however, the book trade had firmly re-established itself in St Paul’s churchyard, and in 1668 regular, annual lists of books began to appear in the Mercurius Librarius or Term Catalogues.76 The final decades of the seventeenth century were to prove particularly difficult for society in general and the printers in particular. Fears of popery and the prosecution of the Popish Plot resulted in a flood of both propagandist and satirical publications about Catholics. The failure of the government to control such material resulted in the Act of 1682 which claimed to have new rules ‘for the preventing of Abuses and Misdemeanors in and about Printing’, but was actually a reiteration of earlier statues demanding that all new titles were to be licensed and entered in the Company of Stationers’ registers.77 This act too was doomed to be only partially successful, and the lapsing of the act in 1695 led to an increasing number of secular, factual and ‘imaginative’ literatures.78

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Setting the scene THE PRINT CULTURE AND MEDICAL LITERATURE Yea, Printing puts Books into every mans [sic] hand, whereby though we cannot practice all things, we may try all things.79

By 1500 there were printing presses in more than 250 European centres, producing about twenty-million copies for a population of less than eighty million, resulting in what Peter Burke has called ‘the commercialization of popular culture’.80 This section will begin to examine the fruits of the printers’ labour, with an emphasis on what is commonly called ‘popular medical literature’, before turning to almanacs in the following chapter. In 1995 Jonathan Barry commented on the growing movement to ‘uncover the values of popular culture through popular literature’.81 Although there has been an ongoing debate over the past decade as to what exactly ‘popular’ means, it has been accompanied by a rising interest in all types of early modern publications – from books through to ephemera such as pamphlets. Such works have added greatly to our knowledge about the relationship between print, society and culture, although they have also raised a number of questions. It is a historical commonplace, for example, that the introduction and development of printing had a major impact on the way in which medical information was disseminated. Attempts to clarify what this means have led to a growing number of studies on the relationship between what has been called the ‘popular press’ and ‘popular medicine’ over the past few decades. As discussed in the introduction, the use of the word ‘popular’ in many historical contexts is seen as problematic. Perhaps an even more difficult issue, however, in the way in which medical literature has been identified and categorized. As previous studies have shown, attempting to locate medically oriented literature can be extremely difficult. The most common way to identify such works has been to examine hard copies of bibliographies, such as D. Wing’s publication, Short-title Catalogue of Books Printed in England 1641–1700 (New York, 1994), 2nd edition (and further editions). However, as the title says, this does not supply the full titles, which sometimes covered almost the entire title page of early modern works. While this method has been useful for finding texts with obvious ‘medical titles’, it is virtually useless for other titles. For example, the heading The Gentlewoman’s Companion provides no clues to the fact that it includes 100 pages of medicinal recipes in addition to advice on conduct, proper bearing, fashion, recreation, marriage and management of servants. The abbreviated title of A book of knowledge in three parts does not include the presence of two sections on human physick and husbandry. J. Bunyan’s A Book for boys and girls also contains information about popular medical beliefs and practices, and C. Mather’s Mens sana in corpore sano – A Discourse upon Recovery from Sickness is actually a religious work.82 That said, thanks to modern technology, many early modern

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The medical marketplace works are now being digitalized and offered on websites such as Early English Books Online or Eighteenth Century Collections Online.83 The huge number and variety of ‘popular’ medical texts that were available to the general public was, of course, directly linked to the advent of printing presses. While most medieval manuscripts were in Latin, the rising demand for English translations of herbals and treatises on health regimes was clearly apparent by the late fourteenth century.84 Until the advent of printing, however, most texts were too expensive to appeal to more than a relatively small proportion of the literate public. As a result, for centuries the predominant way of transmitting such advice was through the oral culture – a topic that will be discussed in Chapter Four. Ian Maclean has suggested that there were major periods of development for those European printed books which contained medical content. The first was from the late fifteenth century up until 1525, and consisted mainly of printed Italian folio editions that followed the form and style of medieval manuscripts produced by clerics on herbs and health regimes. Many of the earliest texts were produced in Venice, which was the centre of medical, academic and professional texts in the fifteenth century. Lotte Hellinga has commented on the large print-runs of various editions of medical works, noting that Thomas Paynell’s Regimen sanitatis Salernitum, for example, appeared in thirty-one separate versions, as did Liber Physiognomiae by Michael Scotus.85 Maclean’s second period ran from 1525 until 1565, which marked the appearance of a range of vernacular medical books on astrology, alchemy and new diseases, books which appeared alongside more scholarly Latin and Greek versions. Translations also continued to be popular, with about one-third of popular sixteenth-century titles being translations from either older Greek or foreignlanguage texts. In fact, it has been estimated that reprints of works first published before 1558 made up around one-third of the total output of medical books during the second half of the century.86 The final period in Maclean’s categorization was from 1565 to 1625.87 This was considered to be the golden period of the Frankfurt Book Fair, which saw a flowering of Latin translations of Galen and Hippocrates, as well as the continuing development of works written in the vernacular of different countries. In England, the genre of such medical works aimed primarily at laypeople began to grow, thanks to authors such as Thomas Moulton, Sir Thomas Elyot and Andrew Boorde. This trend continued in the seventeenth century, due in part to the many medical reformers who demanded a greater availability of medical works in English. There were many different types – from specialized discourses on ‘new experiments’ on the benefits of coffee and tobacco, to those catering to general handbooks for those of ‘the meanest capacities’.88 Some of these books were ‘all Translated out of the best Latin Editions, into English’, while many others were written in the vernacular so that the public to could

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Setting the scene have access to medical knowledge without having to pay the fees of a medical practitioner.89 Although little research has been carried out on the use of such books by medical practitioners, it appears that many did actually own such texts. Early sixteenth-century inventories from Cambridge, for example, show that a number of such ‘professional’ people owned titles such as The Castel of helth by Sir Thomas Elyot or Andrew Boorde’s Breviary and Dietary of health.90 Surviving copies of early eighteenth-century auction lists also show that many late seventeenth-century libraries contained a range of such works. The almanac writer William Salmon was clearly interested in a variety of medical topics, and owned a range of herbals, books on animals and a number of ‘mainstream’ works by Nicholas Culpeper.91 On the other hand, there is also evidence of laypeople owning academic medical works in a range of languages. Although the merchant Gerard de Malynes (fl. 1586–1626) was said to have ‘only grammar school Latin’, his library included a number of ‘classics’, as well as medical books by Paracelsus and John Dee.92 Lord Dorchester’s library catalogue of 1664 lists more than 3,200 volumes, and was said to include the ‘finest collection on physic and mathematics . . . in private ownership in Europe’ at that time.93 Elizabeth Lane Furdell has argued that the availability of such a broad range of medical texts ‘both stimulated and chronicled momentous theoretical and jurisdictional changes in health care’. Furdell goes on to explain that she is referring to ‘the dramatic collapse of medical orthodoxy when control of medicine in London was lost by the Royal College of Physicians’ because of the way in which vernacular texts ‘deliberately undermined the elitist, Latinate and Galenist College of Physicians’.94 Although this debate is outside of the scope of this work, it must be said that such a sweeping statement focuses only on a subsection of ‘popular’ books. As Harold Cook has pointed out, the growth of vernacular medical literature led to the growth of a ‘middling sort’ of medical practitioner who practised the traditional methods of therapeutic advice.95 As the second half of this book will show, it does not appear that almanacs had much effect on the ‘medical establishment’, although they helped to confirm lay perceptions of health and illness. Many titles provided a range of easy-to-follow medical information and advice to a national audience of almost every socio-economic level. Although there are a few exceptions, which will be discussed later in this book, the majority advocated basic, traditional, Galenic ideas on preventative and remedial medicine. Consumers who required additional or more ‘modern’ medical information could choose from a growing number of ‘popular’ treatises. Those who relied on their almanacs for everyday advice, however, continued to be supplied with the same type of knowledge that had been circulating for centuries within the oral culture.

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The medical marketplace CONCLUSION Early modern ideas on health and illness resulted in a system whereby patients had many choices regarding what types of healers to consult or remedies to use. This was a largely unregulated setting, where physicians, surgeons and apothecaries competed with traditional healers in a ‘medical marketplace’.96 Many academics dislike this term, however, as it suggests that health-care was limited to commercial services, ignoring the presence of various levels of healers who either bartered their skills or charitably offered them for free. In addition, the idea of a purely commercial marketplace also negates the overriding importance of ‘domestic physick’, which was probably the first port of call for most people, and, in many cases, the only medical assistance that they were likely to receive. A great deal of lay medical knowledge would have been passed on through the oral culture, although there was a steadily rising stream of vernacular medical literature from which people could supplement their knowledge. Before the advent of mechanical printing in the late fifteenth century, manuscript sources in both Latin and English were available, although, due to the small numbers produced and high costs, these were out of the reach of much of the population. The printing press allowed the mass production of such works, which increasingly included both translations of foreign-language texts and those initially written in the vernacular. During the course of the seventeenth century, there was a massive increase in this type of literature, including many different publications, ranging from small, cheap almanacs through to large, expensive medical tomes.97 As is the case with any new form of technology, printing demanded a reorganization of the artisans who produced manuscripts, including parchminers (parchment-makers), scriveners, limners (illustrators) and binders. What had once been a self-regulating ‘mistery of stationers’ experienced a metamorphosis into the Company of Stationers through a royal charter in 1557. By the end of the century, these stationers effectively controlled book production in London, and therefore the country, for nearly 200 years.98 The vast range of printed ‘popular’ medical literature that appeared in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries has long been recognized as playing an important role in the way in which the public understood ideas about health and illness. While there is some debate about the term ‘popular’, it is generally taken to refer to English-language titles printed in large quantities and distributed to a mass market. It is often claimed that the rapid growth of such literature provided for the growth of a ‘middling sort’ of medical culture. However, Andrew Wear has disputed this by arguing that the vast range of books were aimed at a much wider segment of the literate public and could make medicine ‘as simple or complicated as one wanted to make it’.99

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Setting the scene This statement is strongly supported by the evidence found in almanacs, which illustrates the wide range of medical material available to the general public. Depending on the type of audience that the author hoped to attract, this might have ranged from fairly simplistic through to fairly erudite collections of medical information. However, as the following chapters illustrate, the advice in all almanacs remained firmly based on Galenic–astrological beliefs and practices. By doing so, it played a major role in the continuing popularity and longevity of traditional, orthodox medical practices and beliefs throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. NOTES 1 W. Salmon, Synopsis medicinae, Or a Compendium of Physick, or, a Compendium of astrological Galenical, & chymical physick philosophically deduced from the principles of Hermes and Hippocrates (London, 1671), sig. A3v and A4r. 2 G.M. Trevelyan, England Under the Stuarts (London, 1947), p. 44. 3 F. Huisman, ‘Shaping the medical market: on the construction of quackery and folk medicine in Dutch historiography’, Medical History, 43 (1999), p. 359; and H. Sigerist, A History of Medicine, Vol. I (Oxford, 1951), p. 31. 4 K. Dewhurst, Willis’s Oxford Casebook (Oxford, 1981), p. vii. 5 A. Wilson, ‘A critical portrait of social history’ in A. Wilson (ed.) Rethinking Social History: English Society 1570–1920 and Its Interpretation (Manchester, 1993), p. 9; G.H. Brieger, ‘Guest editorial: the history of medicine and the history of science’, ISIS, 1981, 535–540; and C. Rosenberg, Explaining Epidemics and Other Studies in the History of Medicine (Cambridge, UK, 1992), chapter 5. 6 B. Coward, Social Change and Continuity in Early Modern England 1550–1750 (London, 1988), p. vi. 7 S. Nettleton, The Sociology of Health and Illness (Cambridge, UK, 1996), p. 3. 8 R. Porter, The Greatest Benefit to Mankind: A Medical History of Humanity from Antiquity to the Present (London, 1997), p. 7. 9 V. Nutton, Ancient Medicine (London, 2004) provides a good, general introduction to Graeco-Roman medicine. 10 A. Wear, Knowledge and Practice in English Medicine, 1550–1680 (Cambridge, UK, 2000), p. 37. 11 J. Longrigg, Greek Medicine From the Heroic to the Hellenistic Age: A Source Book (New York, 1998); A. Wear, ‘Early modern Europe, 1500–1700’, in L. Conrad, M. Neve, V. Nutton, R. Porter and A. Wear, The Western Medical Tradition 800 BC to AD 1800 (Cambridge, UK, 1995), pp. 215–362; V. Wing, 1643, sig. A2r; and T. Trigge, 1678, sig. C1v. 12 G.C., A Briefe and Most Easie Introduction to the Astrologicall Judgment of the Starres (London, 1598), sig. A3r; and J. Gadbury, Ephemeris, or a Diary Astronomical, Astrological, Meteorological (London, 1692), sig. C8r. 13 R. Fletcher, The Character of a True Physician (London, 1676), p. 9.

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The medical marketplace 14 H. Cook, The Decline of the Old Medical Regime in Stuart London (London, 1986), p. 28. 15 M. Pelling, ‘Barber-surgeons and other trades, 1550–1640’ in The Common Lot: Sickness, Medical Occupations and the Urban Poor in Early Modern England (London, 1998), p. 229; and A. Wear, ‘The popularization of medicine in early modern England’ in R. Porter (ed.) The Popularization of Medicine 1650–1850 (London, 1992), p. 17. 16 L. Beier, Sufferers and Healers (London, 1987), p. 5; D.E. Nagy, Popular Medicine, pp. 80–81; and R. Porter, ‘The patient in England, c.1660–1800’ in A. Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society (Cambridge, UK, 1992), pp. 17–34. 17 M. Pelling, ‘Medical practice in early modern England: trade or profession?’ in W. Prest (ed.) The Professions in Early Modern England (London, 1987), p. 92. 18 See, for example, T. Johnson, Professions and Power (London, 1972). 19 D. Coburn and E. Willis, ‘The medical profession: knowledge, power and autonomy’ in G.L. Albrecht, R. Fitzpatrick and S.C. Scrimshaw (eds) The Handbook of Social Studies in Health and Medicine (London, 2000), pp. 377–393. 20 J. Henry, ‘Doctors and healers: popular culture and the medical profession’ in S. Pumfrey, P.L. Rossi and M. Slawinski (eds) Science, Culture and Popular Belief in Renaissance Europe (Manchester, 1991), pp. 191–221. 21 R. Porter, Health for Sale: Quackery in England 1660–1850 (Manchester, 1989), p. 35. 22 See, for example, M. Dobson, Contours of Death and Disease in Early Modern England: The Spectrum of Death, Disease and Medical Care (Cambridge, UK, 1997), pp. 271–272; and D. Evenden ‘Gender differences in the licensing and practice of female and male surgeons in early modern England’, Medical History, 42 (1998), p. 201. 23 R. Porter, Health for Sale, p. 1; and J. Colbatch, Four Treatises of Physick and Chirurgery (London, 1698), p. xvi. 24 R. Saunders, 1678, sig. B2r; T. Trigge, 1681, sig. A4v; and W. Salmon, Pharmacopoeia Londinensis. Or, the New London Dispensatory (London, 1685), sig. A3r–v. 25 A. Wear, ‘Epistemology and learned medicine in early modern England’ in D. Bates (ed.) Knowledge and the Scholarly Medical Traditions (Cambridge, UK, 1995), p. 161. 26 See, for example, M.A. Doel and J. Segrett, ‘Self, health, and gender: complementary and alternative medicine in the British mass media’, Gender, Place and Culture, 10, No. 2 (June 2003), 131–144. 27 S. Harrison and W.I.U. Ahmad, ‘Medical autonomy and the UK state 1975 to 2025’ in S. Nettleton and U. Gustafsson (eds) The Sociology of Health and Illness Reader (Cambridge, UK, 2002), pp. 310–321; and D. Greaves, The Healing Tradition: Reviving the Soul of Western Medicine (Oxford, 2004), pp. 136–148. 28 A.W. Sloan, English Medicine in the Seventeenth Century (Durham, UK, 1996), p. 1; and H. Cook, The Decline, p. 20. 29 M. Pelling and C. Webster, ‘Medical practitioners’ in C. Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979), p. 189; H. Cook, The Decline, p. 160; and C. Merrett, The Accomplisht Physician (London, 1670), sig. A3v. 30 L. Beier, Sufferers, p. 9. 31 J.H. Raach, A Directory of English Country Physicians (London, 1962), p. 4. 32 M. Dobson, Contours of Death, p. 271; and M. Pelling and C. Webster, ‘Medical practitioners’, p. 165.

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Setting the scene 33 D. Harley, ‘The good physician and the godly doctor: the exemplary life of John Tylston of Chester (1663–1699)’, The Seventeenth Century, 9 (1994), p. 94. 34 J. Gadbury, 1697, sig. B1r; and J. Tanner, The Hidden Treasures of the Art of Physick (London, 1659), p. 41. 35 D. Harley, ‘The good physician and the godly doctor’, p. 94. 36 A. Wear, ‘Medical practice in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century England: continuity and union’ in R. French and A. Wear (eds) The Medical Revolution of the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1989), p. 302. 37 M. Pelling, ‘Appearance and reality: barber-surgeons, the body and disease’ in A. Beier and R. Finlay (eds) The Making of the Metropolis: London 1500–1700 (London, 1986), p. 84; D. Evenden, ‘Gender differences’, p. 195; R.S. Roberts, ‘The personnel and practice of medicine in Tudor and Stuart England: part I’, Medical History, 6 (1962), p. 363; L. Magner, History of Medicine (New York, 1992), p. 164; D. LeClerc, The Compleat Surgeon (London, 1701), sig. A1r; G. Williams, The Age of Agony: The Art of Healing 1700–1800 (Chicago, 1975), p. 14; and G. Clark, A History of the Royal College of Physicians (London, 1964), p. 9. 38 C. Wall and H.C. Cameron, A History of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries of London, Vol. I, 1617–1815 (London, 1963), p. 46; A.W. Sloane, English Medicine, p. 4; and C. Webster, The Great Instauration: Science, Medicine and Reform 1626–1660 (New York, 1986), p. 253. 39 M. Pelling and C. Webster, ‘Medical practitioners’, p. 172; C.H. LaWall, Four Thousand Years of Pharmacy (London, 1927), p. 270; D. Bellamy and A. Pfister, World Medicine: Plants, Medicine and People (Oxford, 1992), p. 126; and M.P. Earles, The London Pharmacopoeia Perfected (Durham, 1985), p. 5. 40 D. Harley, ‘Bred up in the study of that faculty: licensed physicians in north-west England’, Medical History, 38 (1994), p. 411; and M. Pelling, ‘Appearance and reality’, p. 84. 41 E. Ashmole, The Diary and Will of Elias Ashmole, ed. R.T. Gunther (Oxford, 1927), p. 98. 42 J. Goddard, A Discourse Setting of the Unhappy Condition of the Practice of Physick in London (London, 1680), pp. 14–15; J. Colbatch, Four Treatises, p. xv; and P. Hunting, A History of the Society of Apothecaries (London, 1998), p. 55. 43 L. Beier, Sufferers, p. 9; and D. Willis, Malevolent Nurture: Witch-Hunting and Maternal Power in Early Modern England (Ithaca, NY, 1995), p. 6. 44 T.R. Forbes, The Midwife and the Witch (New Haven, CT, 1966), p. 144–145. 45 D. Cressy, Birth, Marriage and Death: Ritual, Religion and the Life-Cycle in Tudor and Stuart England (Oxford, 1997), p. 36; and S.H. Mendelson and P. Crawford, Women in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1998), pp. 314–315. 46 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1991), p. 252; J. Friedman, Miracles and the Pulp Press During the English Revolution: The Battle of the Frogs and Fairford’s Flies (London, 1993), p. 21; M. MacDonald, ‘The career of astrological medicine in England’ in O. Grell and A.M. Cunningham (eds) Religio Medici – Medicine and Religion in SeventeenthCentury England (Aldershot, 1996), p. 73; and L. Kassell, ‘The economy of magic in early modern England’ in M. Pelling and G. Mandelbrote (eds) The Practice of Reform in Health, Medicine and Science 1500–2000 (Aldershot, 2005), pp. 43–57. 47 M. Lindemann, Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK, 1999), p. 212; A. Macfarlane, Witchcraft in Tudor and Stuart England: a Regional and

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The medical marketplace Comparative Study (London, 1970), p. 126; and S. Clark, ‘Demons and disease: the disenfranchment of the sick (1500–1700)’ in M. Giswijt-Hofstra, H. Marland and H. Da Waardt (eds) Illness and Healing Alternatives in Western Europe (London, 1997), p. 40. 48 M. Pelling, ‘Thoroughly resented? Older women and the medical role in early modern London’ in L. Hunter and S. Hutton (eds) Women, Science and Medicine 1500–1700 (Thrupp, Gloucestershire, 1997), p. 70; and W. Salmon, Salmon’s Family Dictionary, or Household Companion (London, 1702), sig. A3r. 49 S. Mendelson and P. Crawford, Women, p. 314; G. Markham, The English Housewife 1615, ed. M. Best (London, 1994), p. 8; R. Porter, ‘The patient in England, c.1660–c.1800’ in A. Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society (Cambridge, UK, 1992), p. 94; and A. Wear, ‘Caring for the sick poor in St Bartholomew’s Exchange: 1580–1676’ in W. Bynum and R. Porter (eds) Living and Dying in London (London, 1991), p. 55. 50 O.L. Grell, ‘Conflicting duties: plague and the obligations of early modern physicians towards patients and Commonwealth in England and the Netherlands’ in A. Wear, J. Geyer-Kordesch and R. French (eds) Doctors and Ethics: The Earlier Historical Setting of Professional Ethics (Amsterdam, 1993), p. 131; and J. Goddard, A Discourse Setting, p. 5. 51 M. Dobson, Contours of Death, p. 275. 52 A. Wear, Knowledge and Practice in English Medicine, p. 30. 53 W. Ball, A Briefe Treatise Concerning the Regulating of Printing (London, 1651), sig. A3r. 54 E. Eisenstein, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change, Communications and Cultural Transformation in Early Modern Europe, Vol. I (Cambridge, UK, 1979), p. xiii. 55 E.R. Kintgen, Reading in Tudor England (Pittsburgh, PA, 1996), pp. 14–16; J. Black, The English Press 1621–1681 (Stroud, 2001), p. 2; and K. Sharpe, Reading Revolutions: The Politics of Reading in Early Modern England (New Haven, CT, 2000), p. 27. 56 P. Borsay, ‘The culture of improvement’ in P. Longford (ed.) The Eighteenth Century: 1688–1815 (Oxford, 2002), pp. 183–204; and A. Fox, Oral and Literate Culture in England 1500–1700 (Oxford, 2000), p. 11. 57 E. Eisenstein, The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK, 1983, 2000), pp. xii–xiii; H. Love, Scribal Publications in Seventeenth-Century England (Oxford, 1993), p. 231; and M.J.M. Ezell, Social Authorship and the Advent of Print (Baltimore, MD, 1999), pp. 2–7. 58 L. Hellinga, ‘Printing’ in L. Hellinga and J.B. Trapp (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. III (Cambridge, UK, 1999), pp. 65–108. 59 W.T. Berry, and H.E. Poole, Annals of Printing: A Chronological Encyclopedia from the Earliest Times to 1950 (London, 1966), p. 33; and P. Luckombe, The history and art of printing in two parts (London, 1771), pp. 45–46. 60 I. Green, Print and Protestantism in Early Modern England (Oxford, 2000), p. 12. 61 C. Blagden, The Stationers’ Company: A History 1403–1959 (London, 1960), p. 26. 62 P.L. Hughes and J.F. Larkin, Tudor Royal Proclamations, Vol. I (New Haven, CT, 1964), p. 27. 63 P.W.M. Blayney, The Stationers’ Company Before the Charter 1403–1557 (Cambridge, UK, 2003), p. 53; and J.R. Riddell, A Few Historical Notes on the Worshipful Company of Stationers (London, 1921), p. 9.

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Setting the scene 64 G. Pollard, ‘The Company of Stationers before 1557’, The Library, Fourth Series, 18 (1938), p. 20; and J. Howell, Londinopolis, an historicall discourse or perlustration of the city of London (London, 1657), p. 45. 65 E. Arber (ed.) A Transcript of the Registers of the Company of Stationers of London 1554–1640 AD (London, 1875), p. xxvi; and Stationers’ Company, A Short Account of the Worshipful Company of Stationers 1403–1903 (London, 1903), p. 25. 66 L.F. Parmalee, ‘Printers, patrons, readers and spies: importation of French propaganda in late Elizabethan England’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 25 (1994), 853–872; and C. Blagden, The Stationers’ Company: A History 1403–1959 (London, 1960), pp. 29–32. 67 W.W. Greg Some Aspects and Problems of London Publishing Between 1550 and 1650 (Oxford, 1956), p. 19; and G.D. Johnson, ‘The Stationers versus the drapers: control of the press in the late sixteenth century’, The Library, Sixth Series, 10, No. 1 (March 1988), 1–17. 68 D. Cressy, Literacy and the Social Order: Reading and Writing in Tudor and Stuart England (Cambridge, UK, 1980), p. 47. 69 W. Craig Ferguson, ‘The loan book of the Stationers’ Company with a list of transactions 1592–1692’, Occasional Papers of the Bibliographical Society, 4 (1989), p. 9. 70 T. Watt, Cheap Print and Popular Piety, 1550–1640 (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 86–88; F. Levy, ‘The decorum of news’ in J. Raymond (ed.) News, Newspapers and Society in Early Modern Britain (London, 1999), pp. 12–38; and A. Fox, Oral and Literate Culture, p. 397. 71 J. Black, The English Press, pp. 4–5; and I. Atherton, ‘ “The itch grown a disease”: manuscript transmissions of news in the seventeenth century’, in J. Raymond (ed.) News, Newspapers and Society in Early Modern Britain (London, 1999), pp. 39–66. 72 A.B. Thompson, ‘Licensing the press: the career of G.R. Weckherlin during the personal rule of Charles the I’, The Historical Journal, 41, No. 3 (1998), pp. 635–678; and M. Mendle, ‘De facto freedom, de facto authority: press and Parliament, 1640–43’, The Historical Journal, 38, No. 2 (June 1995), pp. 307–332; and S. Lambert, ‘The printers and the government, 1604–1637’ in R. Myers and R. Harris (eds) Aspects of Printing from 1600 (Oxford, 1987), pp. 1–29. 73 A. Briggs and P. Burke, A Social History of the Media: From Gutenberg to the Internet (Cambridge, UK, 1992), p. 85. 74 A. Johns, The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making (Chicago, 1998), pp. 232–233. 75 Anon., A Brief discourse concerning printing and printers (London, 1663), pp. 2–3; M. Plant, English Book Trade, pp. 83–84; and H. Weber, Paper Bullets: Print and Kingship under Charles II (Lexington, KY, 1996), p. 134. 76 R. Clavell, A catalogue of all the books printed in England since the dreadful fire of London in 1666 (London, 1673), sig. A2r; S. Porter, The Great Fire of London (Stroud, 1996), pp. 77–78; G. Mandelbrote, ‘Workplaces and living spaces: London book trade inventories of the late seventeenth century’ in R. Myers, M. Harris and G. Mandelbrote (eds) The London Book Trade: Topographies of Print in the Metropolis From the Sixteenth Century (London, 2003), p. 37; and E. Arber, The Term Catalogues 1688, 1709, Vol. I, 1668–1682 (London, 1903), p. ix. 77 J. Spurr, England in the 1670’s: ‘This Masquerading Age’ (Oxford, 2000), p. 282; and Anon., An ordinance ordained, devised, and made by the Master, and Keepers or Wardens and

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The medical marketplace commonality of the mystery or art of Stationers of the City of London (London, 1683), pp. 1–6. 78 P. Borsay, ‘The culture of improvement’ in P. Longford (ed.) The Eighteenth Century: 1688–1815 (Oxford, 2002), 183–204. 79 Anon., A Brief discourse concerning printing and printers (London, 1663), p. 22. 80 P. Burke, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe, 2nd edition (Aldershot, 1994), p. 250. 81 J. Barry, ‘Literacy and literature in popular culture: reading and writing in historical perspective’ in T. Harris (ed.) Popular Culture in England c.1500–1800 (London, 1995), p. 69. 82 H. Wooley, The Gentlewoman’s Companion (London, 1675); J. Bunyan, A book for boys and girls (London, 1686); S. Strangehopes, A book of knowledge in three parts (London, 1679); and C. Mather, Mens sana in corpore sano – A Discourse upon Recovery from Sickness (Boston, MA, 1698). 83 Available by institutional subscription, EEBO and Eighteenth Century Online include both titles that were formerly available on microfilm, as well as many that were previously only available in the libraries where they were held. 84 F.N.L. Poynter, The Evolution of Medical Practice in Britain (London, 1961), p. 118; P.M. Jones, ‘Medicine and science’ in L. Hellinga and J.B. Trapp (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. III (Cambridge, UK, 1999), p. 434. 85 L. Hellinga, ‘Printing’, pp. 73–86. 86 P.M. Jones, ‘Medicine and science’ in L. Hellinga and J.B. Trapp (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. III (Cambridge, UK, 1999), p. 434; H.S. Bennett, English Books and Readers 1558 to 1603 (Cambridge, UK, 1965), p. 181. 87 I. Maclean, Logic, Signs and Nature, pp. 37–38 (Cambridge, 2002); P. Slack, ‘Mirrors of health’, in C. Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979), pp. 240–242. 88 W. Rumsey, Organon salutis. An instrument to cleanse the stomach (London, 1659), sig. A1r; and T. Tryon, The Way to Health, Long Life and Happiness: or, in A Discourse of Temperance (London, 1697), sig. A1r. 89 W. Salmon, Medicina Practica: or, Practical Physick (London, 1692), sig. A1r; A. Wear, ‘Early modern Europe’, p. 324; W. Rondelet, The Countrey-mans [sic] apothecary (London, 1649), sig. A1v; C. Webster, Instauration, pp. 262–267, 272 and 490; and D.E. Nagy, Popular Medicine, pp. 25–26. 90 P.M. Jones, ‘Book ownership and the lay culture of medicine in Tudor Cambridge’ in H. Marland and M. Pelling (eds) Medicine, Religion and Gender in England and the Netherlands 1450–1800 (Amsterdam, 1996), pp. 49–67. 91 T. Ballard, Bibliotheca Salmoneana (London, 1714). 92 A. Finkelstein, ‘Gerard de Malynes and Edward Misselden: the learned library of the seventeenth-century merchant’, Book History, 3 (2000), 1–20. 93 G. Clark, A History of the Royal College of Physicians of London, Vol. II (London, 1964), p. 337. 94 E. Lane Furdell, Publishing and Medicine in Early Modern England (Rochester, NY, 2002), p. xi. 95 H. Cook, The Decline, p. 44.

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Setting the scene 96 M. Pelling and C. Webster, ‘Medical practitioners’, p. 165. 97 H. Cook, The Decline, p. 44. 98 G. Pollard, ‘Stationers’, p. 20; J. Howell, Londinopolis, p. 45; and N. Wheale, Writing and Society; Literacy, Print and Politics in Britain 1590–1660 (London, 1999), p. 57. 99 A. Wear, ‘The popularisation of medicine’, pp. 17–41; and A. Wear, Knowledge and Practice in English Medicine, p. 45.

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Chapter 2

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The genre of almanacs

An Almanack be both small of Price and Volume, and yearly transmitted to the most remote parts of every Nation; and what I design of this kind shall be both short and plain, fitted to the meanest understanding and only treat of one particular Subject in one year and therefore will be the more easily often read and borne in remembrance (then larger Volumes, which at once treat a variety of Subjects).1

T

he subject that John Whalley refers to in his almanac of 1699 is what modern readers would call astrology, referring to the movements of the stars and planets and their subsequent effects on all living things. In the early modern period, however, this was only one part of ‘science of the stars’. The first component was astronomy, or the ‘theorick’ part which provided the ‘Mathematical Demonstrations and Figures . . . [of ] various Motions, Places, Magnitudes, Distance, and Proportions one to another’. Astrology, or the second ‘practick’ part, used this material to erect a ‘Figure of Heaven’ to illustrate and interpret the meaning of the stars and planets. As Whalley goes on to point out, his offering would be both ‘short and plain’, as were all almanacs due to their prescribed length and content.2 Whether he was truly targeting readers of the ‘meanest understanding’ is open to debate, however – although it is true that there were almanacs meant to appeal to almost the entire spectrum of society. This chapter will begin with an explanatory section about the history and early evolution of almanacs. Although Chapter One dealt with the Company of Stationers in some detail, this chapter will include a discussion of their involvement in the production of almanacs. This will be followed by an overview of the structure, content and marketing of the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century editions. It will conclude with an overview of the impact that they had on early modern English culture and society, before moving on to the analysis of almanac writers in Chapter Three.

35

Setting the scene THE HISTORY OF ALMANACS There are various theories on the origin of the word ‘almanac’. In 1621, Einer’s almanac suggested that it could be traced to the Saxon ‘almon-aght’, which referred to sticks carved with the movements of the moon. More recently, academics have suggested that ‘almanac’ comes from the Arabic word for ‘calendar’, brought into Spain by the Moors. Alternatively, it might have originated from the Latin ‘manacus’ or ‘manadius’, which refers to the circle in a sundial.3 However, by the early modern period, almanacs were already long established as a very old form of literature, which can be traced back to the manuscript texts on lunar and planetary motion from the third century bc.4 One of the earliest surviving almanacs is a papyrus edition believed to date from the period of Ramses II (1304–1168 bc). This relic, stored at the British Library, includes a compilation of data showing good and evil days, as well as precautions for guarding against the evil eye.5 Although manuscript almanacs were to become common in medieval Europe, they were superseded during the early Middle Ages by ‘clog almanacs’, which were simple constructions made of sticks or rods marked by a series of notches and symbols to represent the lunar cycle and the Christian feasts.6 By the high Middle Ages, manuscript almanacs or ‘kalendaria’, which included important ecclesiastical information, and were generally used by clergy, became the most common format. During the fourteenth century, the friars John Somer and Nicholas of Lynn expanded the genre by providing additional information on eclipses, medical matters and other subjects of interest. Unlike the earlier versions for clergy, they aimed to appeal to a wider audience of students and physicians.7 The first printed almanac was published by Johannes Gutenberg in 1448, eight years before his famous Bible. By the 1470s, large numbers of almanacs were being printed in various countries on the Continent.8 Many of the earliest editions appeared as broadsheets, although most eventually changed to what became a more popular booklet form, particularly in Germany and the Netherlands.9 The evolution of almanacs in England, however, proved much slower, with the first domestically printed edition only appearing in 1537.10 Their transition from manuscript to print was also not a quick process, with the former remaining common in England throughout the Tudor period and into the following century.11 By the 1550s, however, significant numbers of almanacs began to be printed in London, almost all of which were translations of European editions. These included a number of series attributed to the German doctor Simon Heuring of ‘Hagenaw’ (Hagenau); Arnould Bogaeart ‘Doctour in medecyne, resident in Bruxles’; Mychal Nostradamus ‘Doctour of Phisicke of Salon of Craux in Provence’; and Paul Fegenhauer from the Netherlands, whose English version appeared under the name of ‘Adam

36

The genre of almanacs Foulweather’. According to one contemporary writer, such ‘Englished’ almanacs were particularly useful for those who desired to ‘have knowledge of the celestiall constellations & movements’.12 The middle decades of the sixteenth century were also a significant period for the English printing industry as a whole. Concerned with the growing number of imported publications, in 1538 Henry VIII decided that books that were printed in England must be approved by ‘some of his grace’s Privy Council, or other such as his highness shall appoint’.13 This was followed four years later by discussions on the possible incorporation of the printing industry at a session of the Convocation of Canterbury, and a subsequent royal proclamation of mandatory comprehensive requirements for all books printed in England.14 Although such stipulations applied to all printed works, until the middle of the sixteenth century the production of almanacs was still largely unregulated. As Principal Secretary to Edward VI, William Cecil granted five book-related patents during his term of office. These included an eight-year privilege for a newly authorized version of Tyndale’s New Testament and restrictions on the publication of The Digests and Pandects of the Civil Law. It also provided authority to publish what would later become known as the Stationers’ Company ‘English Stock’ a book-producing and book-wholesaling organization holding the sole right to publish almanacs.15 This privilege translated into large profits for the Company, from the initial commissioning stage through to the subsequent production and sale of the almanacs. In late 1557, for example, John Day was forced to pay four pence for the right to print an almanac by Kennygham [sic], while Thomas Marshe offered the same amount to print one by ‘Master Henry Lowe’.16 Richard Watkins and James Roberts also had various privileges during this time, including one for producing Robert Moore’s almanac in 1570, followed by the exclusive right to publish almanacs in 1588.17 In 1603 the Company received a royal grant which gave them the sole right to ‘ymprinte the Bookes of private prayers, prymers, psalters and psalms in English or Latin, & Almanackes and Prognosticacons [sic] within this Realme’.18 According to Peter Blaney, this was ‘one of the most significant events’ in their history, in addition to receiving their original charter. This certainly appeared to be true for the privileged members of the Company, who formed the new joint-stock operations to produce the English Stock and four other trading stocks for ballads, Bibles, Irish and Latin texts. Although members were only allowed to hold one share at a time, the English stock provided dividends of between 4 and 5% a year in the seventeenth century, rising to up to 12.5% in the early eighteenth century.19 Over the following decades, additional privileges or patents were acquired by members of the Stationers’ Company, including the purchase of the right to print almanacs from the estate of the late Richard Watkins.20

37

Setting the scene The 1640s proved to be an important period in the development of astrological publications in general, and marked the beginnings of what Bernard Capp has dubbed the ‘golden age of almanacs’. Such changes were due mainly to the absence of censorship and legal controls during this revolutionary period, and while the Stationers’ Company continued to produce almanacs, their hold occasionally broke down during the 1640s, despite their appointment of the almanac writer John Booker as official licenser of books on ‘Mathematicks, Almanacks, and prognostications’ in 1643.21 The most noticeable change in almanacs during this period was the scale and variety of highly controversial predictions about both the military and the political fortunes of king and Parliament. Supporters of both sides were well represented in print during this ‘significant and profitable’ time for astrological writers. Almanac writers who supported the Parliament included John Booker and Nicholas Culpeper, while George Wharton was the most vocal proponent of royal rule. Other writers, such as William Lilly, George Wharton, John Gadbury and John Partridge, were said to have ‘committed themselves to a dangerously partisan position’, while others preferred to use a safer, ‘screen of platitudes and cryptic ambiguity’.22 Patrick Curry has suggested that the presence of such potentially dangerous predictions in almanacs ‘unchecked by responsible authorities’ played a major role in the passage of a detailed licensing bill in 1662, which aimed to crack down on ‘blasphemous, seditious and treasonable books, pamphlets and papers’.23 This act, which had been the most comprehensive licensing bill ever in effect, lapsed in 1679. Due to the political climate, however, almanac writers were still forced to tread carefully during a time of widespread anxiety about the Catholic heir apparent, James, Duke of York, and fears of a ‘Popish Plot’. It seems fair to say that most almanac writers tried to exclude potentially contentious astrological predictions by focusing on more mundane information such as the weather forecasts. Such self-regulation did not, however, appease the government, who revived the Press Act in 1685 to censor the entire printing industry during a period of continued fear about the possibility of Catholic rule in England.24 These controls had a serious impact on almanacs, which were no longer allowed to make any ‘astrological judgements, predictions, prognostications, or monthly observations’.25 One almanac writer complained that ‘the Times are so Licentious, Astrologers dare not unmask what may be known from the Stars as to Mundane Alterations’.26 William Andrews apologized to his readers for the restrictions, but reminded them that it is ‘the Will and Pleasure of our Superiors that we should forbear’.27 The following year he warned that: for ‘large Astrological Predictions as heretofore, they are not now, nor anymore, to be expected from me, unless Authority shall give leave’.28 What Andrews could not have foreseen, of course, was that the tide was shortly to turn once again. In

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The genre of almanacs 1695 the draconian Press Act was allowed to lapse and proved never to be reinstated.29 This allowed almanac writers to regain their previous freedom to present a variety of annual, astrological predictions. STRUCTURE AND CONTENT Although the Stationers’ Company claimed that their aim was ‘the advancement of wholesome knowledge’, it is a historical commonplace that their main reason for producing almanacs was to obtain maximum profits.30 One of the main ways of doing so was by keeping a tight control on production costs. As paper was the greatest production expense, with the cost being directly proportionate to the number of sheets used, one of the easiest means of keeping the price down and profits up was to limit the size of the publications.31 In the late sixteenth century, many texts were published by stationers who were also printers, although eventually the majority were produced by stationers whose main business was bookselling. The few surviving accounts that refer to the sums paid to the printers themselves suggest that that the figures varied depending on the title in question. In 1668, for example, a Mr Milbourn was paid 3s 4d for producing twenty reams of Booker and forty-five of Trigge, while five years later Mr Lilliecrap was given £7 10s for twenty reams of Dade.32 According to one contemporary writer, however, such outgoings made little effect on the vast sums the Company made every year, reputedly ‘above 1000 pounds per annum’ by the end of the seventeenth century.33 Sheet almanacs, which resembled modern wall calendars, would have been the most economical format for both printing and selling, although the vast majority of almanacs still appeared in the form of small booklets. In most cases, sheet almanacs would consist of twelve boxes for each month, surrounded by illustrations or other types of information. While Tessa Watt has argued that illustrated ballads were probably the most common form of ‘cheap print’ used to decorate the walls of ‘humble households’, it seems likely that sheet almanacs were also valued for their decorative features.34 Unfortunately, the flimsy nature of single-sheet almanacs means that few have survived the centuries. This would have held particularly true for the sheet almanacs that Maureen Perkins has described as being ‘the right size to fit into the crown of a gentleman’s hat’.35 In addition, unlike a booklet almanac that might be retained because it was used as a diary or kept as a type of reference book, most sheet almanacs truly would be out of date at the end of the year. The Oxford Almanac, which appeared from 1673 through to the end of the century, is probably the main series of sheet almanacs that has survived in fairly large numbers. At first glance, it would seem that the short Latin poems and a list of the colleges that surrounded the monthly calendar meant that it

39

Setting the scene would only appeal to students or academics. However, each year also contained a different illustration, such as the classical picture of a circle of women and men dancing, with an angel playing an instrument. Combined with the fact that it was printed in quantities of around 30,000 a year during the later part of the seventeenth century, it may well be that many people purchased their copies because they were so highly decorative, and chose not to immediately discard them at the end of the year.36 Booklet almanacs, particularly those that were bound, have survived in much greater numbers. There were two main types of such almanacs, which were produced either as ‘blanks’ or ‘sorts’, terms which referred to the amount of paper. Blanks were generally two-and-a-half sheets and provided two full pages for every month, while sorts provided a single printed page for each month, accompanied by blank spaces for notes. Both types, however, were divided up into two main sections: one containing a calendar, and the other with the ‘prognostications’. Many copies were also interleaved before binding, as illustrated by the almanac-diaries belonging to Anthony Wood, publications now held at the Bodleian Library. Some almanacs were printed in sextodecimo, although most were octavo, and both of them contained twenty-four sheets. Some highly popular writers, such as William Lilly, warranted more pages, at a correspondingly higher cover price.37 Other, less fortunate, authors often complained about the small amount of space that they were allocated. Vincent Wing begrudged the ‘narrow scantling’ of paper that he was allowed, while John Partridge confessed that he was forced to end his almanac, having ‘filled up my allowance of paper’. Lancelot Coelson was luckier, and thanked his Printer for agreeing to ‘Printe close, and give me a little room’.38 Besides the binding, which will be discussed in Chapter Four, the first feature that potential customers would see in booklet almanacs was the title page. Although there were some aspects of their content that did not change, there are noticeable differences in the design of their covers over the 150 years of this study. Earlier editions often had a fairly ornate decorative border, and used a typeface known as ‘black letter’, even though both illustrations and words were sometimes printed in a combination of red and black ink. The use of the complicated ‘black letter’ characters was the most common typeface until the 1580s and 1590s, when it began to be replaced by the more fashionable ‘roman’ type. It did, however, continue to be used for some official or legal publications, some early seventeenth-century Bibles, and some forms of ‘cheap print’, such as pamphlets, ballads, chapbooks and cheap educational aids.39 Early seventeenth-century almanacs, such as that illustrated in Figure 2.1, tended to have attractive, highly decorative borders. However, such designs, along with the use of coloured ink and black letters, became increasingly uncommon, with even the most basic illustrations vanishing from title pages by the middle of the seventeenth century. It is not clear why this was the case,

40

The genre of almanacs

Figure 2.1 John Woodhouse

41

Setting the scene although economic considerations may have been at least partly responsible for this. Illustrations were costly to either produce or purchase second-hand, and illustrated books could cost up to 100% more than other books.40 Although a decorative wood-cut design could be re-used (until it wore out), it probably would not have justified even a tiny increase in the price of these cheap publications. By the middle of the sixteenth century, such borders were generally replaced by other types of text. The nature of the content depended on individual authors, with some using the space for notes to the reader, or for quotations from other works. Nicholas Culpeper, for example, favoured short biblical quotations in English, while Richard Saunders preferred to offer psalms, or other sayings in both Latin and English. John Booker and William Eland, on the other hand, liked to use Latin quotations.41 It may be that the authors who only used English were appealing to a less-educated or a mainstream audience. On the other hand, they may simply have been hoping to appear less pretentious than almanacs that employed Latin phrases to impress potential purchasers. A handful of seventeenth-century authors, such as Wharton, Gilbert, Holden and Parker also contained a frontispiece of their likeness, while John Gadbury’s image included his name and residency in Oxfordshire in Latin.42 This was a convention that dated back to the Middle Ages, when living authors had themselves portrayed on presentation copies of their manuscripts. William Lilly, however, was probably the almanac writer who was fondest of this tradition. The 1660 illustration in Figure 2.2, for example, shows a solemn-looking William Lilly simply gazing at his potential readers. However, Lilly also favoured another portrait showing him seated at a desk in front of a window, holding an open book, while a smiling sun, moon and clouds looked on approvingly at his work.43 Interestingly, many of his surviving works are missing this one page, suggesting that the portrait had been torn out and used as decoration.44 Not all writers were advocates of picturing themselves on the covers of their almanacs. John Tanner mocked such practices, by advising readers to: Mistake not though no Picture here you see, If Tanner ’tis you want, look, this is he. The Picture’s left out not, for fear nor shame, He’s where he was, and here you’l [sic] find his name, Therein contain’d, the portrait of his mind.45

Most title pages were followed by some type of introductory material. Many writers provided a preface to their work to their readers, sometimes accompanied by a separate version to their patron, although these varied in format. During the sixteenth century, some writers used this section for ‘political

42

The genre of almanacs

Figure 2.2 William Lilly

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Setting the scene speculations’, although this pattern changed dramatically during the early part of the following century, for reasons of ‘principle as well as prudence’.46 Some prefaces were very brief and were used to explain the general types of information that would be found within, such as where to find information like ‘the age of the Moone’, ‘the time of full Sea at Tinmouth . . . with other things of good note’.47 In some cases, it would also be used to point out the fact that the almanac contained medical advice: Yf thy body happen to be brought lowe or weake through sicknes, I have shewed thee when thou mayst most effectually and best restore and comfort it agayne.48

Others were used as a kind of longer editorial, from providing views on topics ranging from trying to please the readers with ‘my poore indavours’, to pontificating about the virtues of ‘the Science of Astronomy which of all others is most pleasant and useful’.49 The first two or three pages behind the cover were often used for some form of short, pithy advice. In many cases this focused on ‘Physicall Observations’, a topic which will be covered in later chapters on the medical content in almanacs. Other writers, however, included a variety of other notes, such as ‘dates of feasts’, tide-tables, historical chronologies or a schedule of the four terms. The most common feature found in the front of almanacs, however, was the diagram of ‘Zodiac Man’, which will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Six. All almanacs provided a yearly calendar divided into months, information which could be presented either on one or two adjoining pages. The calendar pages generally were separated into columns, with days of the week being noted individually on the left-hand side, followed by listings for festival days, the location of the sun at noon, and the aspects of the other planets.50 Some almanacs left the right-hand column blank to use for personal notes, while other authors filled the space with a range of material, from astronomical facts to biographical information or a schedule of the tides.51 The second major section of almanacs was generally called the ‘prognostication’ and differed in a number of ways from the calendar section at the front. In general, the back part contained a range of less ‘time-sensitive’ material or information that may not have changed at all from year to year. While some authors provided short medical notes towards the start of the almanacs, this was where in-depth information and advice was likely to be found. A large number used some of the space to provide agricultural tips, often divided by monthly duties, while others included distances between major towns, lists of fairs, information about weights and measures, or legal forms. Another noticeable difference was that prognostications were attributed to a printer different from the one used for the first section. The reason for this lies in the way in which the Stationers’ Company assigned work to printers, based

44

The genre of almanacs on a pattern of shared and concurrent printing at different printing houses. Adrian Johns has suggested that the use of more than one group of printers for an individual edition helped to prevent supernumerary copies from being printed.52 Due to the immensely profitable nature of the genre and the desire of the Stationers to control their production, this seems to be an eminently sensible conclusion. However, as discussed in Chapter One, it was much easier to reach decisions about limiting illegal or counterfeit issues than to enforce them. MARKETING AND THE TARGET AUDIENCE Although the term ‘marketing’ did not exist in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, it seems likely that the Stationers’ Company approached the production of almanacs through a similar decision-making process. As Peter Lindenbaum has well noted, ‘stationers were primarily businessmen, with only a secondary interest in promoting learning’.53 In a twenty-first century corporation, the marketing process would begin with asking questions about the nature of the product, and its intended audience.54 While the first part might be easily answerable, the second was often complicated. Some of the more basic almanacs, for example, would have appealed to semi-literate readers, while others were aimed at a more mainstream audience. Other almanacs were differentiated by locale, profession, and religious beliefs, or were simply aimed at a more ‘mainstream’ audience. In all cases, however, the aim was to develop and encourage ‘brand loyalty’ in order to maintain a satisfied customer base. The second step in modern marketing techniques involves determining how to improve customer satisfaction at the same time as increasing profits. This concept is paralleled in the way that the Stationers tried to increase sales and profits by introducing new authors meant to appeal to different sections of the population. In theory, if the target audience was properly identified, and was provided with appropriate material, then the publication would sell in large enough quantities to generate a good profit. If not, then the authors of such almanacs would not have been allowed to continue. John Coulton, who wrote for the meridian of Guildford, only published almanacs between 1653 and 1655. These were clearly not considered successful enough, and the Stationers’ Company terminated their working relationship in 1656.55 Of course, in some cases the termination of a series might have been due to illness or death, as illustrated by Thomas Bretnor’s remark in 1618 that he had been thinking of writing ‘no more of this kind’ because ‘of my sicknes [sic] and the base estimation of the subject.’56 Evidence suggests that one of the ways in which the popularity of almanacs could be determined was through feedback from readers. In Helen Berry’s study of the Athenian Mercury, she suggests that both the late seventeenthcentury periodical and other contemporary serialized publications were

45

Setting the scene ‘inundated with letters’ from readers.57 A similar situation held true for almanacs, with the comments made by authors showing that they took this correspondence very seriously. In 1657, William Andrews predicted ‘violent showers of rain or moist weather’ due during June and July, or during the eclipse. The fact that this forecast proved wrong clearly upset a number of readers, with the result that Andrews asked readers for forgiveness and not to ‘maliciously accuse me of errour’.58 Adam Martindale, who wrote The Country Almanack, reacted somewhat differently to uncomplimentary feedback for his first edition of 1675. He refused to apologize to those who would ‘wink at small faults, such as double Letters for single’, arguing that it had no impact on the content itself.59 This may have been a miscalculation on his part, because the series disappeared after the publication of the 1677 edition. William Davis also was reticent about accepting negative feedback about his first almanac. In 1689 he retorted that ‘’tis impossible to cut out a Coat fit for the Moon as is to write an Almanack to please every man’.60 It remains open to question whether the late appearance his next, and last, almanac, which appeared three years later in 1692, was the result of this stubbornness. John Gadbury thanked readers who chose to ‘salute him by Letters’, although he suggested that further correspondence should be conveyed ‘by hand of some friend in London, who may likewise call upon me for an Answer’. This was not because of lack of interest, but a very busy business schedule, which ‘prevents me of waiting upon the Post, or carriers to serve [the readers]’.61 Almost twenty years later, an advertisement appealed to the writers of the ‘divers letters frequently sent unto the Author of this Ephemeris, please to pay the Postage’.62 One final ingredient of the ‘marketing mix’ that must be examined is that of the targeted or intended audience. At first glance, the majority of almanacs appear to have rather generic titles, such as ‘An almanack’ or ‘A new almanack’. In fact, most consisted of several elements, the first being the easily identifiable terms of ‘almanack’, ‘ephemeris’ or ‘prognosis’. The subtitles, or other text on the title page, however, generally provide clues as to the type of readers that the Company of Stationers hoped that it would attract. This information can be used to further divide the almanacs used in this study into four major categories. The first includes titles aimed at readers in specific parts of the country. This was followed by, and often overlapped with, almanacs written for specific occupational types. The third category addresses gender and the fourth religious topics or themes. REGIONAL ALMANACS The vast majority of almanacs were printed in London, which was the centre of the publishing industry.63 Two titles even included the name of the capital

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The genre of almanacs in their titles, namely Calendarium Londinense and The London Almanack. However, most other almanacs did not specify a location in their name – with the exception of The Oxford Almanac, compiled by Maurice Wheeler, the rector of St Ebbe’s in Oxford. Unlike the majority of almanacs that were printed in London, this series began in 1673 and was produced at what is now known as the Sheldonian Theatre in Oxford. Although almanacs printed in Cambridge specified that they were produced by the printer to the university, there are no examples of their place of publication appearing as part of their titles.64 Most references to the fact that the almanac is aimed at a regional audience are found in the description of the criteria used for calculating astrological charts. Although the principles behind astrological calculations will be discussed in greater detail in later chapters, this refers to figures showing both the location of the planets; the aspects between them; and the orientation of the zodiac and planets to the earth at a given time and place. Technically, an almanac calculated for Durham, for example, should have more accurate information for a Northern reader than an almanac prepared for a London audience. However, the majority of almanacs calculated for London also claimed to ‘indifferentially serve in England, Scotland or Ireland’.65 There were clearly many readers who preferred to purchase regional titles that catered for most parts of the country, as illustrated in Figure 2.3. The majority of these towns were important centres of commerce in the early modern period. Norwich, for example, was well represented by William Kenningham, who produced almanacs in the 1550s and 1660s, followed by three generations of the Neve family: Jeffrey, John and Robert.66 A New Almanack and Prognostication, which began in 1643, was another example of a regional series. Although the title initially appears somewhat generic, the subtitle made it clear that it was written for readers living in Northampton and surrounding areas. As the centre of one of the country’s prime grazing areas, Northampton was closely linked with the leather trade. In the earliest edition, the author Thomas Wilkinson included a comprehensive section of ‘directions in administering of Purging Physick.’ By the 1650s, the medical content had disappeared, and the name had been altered to Apollo or Mercurius Northamptonienis. Interestingly, the last known edition of 1663 actually preceded the economic revival that Northampton enjoyed in the latter part of the century.67 Readers on the south coast were supplied with almanacs by Henry Harflete. His calculations were based on the ‘meridians of the two ancient Port Towns of Sandwich and Dover’. In 1656, Harflete dedicated his work ‘To the Right Worshipful Tobias Clere Esquire, now mayor of the Towne and Port of Sandwich, and to the Worshipful, the Jurates his Brethren’.68 He also appeared to be aiming for a fairly well-educated audience through his use of copious amounts of Latin as well as Greek, or perhaps he was simply attempting to impress them with his own fluency in these languages.

47

Setting the scene

Figure 2.3 Map of locations of regional almanacs

OCCUPATIONAL TITLES In common with chapbooks, almanacs were often aimed at specific groups of rural and urban artisans, traders or other businesspeople.69 While many titles referred broadly to agricultural workers, two series focused on particular rurally based occupations. John Bucknall dedicated his Calendarium pastoris: or

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The genre of almanacs the Shepherds [sic] Almanack ‘to the Shepherds and Plow-men of England’ which he ‘fitted . . . to the Capacities of those who are of my own Profession’.70 Veterinarium Meteorologist Astrology was another example, which will be discussed in Chapter Ten. It was written by a ‘Student in Astrology, and the Compleat Art of Farrying, as to both parts Physical, Chirurgical or Astrological’.71 The presence of such titles suggests that, far from being illiterate, enough shepherds and farriers must have been both able to read and willing to purchase such almanacs to make their publications economically feasible. Other occupational titles were aimed at readers with more urban jobs. These included The Weavers [sic] Almanack, calculated for the ancient market town of Sudbury, which had been involved in cloth production since the medieval period.72 The Constables [sic] Calendar targeted men who were involved in ‘the preservation and conservation of the peace’. Although this almanac contained the ubiquitous calendar section and monthly advice, around one-third of the content provided information and advice specifically aimed at constables.73 The Treasurers [sic] Almanacke, on the other hand, was said to be useful to a wider range of readers, including: Generall, Coronell, Knight, Merchant, Grocer, Goldsmith, Scrivener, Buyer, Lender, Artifier, Tradesman or Nobleman, Commander, Gentleman, Mercer, Draper, Fishmonger, Usurer, Seller, Borrower, Clothier, Husbandman and whosoever else.74

Other titles suggest that they were aimed at the approximately 10,000 pedlars or petty chapmen on the roads by the end of the seventeenth century.75 The recognition that such workers might be interested in purchasing an almanac specifically written for them occurred during the 1680s, a period when the Stationers were also experimenting with using women writers, which will be discussed later in this book. The City and Countrey Chapmans [sic] Almanack was a no-frills publication, containing a great deal of useful information, including the ‘Marts and Fairs in England, a list of the Post Roads, and their several Branches, the Names of all the Market Towns and a Table of Accounts ready cast up, for the Buying or Selling of any Commodity’.76 Sailors were another group targeted by ‘occupational’ almanacs. The Seamans [sic] Almanack and Prognostication of 1655 was attributed to the aptly (although probably pseudonymously) named John Waterman, who promised to provide: The Hour and Minute of Full Sea or High-water (for every day in the Year) at all the chiefest Ports . . . (the like not set forth by any other) Excellent Tables for Sea-men and others, to finde the Hour of the Night by the Stars without an Instrument.77

It appears that Waterman’s almanac did not meet with sufficient acclaim, as it appeared only once. Timothy Gadbury, however, appears to have been more

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Setting the scene successful. As a teacher of navigation at Ratcliff, London, he presumably had a better idea of how to appeal to his readers.78 Gadbury provided seamen with a great deal of interesting information, including a list of all the ships in the navy along with the ‘monthly wages’ all ‘Officers, Sea men and others’ received.79 Kalendarium Nauticum: The Sea-mans [sic] Almanack was the final ‘naval’ almanac and appeared in 1675, attributed to Henry Seaman, a name which was almost certainly a pseudonym.80 GENDER Merry Wiesner has suggested that since male readers outnumbered female ones, most books were aimed at both sexes.81 This argument is supported by the material contained in almanacs, with most mainstream editions attempting to address issues of interest to all the adults in the household. Many almanacs contained a mixture of ‘masculine’ political forecasts and propaganda, as well as more ‘feminine’ topics such as gardening. The satirical series known as Poor Robin was one title, however, that was unlikely to appeal to women writers, due to its somewhat misogynistic style. It was, however, so popular with male readers that the Stationers authorized a yearly production of around 7,000 copies a year.82 Produced by William Winstanley under the nom de plume of ‘Poor Robin, Knight of the Burnt Island’, this was ‘An Almanack After a New Fashion Wherein the Reader may see (if he be not blind) many remarkable things worthy of observations’. Furthermore, readers were assured that they could ‘Buy, read & laugh, here’s that will fit your fancy, Yet here’s no Magick, nor no Necromancy: But is rich fraught with many pritty knacks, And has more truth than hath most Almanacks.’83 Interestingly, between 1658 and 1700, the Stationers decided to experiment not once, but three times, with almanacs purporting to be written by women. Although these authors will be discussed in detail in Chapter Three, it seems likely that only one was actually female. Regardless of who actually did write these almanacs, however, the decision by the Company to offer such titles appears to have been based on prevailing social and cultural conditions, and the potential for making a profit from a growing female market for books. RELIGIOUS TITLES The final category contains almanacs focused on religious issues. There were two main types, the first consisting of anti-clerical propaganda, or attacks on Catholics, Puritans or non-conformists. The second were serious, erudite publications, usually written by scholarly clerics. In general, neither type tended to include non-commercial medical advice within their pages. However, those

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The genre of almanacs that appeared in the late seventeenth century occasionally carried advertisements for proprietary drugs.84 The first type of almanac mirrored the religious upheavals of the late sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In 1555, Anthony Askham, who was a firm supporter of Mary Tudor, praised her attempts to revive Catholicism, claiming that ‘the Lord god of blysse . . . hath sent a gouvernesse to make a reformation, erylyng our late heresyes and amending all our mysse’.85 In the later Elizabethan and early Stuart period both Catholics and Puritans became targets of religious propaganda. Members of the Catholic faith, who were seen as agents of foreign power, were the major targets in the first half of the seventeenth century.86 The most intense hatred was apparent in issues of The Protestant Almanack. It began by stating the number of years since ‘Our deliverance from Popery by Queen Eliz’ and continued with a tirade against ‘the Bloody Aspects, Fatal Oppositions, Diabolical Conjunctions, and Pernicious Revolutions of the papacy against the Lord Christ’.87 Judging from the type of advertisements in The Protestant Almanack, it appears that the interests of the readers lay mainly in slandering Catholics. Medical advice, in particular, does not appear to have been in great demand. The 1681 edition promoted two religious texts, a book on physick, one on history and a ‘Treatise of Cider, and other Wines and Drinks.’ In addition, it carried two advertisements for proprietary drugs, and one for trusses.88 Puritans, in turn, were also subject to attack in almanacs. The breakdown in Episcopal administration, followed by its formal abolition in October 1646, was one of the major bones of contention.89 An Episcopal Almanac consisted totally of religious propaganda and did not address medical issues at all. The almanac stressed the importance of bishops, reminding readers in 1678 that: When Bishops in this Land were ta’ne away; How soon did Regal Government decay? Scepters and Crosiers have such sympathy, They live together, or together die; One ruine doth the others downfal bring, True Maxim ’tis, No Bishop, Soon No King.90

The Yea and Nay Almanack made its first appearance that same year. It claimed to be written ‘for the people call’d by the men of the World Quakers’. The title no doubt, referred to their identifiable way of speaking, and their refusal to take oaths. As Christopher Hill has pointed out, their ‘yea was yea, and their nay was nay’.91 Much of the content was on the borderline of satire and outright hostility. The almanac was calculated for the meridian of ‘the Bull and Mouth within Aldersgate, and may indifferently serve for any other Meeting-house what or wheresoever’.92 ‘Religious’ almanacs falling under the second category were written in an entirely different tone, and targeted more serious readers. A Scripture

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Setting the scene Almanack was written by H.J. (thought to stand for Henry Jessey or Henry Jessop), ‘Minister of the Gospell’ from 1643 until 1662.93 When asked ‘why a Preacher would set forth such a kalendar’, he responded ‘to help many Weak Christians that yet are ignorant in Scripture Accounts’. In fact, Jessey’s readers were occasionally also offered more esoteric information. One edition included medical advice as well as ‘our Vulgar Almanack Explaining the Accounts, Measures, Weights, Coyns, Customs and Languages, of Gods antient people, and of Primitive Christians’. It appears that such wordly advice as that dealing with medical purging, did not appeal to his readers. A detailed defence of phlebotomy and other forms of evacuation appeared in 1648, and never again.94 One can only speculate that perhaps H.J. did not wish his readers to focus on earthly matters. In the entire period of this study, only two non-satirical almanacs were written specifically for Catholic readers. The first, by Thomas Blount, appeared in 1661 and was called Calendarium catholicum: or an universal almanac. Blount was a Catholic gentleman and landowner, who wrote of his fury about the mistreatment of his religious brethren. There are two additional surviving editions for 1662 and 1663, neither of which contained medical advice.95 The second serious religious almanac for Catholics was written anonymously, and appeared in 1672. The Catholick Almanack was brought out by ‘the Printer to the King’s Most Excellent Majesty, for his Houshold and Chappel’. Its content had many similarities to mainstream almanacs, including quarterly advice on health-care, physical observations and advertisements for medical items.96 CONCLUSION This chapter has attempted to discuss the range of unique features which made up what can truly be called the first form of English mass media. Although this book focuses on their medical content, it is clear that the genre contains a veritable wealth of material for other types of social and cultural historians. As the most profitable component of the Stationers’ business, it was important to attract and maintain a large readership by producing copies attractive to purchasers of varying levels of literacy, wealth and sophistication. While all were linked by the unifying thread of astrological information and predictions, there were also many differences between authors and editions. Many titles were aimed at specific, regional audiences, while others focused on occupations or readers interested in more of a religious theme. As with modern periodicals, the ability to provide a diversified range of almanacs allowed the Stationers’ Company to provide something of interest to most readers. The result of their success showed in the contemporary saying that almanacs were ‘readier money than cake or ale’.97 The satirical almanac Poor Robin summed this up with truthful humour:

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The genre of almanacs This is now the Twenty fifth Year since first I began to write Poor Robins Almanack, And if you will believe the Book-sellers, it hath been written well, whose Maxim is, The Author above all the rest, Whose Book sells most, doth write the best.98

NOTES 1 J. Whalley, 1699, sig. A2r 2 R. Edlyn, Observations Astrologicae or an Astrological Discourse (London, 1659), p. 5; and J. Moxon, A Tutor to Astronomy and Geometry (London, 1674), p. 112. 3 C. Camden Jr, ‘Elizabethan almanacs and prognostications’, The Library, 10 (1932), p. 84. 4 D. Parker, Familiar to All: William Lilly and Astrology in the Seventeenth Century (London, 1975), p. 90. 5 B. Katz, Cuneiform to Computer: A History of Reference Sources (London, 1998), p. 97. 6 D. Parker and J. Parker, A History of Astrology (London, 1983), p. 152. 7 P.M. Jones, ‘Medicine and science’ in L. Hellinga and J.B. Trapp (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. II (Cambridge, UK, 1999), p. 439. 8 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs, 1500–1800 (London, 1979), p. 25. 9 R. Houston, Literacy in Early Modern Europe (London, 1988), p. 180. 10 R.C. Simons, ‘ABC’s, almanacs, ballads, chapbooks, popular piety and textbooks’ in J. Barnard and D.F. McKenzie (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, IV (Cambridge, UK, 2002), p. 56. 11 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 26. 12 S. Heuring, 1551; A. Bogaert, 1553; M. Nostradamus, 1563; A. Foulweather, 1591; and O. Fine, The rules and ryghte ample documentes, touchinge the use and practise of the common almanackes (London, 1558), sig. A3r. 13 P.L. Hughes and J.F. Larkin, Tudor Royal Proclamations, II, eds P.L. Hughes and J.F. Larkin (New Haven CT, 1964), pp. 271–272. 14 D.F. McKenzie, ‘Stationers’ Company Liber A: an apologia’ in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) The Stationers’ Company and the Book Trade 1550–1900 (Winchester, 1997), pp. 35–64. 15 J.R. Riddell, A Few Historical notes on the Worshipful Company of Stationers (London, 1921); p. 13; C. Blagden, The Stationers’ Company: A History 1403–1959 (London, 1960), p. 75; and R. Myers, ‘The financial records of the stationers’ company 1605–1811’ in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) Economics of the British Book Trade 1605–1939 (Cambridge, UK, 1985), pp. 1–32. 16 P. Blayney, ‘William Cecil and the stationers’ in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) The Stationers’ Company Before the Charter 1430–1557, pp. 11–34; and E. Arber (ed.) A Transcript of the Registers of the Company of Stationers of London 1554–1640 AD, Vol. I (London, 1875), p. 23. 17 J. Ames, Typographical antiquities: or an historical account of the origin and progress of printing in Great Britain and Ireland, Vol. II (London, 1785), p. 1024; and E. Arber, Transcript, p. 40.

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Setting the scene 18 This did not, however, stop the universities of Oxford and Cambridge from printing almanacs during the seventeenth century. B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 37. 19 T. Feist, The Stationers’ Voice: The English Almanac Trade in the Early Eighteenth Century (Philadelphia, 2005), p. 11. 20 P. Blaney, ‘William Cecil and the Stationers’ in R. Meyers and M. Harris (eds) The Stationers’ Company and the Book Trade 1550–1990 (Winchester, 1997), pp. 11–34; C. Blagden, ‘The English stock of the Stationers’ Company in the time of the Stuarts’, The Library, 5th series, 12 (1957), 167–185; and Stationers’ Company Court Book, 20 June 1602, Book C, Folio 4b. 21 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 24; and P. Curry, Prophecy and Power: Astrology in Early Modern England (Princeton, NJ, 1989), p. 20. 22 C.J. Somerville, The News Revolution in England: Cultural Dynamics of Daily Information (Oxford, 1996), p. 34; N. Wheale, Writing and Society: Literacy, Print and Politics in Britain 1590–1660 (London, 1999), pp. 66–67; C. Hill, The World Turned Upside Down: Radical Ideas During the English Revolution (London, 1991), p. 89; H. Rusche, ‘Merlini Anglici: astrology and propaganda from 1644 to 1651’, English Historical Review, 80 (1965), 322–333; and B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 35. 23 P. Curry, Prophecy and Power, p. 46; and J. Sutherland, The Restoration Newspaper and Its Development in Early Modern England (Cambridge, UK, 1986), p. 2. 24 A. Johns, The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making (Chicago, 1998), p. 234; and T. Harris, London Crowds in the Reign of Charles II: Propaganda and Politics From the Restoration Until the Exclusion Crisis (Cambridge, UK, 1987), p. 3. 25 H. Coley, 1686, sig. A2v. 26 D. Woodward, 1683, sig. A2r. 27 W. Andrews, 1687, sig. A2v. 28 Idem, 1688, sig. A2r. 29 A. Johns, The Nature of the Book, p. 188. 30 C. Blagden, ‘The distribution of almanacs in the second half of the seventeenth century’, Studies in Bibliography, XI (1958), pp. 107–116; B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 37; M. Perkins, Visions of the Future: Almanacs, Time, and Cultural Change (Oxford, 1996), p. 18; L. Hill Curth, ‘The medical content of English almanacs 1640–1700’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 60, 3 (July 2005), 252–282; and T. Feist, The Stationers’ Voice, p. 19. 31 I. Green, Print and Protestantism in Early Modern England (Oxford, 2000), p. 15; and T. Watt, Cheap Print and Popular Piety, 1550–1640 (Cambridge, UK, 1991), p. 262. 32 C. Blagden, ‘The distribution of almanacs’, pp. 107–116. 33 R. Head, The English rogue continued in the life of Meriton Latroon (London, 1699), pp. 204–205. 34 T. Watt, Cheap Print, pp. 131 and 148. 35 M. Perkins, Visions of the Future, p. 16. 36 F. Madan, ‘The Oxford press 1650–1675: the struggle for a place in the sun’, The Library, 2 (1925), p. 136; M. Wheeler, Oxford Almanac (Oxford, 1684 and 1694). 37 E. Bosanquet, ‘English seventeenth-century almanacks’, The Library, 10 (1930), p. 366.

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The genre of almanacs 38 V. Wing, 1659, sig. C8v; J. Partridge, 1655, sig. C4v; and L. Coelson, 1683, sig. C8r. 39 M. Spufford, Small Books and Pleasant Histories: Popular Fiction and Its Readership in Seventeenth-Century England (Cambridge, UK, 1981), pp. 50–51; D. Updike, Printing Types: Their History, Forms, and Use – A Study in Survivals, Vol. II (Cambridge, MA, 1962), p. 82. 40 T. Watt, Cheap Print, p. 262. 41 Nicholas Culpeper, 1653 and 1654, sig. A1r; R. Saunders, 1656, sig. A1r; J. Booker, 1654, sig. A1r; and W. Eland, 1656, sig. A1r. 42 G. Wharton, 1658–65; S. Gilbert, 1683; M. Holden, 1688; G. Parker, 1694; M. Corbett and R. Lightbown, The Comely Frontispiece: The Emblematic Page in England 1550–1660 (London, 1979), p. 43; and J. Gadbury, 1675, sig. A1v. 43 W. Lilly, 1650, sig. A1r. 44 W. Lilly, 1653, 1655, 1662, 1663, 1693; BODL, Ashm. 91(1), 247(1), Ashm. 583(2); Ashm. 266(1), Ashm. 609(1) and 1651, 1667, 1672 and 1676; BAL, 670a.4(5), 670a.7(9), 670a.9(4) and 670a.11(5). 45 J. Tanner, 1641, sig. A1r. 46 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 70. 47 J. Honiwax, 1629, sig. A2v. 48 T. Buckminster, 1571, sig. A1v. 49 W. Rivers, 1628, sig. B1v; and V. Wing, 1659, sig. C8v. 50 See, for example, H. Low, 1569, sig. A6r and R. Allestree, 1625, sig. A4r. 51 J. Neve, 1628, sig. A3r; W.W., 1674, sig. A8r; and W. Salmon, 1692, sig. A5r. 52 A. Johns, The Nature of the Book, p. 99. 53 P. Lindenbaum, ‘Authors and publishers in the late seventeenth century: new evidence on their relations’, The Library, 17 (1995), p. 260. 54 P. Hague and P. Jackson, How to Do Marketing Research (London, 1990), pp. 12–13. 55 Stationers’ Company, Journal Book, f. 21. 56 T. Bretnor, 1618, sig. A3v. Bretnor did, in fact, continue to produce almanacs until 1625. 57 H. Berry, Gender, Society and Print Culture in Late-Stuart England (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 37–39. 58 W. Andrews, 1658, sig. C7r. 59 A. Martindale, 1676, sig. B1r. 60 W. Davis, 1689, sig. A2v. 61 J. Gadbury, 1665, sig. A1v. 62 Ibid., 1683, sig. A2r. 63 A. Johns, Nature of the Book, p. 52. 64 C. Blagden, The Stationers’ Company, p. 145. 65 J. Tanner, 1660, sig. A1r. 66 W. Kenningham, 1558, sig. A1r and 1568, sig. A1r; R. Neve, 1666, sig. A1r.

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Setting the scene 67 J.A. Chartres, Internal Trade in England 1500–1700 (London, 1977), p. 30; and T. Wilkinson, 1643, sig. B7v and 1658, sig. A1r. 68 H. Harflete, 1656, sig. A3r. 69 M. Spufford, Small Books and Pleasant Histories, pp. 54–55. 70 J. Bucknall, 1678, sig. A1v. 71 R. Gardner, 1698, sig. A1r. 72 C. Platt, The Traveller’s Guide to Medieval England (London, 1985), pp. 37, 49–50. 73 V. Price, Constables [sic] Almanac, 1660, sig. C1r–C4r. 74 Anon., Treasurers [sic] Almanack, 1627, sig. A1r. 75 B. Capp, ‘Popular literature’ in B. Capp (ed.) Popular Culture in Seventeenth Century England (London, 1985), p. 201. 76 The City and Countrey Chapmans Almanack, 1687, sig. A1r. 77 A. Waterman, 1655, sig. A2v. 78 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 308. 79 T. Gadbury, 1659, sig. A1r, A2r–v and B1r–v. 80 H. Seaman, 1675–77. 81 M. Wiesner, Women and Gender in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK, 1998), p. 124. 82 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 40. 83 Poor Robin, 1665, sig. A1r; 1671, sig. B4r and 1681, sig. A1r. 84 See Chapter Nine. 85 A. Askham, 1555, sig. B6r. 86 C. Hill, The Century of Revolution 1603–1714 (Walton-on-Thames, 1980), p. 148. 87 Philoprotest, 1681, sig. A1r. 88 Ibid., sig. B8v. 89 S. Doran and C. Durston, Princes, Pastors and People: The Church and Religion in England 1529–1689 (London, 1991), p. 137. 90 An Episcopal Almanack, 1678, sig. A1v. 91 J.A. Sharpe, Early Modern England: A Social History 1550–1760 (London, 1991), p. 249; and C. Hill, Society and Puritanism in Pre-Revolutionary England (London, 1964), p. 343. 92 Anon., Yea and Nay, 1679, sig. A1r. 93 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 315. 94 H. Jessey, 1661, sig. A2v; 1652, sig. A1r; 1648, sig. C2r; and 1652, sig. A1r. 95 T. Blount, 1661, 1663 and 1686, n.p. 96 Anon., The Catholick Almanack, 1687. 97 M. Plant, The English Book Trade (London, 1962), p. 48. 98 Poor Robin, 1687, sig. A1v.

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Chapter 3

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‘Students of astrology and physick’: the authors

No New-years-gifts [sic] have almanacks to give, Saving themselves to serve you while they live: Twelve solar months abroad they hop and fly, And then like Silk-worms (poor things!) must dye, Thus Individuals are quickly gone, But still the kind continues and runs on.1

A

lthough the natural life span of an almanac is only a year, Keith Thomas has suggested that they provided readers with ‘a guide to daily action’ for that time.2 This chapter will look at the men and women who compiled such information for readers during the period 1550–1700.3 There were, in fact, large numbers of writers involved, many but by no means all of whom were also practising astrological practitioners. Brean Hammond has suggested that such ‘ambitious writers’ probably did not consider that their work was valuable in itself, but as a means of informing the public of their personal abilities.4 Bernard Capp appears to agree with this idea, arguing that for authors producing almanacs under their own names, it was probably not the fee that was most attractive, but the fact that the publication was a ‘free, indeed subsidized advertisement for its author’.5 This theory, is based on the fact that the monetary rewards for such work were reputedly very low, and that good publicity would have proved more valuable in the long run for many writers. There are, however, two problems with this concept. According to Cyprian Blagden, normal payment for seventeenth-century authors was two pounds per edition, which some presumably thought was a reasonable sum, generally accompanied by a number of free copies. Those who were most successful might expect even higher rewards. In 1658, for example, William Lilly was told that he would receive an additional £60 if 20,000 copies were sold.6 Other authors were also likely to have received rewards more commensurate with their success.

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Setting the scene A second point is that Capp appears to ignore the fact that a large number of almanacs appeared under the names of authors who were either long dead, had never existed, or were purely fictitious. The motivation for such commercial writers, often referred to as ‘hackney’ or ‘hack’ writers (because of their similarity to cheap hackney carriages), could only have been economic.7 As Adrian Johns has pointed out, the early seventeenth century was often perceived as an ‘Age of Paper-prostitutions’ where numerous ‘scribblers . . . sold their honour to booksellers by the line’. It may be that the stigma attached to those who ‘wrote for bread’ was compounded by the fact that many of these ‘inalienably commercial writers’ were perceived to be interested only in ‘vapid bookmaking’. Such writers relied on ‘producing text on demand’, often actually living in the home of the printer.8 This was probably not a tremendously lucrative career, although there are very few sources of information on how individual authors were paid for their work.9 Even so, it seems likely that at least some writers would have agreed with the satirical almanac Poor Robin, which claimed that ‘every word in this Almanack was writ on purpose to get money, which indeed is the main purpose of most people in the world now adais’.10 It may well be that some commercial writers had at least a fundamental understanding of astrological principles. However, this was probably not a prerequisite for almanacs, for, as Maureen Perkins has noted, these publications had ‘a long and successful tradition of [their] layout and purpose’.11 Many series included material recycled from previous years or from other texts, particularly popular medical books. Even annual astrological tables could be sourced elsewhere and added to the compilation.12 The vast majority of ‘real’ writers (who used their own names), however, do appear to have had astrological backgrounds, often combined with other types of ‘mathematical’ skills, such as surveying or navigation. Since almanacs were predominantly astrological publications, it follows that at least some ‘real’ authors would have wanted to convince potential readers that they offered a credible source of astrological information. As Ian Maclean has noted recently, ‘the decision to reprint an author was made by directly commercial considerations’.13 While it is often difficult to ascertain why this was the case, it seems likely that the Stationers would have preferred to focus on established astrological writers and titles that sold well, rather than allowing what were essentially speculative almanacs to enter the market. Peter Burke has suggested that most writers of literature such as ballads, pamphlets and chapbooks could be classified into one of three categories. The first included learned or upper-class writers who produced works for ‘ordinary’ people. These were followed by a substantial group of commercial writers, followed by a smaller number of ‘miscellaneous, ordinary people’.14 At first glance, this seems like a sensible method of dividing writers of ephemeral literature. However, at closer inspection, the categories become somewhat

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The authors confusing. The use of terms such as ‘learned’ or ‘upper class’ are open to debate, while ‘miscellaneous’ and ‘ordinary’ could encompass almost anyone. Although there are similarities between the groupings for Burke’s ephemeral writers and those who produced almanacs, this chapter will implement a slightly different system of descriptions. The main reason for this is that the emphasis will be on authors who produced almanacs with medical information or advice. The names shown in Table 3.1 will then be divided into two groups: writers who published almanacs under their own names, followed by those appearing under pseudonyms and/or compiled by ‘hack’ writers. In many cases, it has proved difficult, if not impossible, to find information about almanac writers outside of the pages of their own publications. That said, as Patrick Curry has shown in Power and Prophecy, there are a handful of exceptions who have left clues about their lives in various types of manuscript or printed texts.15 The best-known are men whose names are still familiar in certain circles today, such as Nicholas Culpeper or William Lilly. Many modern shoppers patronize the national chain of shops selling herbal products branded with the name Culpepper, while herbalists are familiar with Culpeper’s Herbal. Although several hundred years old, the fact that it has remained in print almost constantly over the past 350 years suggests that ‘the substance of his words is just as relevant today as it was then’.16 William Lilly, on the other hand, is better known amongst students of astrology or other academic types. His Christian Astrology, which was first published in 1647, has remained a standard text for astrological study for centuries, and the man himself has been the subject of a comprehensive study by Ann Geneva.17 The final part of this chapter will consist of three case studies of less wellknown almanac authors. It was a difficult decision to choose these writers out of the large number involved in the production of almanacs over the 150 years, as there are such a large number of interesting characters. There is, however, a group of authors who professed to be practitioners of physick and who share a rather unique trait. These were three late seventeenth-century writers who claimed to be female in a period when only one-half to 1% of all printed texts were attributed to women authors.18 Interestingly, the ‘arrival’ of writers who claimed to be women was the only major change in the type of authors who produced almanacs during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. As this section will show, evidence suggests that only one of the three was definitely a woman, a second may have been, and the third almost certainly was not. ALMANACS CONTAINING MEDICAL ADVICE BY WRITERS USING THEIR OWN NAMES As Table 3.1 illustrates, over the 150 years of this study there were over 159 separate series of almanacs which contained medical information. As with other

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Table 3.1 Almanacs with medical content

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Allestree, Richard Alleyn, Henry Andrews, William Askham, Anthony Ashwell, Samuel Atkinson, Charles Atlee, Richard Balles, Thomas Barham, W. Baston, James Bell, George Bellerson, Philip Beridge, Ferdinando Bird, T. Blagrave, Joseph Blunt, Gabriel Booker, John Bourne, William Bowker, James Bowker, John Bretnor, Ezekiel Bretnor, Thomas Browne, Daniel Buckminster, Thomas Bucknall, John Burton, Gregory Butler, Robert Carre, James Chamberlaine, Joseph Clark, Rodney Coelson, Lancelot Coley, Henry

Cookson, William Cornelius, George Coxe, Francis Coulton, John Country Almanack Crawford, Henry Culpeper, Nathaniel Culpeper, Nicholas Dade, William Daniel, Humphrey Davis, William Digges, Leonard Dove Dreking, Philip Eaton, Nathaniel Einer, N. Ellis, John Evans, John Fallowes, Edward Farmer, William Fly Foulweather, Adam Fowle, Thomas Frende, Gabriel Gadbury, John Gallen, Thomas Gardner, Robert Gilbert, Samuel Gilden, G. Goldisborough, John Grammar, Abraham Gray, Walter

Greenwood, Nicholas Gresham, Edward Gossenne, George Harflete, Henry Harvey, John Harrison, John Hawkins, G. Healy, Richard Heathcott, William Herbert, Thomas Hewitt, Thomas Hill, Thomas Hobbs, Matthew Holden, Mary Honiwax, J. Hopton, Arthur Hubrigh, Joachim Jinner, Sarah Johnson, G. Johnson, John Kaye, Richard Keene, John Kenningham, Wm. Kidman, Thomas Kirby, Richard Lakes, Thomas Langley, Thomas Lilly, William Lord, John Low, Henry Markham, G. Matthew, William

Mounslowe, Alexander Moore, Francis More, Philip Morton, Robert Naworth, George Neve, Jeffrey Neve, John Neve, Robert Nostradamus, Mychael Nye, Nathaniel Osborne, George Partridge, Dorothy Partridge, John Partridge, Seth Perkins, Francis Perkins, Samuel Philoprotest Pigot, Francis Pond, Edward Pond, Thomas Pool, John Poor Robin Ranger, Philip Readman, William Rider, Schardanus Rivers, Peregrine Rogeford, Henry Rowley, John Rudston, John Russell, John Salmon, William Saunder, Richard

Saunders, Richard Savage, William Securis, John Silvester, John Smith, John Sofford, Arthur Streete, Thomas Stephenson, Nicholas Strutt, Thomas Swallow Swan, John Tanner, John Temples, Charles Trigge, Thomas Upcote, Augustine Watson, Robert Wyberdum, Joannes Vaux, John Waters, Fr. Watson, Robert Westhawe, Robert Westley, James Whalley, John Wharton, George White, John Wilson, Jeffrey Wing, Vincent Winter, Frig Woodhouse, John Woodhouse, William Woodward, Daniel

The authors types of vernacular medical literature, however, it does not necessarily follow that all or even any of the authors had any kind of medical background. After all, in the largely unregulated medical marketplace of the time, healers were free to call themselves almost anything they wished. In the absence of universally recognized credentials for astrologers, the same probably held true for those who professed to have an in-depth knowledge of the stars. As one contemporary noted: ’Tis but getting two, or three Books of Physic, to furnish thee with Terms, and half a dozen old Wives Receipts, to sell at thy own price, and also some easie Tract of Astrology, that may instruct you in the Art of bantering the credulous, and those that are made for Futurity, which ambiguous words, and hard Terms, above their Capacity of Understanding: any scratches will pass for a Scheme, and the Names of the Planets, which you may learn from an Almanac, get you the reputation of a profound Artist.19

Harold Cook has argued that the most important thing for a medical practitioner was to have a ‘good reputation’.20 This seems an eminently sensible conclusion, as the concept encompasses a variety of attributes, such as communication skills, the competency to bring relief to a suffering patient, or technical ability. It also holds true for almanac writers, who would have wished to be seen as astrological experts. Lauren Kassell has suggested that astrologers could do this by presenting ‘a knowledgeable and authoritative image’ to their target audience.21 One of the most visible ways in which almanac writers showed their credentials was through the way that they portrayed themselves on their title pages. In general, the identifying phrases fall under three main categories, with the greatest number utilizing some form of the words ‘astronomy’ (which referred to the ‘theorick part’) or astrology (which was the ‘practick part’), although many used the terms interchangeably.22 In most cases, this would be prefaced with the self-effacing term of ‘student’ of astrology or astronomy. The second category included some variations of the closely related word ‘mathematicks’, which some attempted to improve the sound of by adding ‘Gent’ (which signified ‘gentleman’).23 The final category contains authors who referred to themselves either as a ‘student’ or ‘practitioner’ in some form of medicine. The largest proportion of almanac writers chose to use the words ‘astrology’ or ‘astronomy’, perhaps so as to leave their readers in no doubt as to their credentials. William Lilly, for example, continued to refer to himself as a ‘student in astrologie’ for over half a century, even though he was probably the most noteworthy almanac writer and astrologer of the period.24 Lilly’s writing career began in the early 1640s, when he began to ‘take notice of every grand Action which happened betwixt King and Parliament’. His observations led him to the conclusion that ‘as all sublunary Affairs did depend upon superior Causes,

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Setting the scene so there was a Possibility of discovering them by the Configurations of the superior Bodies’. In 1643 Lilly provided medical treatment to Sir Bulstrode Whitlocke, a prominent member of the House of Commons and a year later presented him with a copy of his first almanac which ‘by Accident [Whitlocke] was reading thereof in the House of Commons’. According to Lilly’s manuscript notes, his almanac then attracted so much demand amongst the other members of the Commons that he went on to have more printed, ‘the first Impression’ being sold in less than one week.25 Lilly soon began to produce a number of other works, including Christian Astrology (1647), a work which is generally regarded as the first major vernacular book on astrology printed in England. It was a comprehensive source book, containing instructions on how to use an ephemeris (containing tables of the positions of the sun, moon and planets each day for the year or multiple years), erect astrological schemes and interpret charts, and predict future events.26 His friend, Elias Ashmole, wrote a poem about this work, proclaiming that Lilly was ‘our English Atlas, you support Astrologie’s fair Credit’.27 There are also a number of surviving, contemporary letters that referred to Lilly as one of the foremost practitioners of his time.28 On the other hand, Lilly was also subjected to a great deal of criticism. A letter dated 21 July 1654 from Dorothy Osborne to William Temple, for example, mockingly described the well-known astrologer: You little think I have been with Lilly; in earnest, I was, the day before I came out of town . . . with a cousin of mine that had long designed to make herself sport with him, and did not miss of her aim . . . In my life I have never heard so ridiculous a discourse as he made us, and no old woman that passes for a witch could have been more to seek what to say to reasonable people than he was.29

Lilly was also more publicly ridiculed in the press. These included the relatively harmless accusation that Lilly probably invented the houses of the zodiac himself in order to sell astrological ‘wares’ that were ‘our preservative against despair’.30 Other criticism was much more dangerous, such as that aimed at his hugely popular A Prophecy of the White King (1644). Lilly claimed that this work was a translation of an ancient Welsh poem, a poem which contained a judgement ‘in the inquisition of our English affairs’. According to his interpretation, this signified that the presence of a White King, referring to Charles I, resulted in ‘what stormes, what miseries, what cruell Warres’ and that only his removal could result in peace.31 Not surprisingly, this highly inflammatory text was perceived to be very dangerous propaganda and was roundly condemned in the popular press. The publication a year later of The Starry Messenger, however, landed Lilly in even worse trouble. This work, which warned of the many serious ‘judgements ready to fall downe upon some great Families of England and Europe’, signalled

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The authors by the appearance of three suns on Charles II’s birthday in 1644, resulted in Lilly being forced to defend himself before the ‘Committee of Examinations’.32 Having survived that ordeal, Lilly went on to produce other highly contentious publications. Perhaps the most scandalous of his works was Monarchy or No Monarchy (1651), which contained illustrations of a city burning by the side of a river, and of the Gemini twins (the symbol of London) falling headfirst into a bonfire. Perhaps not surprisingly, this led to accusations of a link between Lilly, his book and the Great Fire of 1666.33 The majority of writers who provided medical content in their almanacs, however, tended to focus on less-controversial matters. Although the largest number of these authors identified themselves in some way with astronomy or astrology, there was a substantial group who preferred to use the title of ‘practitioner’ or ‘student’ of mathematics. The term ‘mathematicks’ could, of course, refer to a variety of activities, including making instruments, writing books and either teaching or providing technical services.34 Other authors referred to themselves as a ‘philomath’, which was probably a contraction of Professor of Philosophy and Mathematics, a term used by Jean Baptiste Denis (or Denys, c.1625–1704), or it might simply have referred to a lover of mathematics. The appellation ‘mathematician’, on the other hand, could be used by anyone involved with arts that depended on calculations – from surveying to military applications.35 However, given the context in which they are used, and the fact that mathematical calculations were an integral part of astrology, it seems likely that such titles were meant to communicate a message similar to those in the first category. Thomas Bretnor, for example, referred to himself as a ‘Teacher of Mathematicks and Geometrie’ in 1607, although he later expanded this to ‘Teacher of the Mathematicks and Physitian’. Bretnor stressed the importance of ‘the knowledge of Astrologie . . . especially, in practice of Phisicke’, reminding readers that ‘the naturall constellation or radix of . . . a [sick] persons [sic] nativity’ was of paramount importance. He also offered readers medical consultations, where he may have recommended opium – whose virtues he promoted in a book on the subject. Judging by the range of material that he wrote about, it seems likely that Bretnor was also a medical practitioner, even though the College of Physicians tried to prosecute him for illegal practice.36 Thomas Streete was another author who referred to himself as ‘a student of mathematicks’ in his first edition of 1653, followed by other almanacs in the 1660s, and the next known and possibly final edition in 1682.37 Streete was best known, however, as the author of Astronomia Carolina (London, 1661), which became a leading astronomical textbook until well in the following century. Manuscript notes made by Isaac Newton in 1664 and 1665, for example, consisted almost entirely of references to Astronomia Carolina. On the other hand, the almanac writer Vincent Wing argued that the work ‘undermin’d and much

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Setting the scene battr’d’ the very ‘Fundamentals of Astronomy’.38 Despite such criticism, Streete contained to publish new editions of his book, alongside a new work The genuine use and effects of the gunne (London 1674), which contained mathematical ‘tables of projection’.39 George Parker was another self-professed ‘philomath’, who went to great efforts to convince readers of his credibility. His title pages not only declared that his calculations of the ‘celestial motions’ were based on Astronomia Carolina, but included testimonials of his expertise in his first almanac of 1690. As the works of John Taylor the ‘water poet’ illustrate, the use of such ‘admiring verses’ was a common device used to ‘puff’ or promote publications.40 Parker was fortunate enough to have the praise of the noted mathematician and astronomer Edmond Halley (1656–1742), who claimed that the almanac was ‘much more exactly calculated than any of those I have seen published for this Year’.41 Even so, Parker spent the following decades embroiled in disputes with many of the leading astrologers of the time. In 1697 Parker commented on the ‘Ignorance and Carelessness’ apparent in Richard Saunders’ previous almanac, while John Partridge and Henry Coley were busy negating Parkers’ work.42 The third most popular term, following ‘astrology’ and ‘mathematics’, used by writers of almanacs containing medical advice included the use of the word ‘physick’. While there were a small number of writers who noted their specialties – such as midwives Sarah Jinner and Mary Holden, the farrier John Gardener or the surgeon Joseph Chamberlaine – most did not. The most popular term was the somewhat modest ‘student of physick’, followed by ‘welwiller to physick’. Some writers, such as Anthony Askham, a minister from Yorkshire, chose to refer to themselves as a ‘phisitian’.43 Of course, the fact that a writer claimed to be an astrologer, a mathematician or a medical practitioner did not necessarily mean that they really were. However, it must be remembered that most readers were unlikely to have first-hand knowledge of these authors, and were less likely to ever meet them. Therefore, it would have been more important that these claims were perceived to be true based on the content of their almanacs and/or other books or publications, rather than actually being so. William Salmon, for example, was not a Professor of Physick in the technical sense, as he had not attended university, but was said to have learned his basic skills from a mountebank.44 That said, as an adult he obtained an ecclesiastical medical licence and enjoyed a thriving practice near St Bartholomew’s Hospital. This success so irritated the College of Physicians ‘sued and Persecuted me for Eight Years together, without hurting me’ seemingly out of sheer malice. In fact, the 1,000 or so medical and astrological enquiries that Salmon received by 1704, suggests that the fact that he was not a member of the College had little effect on his popularity.45 It also seems to have had little impact on his ability to

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The authors make money, as evidenced by the large house that he owned fronting the Thames, as well as the vast library of books, nineteen prints and thirty-nine paintings that were auctioned after his death.46 Salmon, in common with a number of other almanac writers, was also well known for the many vernacular medical books that he produced. Due to their high cost, and relatively limited production compared with almanacs, successful books on astrological physick would have helped to build and maintain a good reputation for their authors. Interestingly, many writers used the same terms to describe themselves on both their almanacs and books. This is significant, because it suggests that conscious efforts were being made to confirm and solidify the public perception that these men were well versed in astrological physick. ALMANACS APPEARING UNDER PSEUDONYMS OR FICTITIOUS NAMES The second main category of almanac writers consists mainly of hack writers whose work appeared under fictitious names. Depending on the edition, this might include either the exact or similar names of deceased writers or totally fictional names. In most cases, such writers did not provide identifying information on their title pages and, in fact, did their best to maintain personal anonymity in order to maintain the public image – and sales – created by the original author. As previously mentioned, since most readers were unlikely to have first-hand knowledge of these authors, and were even less likely to meet them, it hardly mattered, in a commercial sense, whether they actually existed as real people. Although the growth of ‘non-literary literary men’ who were happy to produce ‘inalienably commercial’ publications for a fee is generally attributed to the eighteenth century, evidence links the beginnings of this group to the late sixteenth century. Due to the nature of their work, it is hardly surprising that there is little evidence as to who they were, or why they chose such an occupation. While there were some exceptions, Pat Rogers, and more recently Joad Raymond, have suggested that most were ‘ordinary English stock’ originally from the provinces.47 Considering that relatively little is known about the majority of hack writers, it is difficult to see how such conclusions were drawn. In the absence of a quantifiable account of hack writers’ backgrounds, it seems safer to assume that at least some writers had different origins, as well as varying reasons for choosing this type of work. Unlike an author, who could gain notoriety by writing under his or her own name, hack writers generally produced work in return for a low, one-time payment. Presumably, many took this on because of lack of other work, such as during the closure of the theatres in the 1640s. Others, however, may have been writing in order to supplement

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Setting the scene other sources of income, or even simply because they enjoyed it. Whatever their personal reasons, it is clear that large numbers of ‘scribblers’ were readily available to sell either lines or whole volumes of texts.48 A large number of commercial writers were involved with producing almanacs under the name of real, albeit deceased, astrologers, such as the Richard Saunders series which continued after his death in 1675 through the middle of the 1680s.49 Dade, Woodhouse and Vaux were also real people who had died by 1655, although ‘their’ almanacs appeared through the end of the century.50 The Company of Stationers also commissioned writers to produce almanacs under familiar-sounding names such as ‘G. Markham’ in 1656 and 1657. According to The Short-title Catalogue of Books Printed in England, the ‘G.’ stood for George, a convention which has been perpetuated in listings of almanacs ever since.51 In fact, there does not appear to be any supporting evidence for the name George, as there are no references within the text itself as to the full Christian name, neither has it been possible to locate any other works by a ‘G. Markham’, published for the first time in the 1650s. The most likely explanation was that the Stationers hoped that potential customers would believe that the almanacs were by Gervase Markham, who had, in fact, died in 1637, leaving a highly successful brand name in his wake. To support this fiction, the 1656 edition of the Markham almanac included recipes identical to those found in Markham’s The English Housewife, which first appeared in 1615.52 The Stationers attempted to resurrect the name of Nicholas Culpeper by producing almanacs under the similar sounding Nathaniel Culpeper between 1680 and 1700. While this author claimed to have been a friend and relation of the late Nicholas Culpeper, there is no evidence to support this.53 Other almanacs appeared under a range of purely fictitious names, which supports the idea that the perception of the readers counted more than the reality. It seems very likely that, just as they might not have been aware that a ‘real’ author had died, that consumers would not know that another had never lived. The best examples of this belong to the ‘bird’ series produced by the Cambridge Press, including the ‘Swallow’ or ‘Dove’ series. While the former does not appear to have been a real name, the latter began in 1627, with the initial edition claiming to have been written by Jonathan Dove.54 Although the first name was later dropped, this omission did not appear to have had any detrimental effects on the continuing popularity of this title. It was previously believed that the series purported to be by T. Bird was possibly written by a physician who died in 1665.55 However, the poem in Bird’s 1662 almanac suggests a different story: When Birds do flie, most men observe the same; To please all sorts I’me fitted with a Name:

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The authors And if so be, my Book do please most men, You may be sure, next year I’le write agen.56

Unfortunately, it has been impossible to ascertain who the actual authors of these series were. The opposite, however, is true for another group of almanacs written under other pen names. These authors, for whatever reason, did not wish to be identified as the writer of a certain almanac. In some cases, this may have because of the desire to protect one’s main, professional identity. This appears to be the case for Richard Saunders, who was a respected astrologer known for his erudite almanacs that regularly included Latin phrases concerning the relationship between God, the stars and humankind.57 Whether Saunders did this because he believed that his audience was fluent in Latin, or because he wished to impress them, is not clear. The British Merlin, which Saunders compiled, however, was a very different, light-hearted publication, which was ‘Bedeckt with many delightful varieties and useful verities’ and did not contain his name.58 It may be that Saunders felt that being associated with such an almanac would damage his professional standing, and reputation as a serious astrologer. However, in the absence of supporting material, it is tempting to speculate that he may simply have done it for his own enjoyment. It is possible that Saunders was also the author of an almanac attributed to Mary Holden, which is discussed later in this chapter. In George Wharton’s almanac of 1645, the almanac writer Thomas Langley was identified as being the compiler of the series attributed to Thomas Gallen.59 Langley was clearly not very successful in his chosen trade as a London bookseller, and was probably motivated by economic reasons for writing both series. Sadly, this work did not save him from penury, and Langley received poor relief from the Company of Stationers between 1635 and his death in 1646.60 As previously mentioned, the writer George Wharton was a Royalist who used his highly erudite almanac series to illustrate a strong political commitment to Charles I. Until fairly recently, however, it was generally accepted that he was also responsible for another series of a much more mainstream almanac. The main ‘proof’ for this was the use of the pseudonym ‘Naworth’, which was an anagram of Wharton. However, Wharton himself disputed this in a pamphlet printed in 1644, in which he warned readers against the ‘notorious untruths’ contained in the almanacs which he purportedly wrote.61 CASE STUDIES This section will focus on the three series of almanacs purportedly written by women in the second half of the seventeenth century. Although these are generally thought to be the first almanacs actually written by female authors, this

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Setting the scene may not really be the case. For example, in 1692 the satirical Poor Robin’s Almanack claimed that it had been 56 years ‘since Women began to learn to make Almanacks, as if there were no Women-Lyers before’.62 While ignoring the misogynist sentiments, this raises a question about whether women were actually involved in compiling almanacs, perhaps under pseudonyms, much earlier than previously thought, Unfortunately, in the absence of any other supporting evidence, it seems logical to begin what may be the earliest example in 1658, attributed to Sarah Jinner. The appearance of such an almanac coincides with a period of increasing numbers of ‘female authorized texts’ from the late 1640s into the late 1650s. Many of these works focused either on religious or political matters, such as petitions to Parliament and Cromwell, joined by a growing number of women producing scientific, pharmaceutical and medical text in the late 1650s and 1660s.63 It may be that some far-thinking members of the Stationers’ Company decided to capitalize on these trends by producing an astrological publication attributed to a female writer. What is certain, however, is the uniqueness of this almanac, whose introduction begins with the statement that ‘You may wonder to see one of our Sex in printe especially in the Celestial Sciences’ but goes on to ask but ‘why may not women write, I pray?’64 There are four known surviving almanacs attributed to Sarah Jinner (1658–1660 and 1664) and a fifth edition under the name of ‘Sara Ginnor’. The four editions attributed to Sarah (or Sara) Jinner, who refers to herself as a ‘student of astrology’, are very similar to other mainstream almanacs. Although Bernard Capp hardly questions the appearance of two editions in 1659, the ‘Sara Ginnor’ edition is clearly a satirical copy of the first and contains highly misogynistic references which suggest that it could have been written by a man. That said, as Diane Purkiss has pointed out, the inclusion of such material does not necessarily mean that this was the case. ‘Misogynistic discourses’, according to Purkiss, were often simply a collection of already well-known ‘stories and speeches’ which could be repeated by authors of either sex.65 Lorna Hutson has also argued that it is dangerous to use the type of material written by an author to try to determine their sex.66 The ‘real’ Jinner almanacs contain standard astrological components, combined with a great deal of information on women’s health. In the first edition, Jinner included nine remedies for menstrual irregularities, including instructions on how to ‘provoke’ a late period or ‘to take away the obstructions in the body which hinder the Terms’. Presumably these were used to cause an abortion, which was not considered to be a crime before the quickening of the child.67 Jinner also provided recipes for pregnant women, such as ‘A most excellent Plaister to strengthen women with Childe’, and for those who had recently given birth and had problems associated with nursing their baby. In addition, the almanac contained a section on agricultural tasks, as well as

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The authors advertisements for a range of books, including histories, religious texts and popular medical texts.68 The success of this first almanac is evident by Jinner’s introduction to her 1659 almanac, which stated that her first edition ‘hath encouraged me again to set Pen to Paper, seeing I was so well accepted; and finding that it hath done great good in the world’.69 This almanac had a slightly different format, however, and focused more heavily on medical matters for both sexes. It appears that this formula pleased readers, for the following year Jinner’s almanacs contained even more ‘most excellent Receipts for many things . . . the best Reciepts that are extant, in any private or publike band’ that focused on both male and female ailments well as more general disorders such as coughs, colds, worms and digestive problems. Interestingly, this edition also included a recommendation for The Secret Miracles of Nature, which, although not written by a woman, fits into the growing number of scientific books written by – and perhaps for –other women. Jinner explained that ‘The reason why I commend this piece, is, that our Sex may be furnished with knowledge; if they knew better, they would do better’.70 Although Jinner did not name the author, it is clear that she was quoting from the work of Laevinus Lemnius, who promised to address ‘philosophical and prudential rules how man shall become excellent in all conditions, whether high or low, and lead his life with health of body and mind’.71 Although the 1660 edition followed the same formula as the previous year, it also contained political prognostications, mirroring a common aspect of midcentury radical politics and religions found in almanacs written by men.72 These included predictions about the ‘Northern Kings’ of Sweden and Denmark, along with ‘the late Change amongst us here in England, exactly was by us fore-told . . . according to Art predicted, and accordingly came to pass’.73 The almanac also provided practical tables of ‘the terms with their returns’ and a chronological timeline of ‘the beginning, continuance, and ending of the kings Reigns since the Conquest . . . for sciveners, and such as are imployed in Law cases’, as well as an expanded section of recipes. In addition to medical remedies, Jinner included a selection of cosmetic recipes for women, such as treating sunburn, fading freckles, removing hair and treating pimples and ‘heat in the face’. The absence of advice on specifically male maladies suggests that this had not proved to be a valuable feature the previous year, although it did address problems suffered by both sexes, such as dental aids to ‘keep your Teeth from rotting’ or for curing ‘the Tooth-ache’.74 There was a gap of three years after the 1660 edition, although it is not clear whether this was due to problems of survival or, perhaps related to the sharp decrease in all books by women immediately after the Restoration.75 On the other hand, it may simply have been attributed to low sales for the 1660 edition and that its revival several years later was a last chance for female almanac writers in general. Although the title page contained the same illustration as

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Setting the scene her previous almanacs, the actual content of the 1664 edition is also sufficiently different to raise the question of whether it was written by the same author as the earlier editions. The most noticeable difference is that this is the first almanac attributed to Jinner which does not contain a preface or any other ‘editorial’ comment. Secondly, it presents a very different pattern for medical and cosmetic recipes, replacing it with the same series of medicines for ‘moving’ or ‘provoking’ the terms from the 1658 edition, followed by recipes to ‘cause fruitfulnes in man or woman’ and advice on purging the reins (loins) and treating sore nipples, recipes which again are exact copies from 1658. There are also several recycled cosmetic recipes with instructions on removing pimples or redness from the face. These are followed by several entries which I believe must have been written by a man, including advice on treating ‘the defective instrument’ of ‘those [presumably male] that they cannot do the act of venery’. This is followed by rather misogynistic advice on how ‘to take away the desire of a woman to the act of venery’, based on the powdered ‘pizzle’ of a red bull dissolved in wine or broth. Paradoxically, the same potion taken by a ‘dull and impotent’ man would ‘provoke venery’. The final remedies for ‘prevention of quarrels between man and wife’ and ‘a help to him that desireeth to be chaste, or to be freed from the plague of love’ are also atypical of Jinner’s earlier almanacs.76 There are many possible explanations for these discrepancies, with the most likely being that Jinner was not the author of this edition. In the absence of supporting evidence, it has not been possible to ascertain if she was ill, dead or had simply fallen out of favour with the Stationers. In any case, this final attempt in 1664 to offer an almanac attributed to a female author was presumably not successful, as it was the last to appear for almost a quarter of a century until Mary Holden’s almanacs of 1688 and 1689. At first glance, the late 1680s seem to have been a curious time to introduce a female almanac writer to the public. The late 1670s and 1680s were a tumultuous period, dominated by anxieties about popery and a Catholic heir to the throne. In an attempt to keep astrologers from publishing potentially inflammatory predictions, they once again were prohibited to make judicial predictions. However, it was also a period of ‘a transformation of sex roles’ and an ‘emergence in society’ as increasing numbers of women began to publish under their own names.77 It may have been that the Stationers chose such a time to launch another female writer in an attempt to shift public attention away from what they were being denied. Mary Holden introduced herself on the title page of her 1688 edition as a ‘Midwife in Sudbury, and Student of Astrology’. Although there is no further supporting information, it is likely that she may have been the wife of Gamelielle Holden, and mother of James listed in baptism registers for Sudbury in 1689.78 Furthermore, the almanac contains an advertisement

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The authors advising readers that she could provide for medicines ‘for all Women troubled with Vapours, Rising of the Mother, Convulsions: also the Canker’ which suggests that she was a real person who was either practising medicine, or at least selling drugs.79 On the other hand, the almanac contains a number of clues that cast doubt on the idea of its author being a provincial midwife. This begins with a portrait on the cover that shows a woman with a hairstyle of short-sided, tightly curled hair and a ringlet hanging down on the side, a portrait which dates from the late 1680s.80 However, the dress in the figure exposes the breasts and nipples, a fashion that might have been popular in certain circles, but probably not for a provincial midwife. This type of image, in fact, would have been more at home in a bawdy chapbook, or satirical work, which of course, might be what this almanac actually was meant to be. Far from containing any information about pregnancy or childbirth, the almanac consisted mainly of material copied from other almanacs.81 The rest of the 1688 almanac contained a standardized calendar, the four quarters and a list of fairs throughout the country and rather curiously, a ‘Table of Annuities and Reversions’ followed a chart giving the times of sunset and sunrise.82 There were a number of changes in the 1689 edition, which suggests that sales from the first year were not considered to be sufficiently high. Once again, the Stationers Company used the same illustration on the cover and claimed that the author was a midwife. However, rather than including any female-oriented material, the edition gave more general information such as high water levels at London Bridge, and a multi-page treatise on ‘the seven planets’.83 The most unusual and thought-provoking item, however, is at the end of the almanac following the final advertisement. This was for ‘Weather Glasses also are prepared and carefully adjusted by Mr. Saunders, for any that have a desire to have them’. Underneath this, at the bottom of the page, was the inscription ‘From Ouston in Com. Leicester, June the 25th, 1688’.84 The identical text appeared in Richard Saunders almanac, including the date, for 1689.85 This is particularly significant, as Richard Saunders was in fact from Ouston, and the date would have referred to when he finished writing his own almanac. Although a definitive conclusion cannot be reached at this point, it appears that this was either a strange coincidence, or that Saunders actually wrote the 1689 Holden edition. The final almanac attributed to a female author, Dorothy Partridge, appeared in 1694 during a period when specialized publications for women, such as The Athenian Mercury, became popular due to the ‘novelty of women writers and a commercially-motivated desire to cater for the female consumer’.86 Unfortunately, the only known surviving copy is part of a bound volume belonging to the Oxford antiquarian Anthony Wood, and is in very poor condition. As a result,

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Setting the scene it is not totally clear whether the writer was named ‘Dorothy Partridge’ or ‘Patridge’. The former is supported by its place in a handwritten index at the front of the volume, noting that John Partridge’s almanac was followed by one written by ‘Mrs Partridge’. Although this is the first known usage of this name, it also appeared in various publications produced by the printer Benjamin Harris and his sons during the early part of the following century. Interestingly, the Harrises also issued counterfeit editions under the names of John Partridge, who did not, in fact authorize any almanacs between 1710 and 1713.87 On the other hand, there is no definitive proof for this theory, as the author of the 1694 almanac does not claim to be the wife of John Partridge, or indeed, of anyone else. Furthermore, the poor state of the sole, surviving copy makes it difficult to confirm that the surname was even meant to be Partridge, and it actually looks as if it might actually be ‘Patridge’.88 Initially, however, the edition does look as if it might have been written by a woman. It contains far more material of interest to women than that found in Jinner and Holden, and much of it is humorous. It begins with ‘Monthly Observations in Goodhousewifery, for the Year 1694’, which appears to be original work and continues with tasks that women would have carried out, although not always at the correct time of year. The almanac also attempts to educate readers with information of varying practicality including how to tell the time by shadows cast by the moon.89 Another useful item was ‘The good-Housewife’s Table of Expenses’. The left-hand column was entitled ‘expences for day’, and consisted of sums ranging from a farthing to a shilling. These figures were multiplied to show the reader’s weekly, monthly and yearly expenditure.90 The rather random content or validity of this advice does not, however, seem to be the main point of this almanac, which attempts to be both witty and entertaining by providing advice such as ‘A lusty squab fat Bedfellow very good Physick at this Season’ or a recommendation for readers to ‘get a lusty Husband, least worse befal ye’. It also contains various cosmetic on how to beautify the hair, ‘take out the furrow’d Rinkles as smooth as a Girl of Sixteen’ or ‘cure a Lady’s red face’, and how to whiten teeth.91 Partridge’s readers were also taught something about palmistry, one of the most ancient forms of fortune-telling, and how to make predictions from facial moles.92 CONCLUSION The many different facets of what we would now refer to as the ‘marketing’ of almanacs illustrate the extremely lucrative nature of these publications. As a result, a variety of titles were produced every year, targeting potential readers both by locale and through levels of education and income. This chapter has looked at the men and women who either wrote or compiled almanacs, with an emphasis on editions that contained medical information or advice.

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The authors Since there were no universally acknowledged credentials for practising astrology, it was necessary for authors to create a persona for themselves as knowledgeable, experienced astrologers. One of the major ways of doing this was through annually stressing their experience on the title pages of their almanacs. There were three main types of identifying descriptions used, relating either to astrology/astronomy, mathematics or medicine. However, since it was unlikely that most people would ever have first-hand information about, or the opportunity to meet an almanac writer, most authors attempted to reassure their readers that they were truly astrologers, or practitioners of physick. By reiterating this claim in their almanacs and other books, it seems likely that readers would eventually believe both that the writer existed, and that they were reliable sources of information. In reality, this was not true of all the authors. Some were alive and producing almanacs, others who had once compiled these publications were dead, and others were simply fictional names. The reasons behind why they chose to write almanacs differed depending on whether they were writing under their own names or as commercial writers. Many of the former undoubtedly enjoyed the publicity that they generated by writing successful almanacs. John Dunton, on the other hand, has suggested that hacks or ‘scriblers’ [sic] were only interested in ‘how much a sheet’, and a number were clearly ready and willing to work on almanacs.93 Unfortunately, it has been the fate of almost all such authors to remain anonymous. Compiling such almanacs was probably relatively easy, however, as they followed a standard design, with the exception of prefaces to the readers or any other personalized material. While such publications do not provide any clues as to their compiler, those printed with pseudonyms sometimes do. Since the almanacs published under their own names tended to be serious, erudite publications, it may be that such men chose to produce more mainstream almanacs as a respite from their ‘real’ work. Such writers may have been welcomed by the Stationers as being known entities, rather than employing untested ‘scribblers’. Obtaining permission to create a new title, however, would have been a different proposition. The decision to create titles that would appear under female names would have been especially risky. In fact, it seems likely that the failure of all three of these almanacs suggests that the Stationers’ ‘experiments’ were either not welltimed or perhaps simply did not appeal to enough readers, readers who will be the focus of the following chapter. NOTES 1 A. Martindale, 1675, sig. A4r. 2 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1971), p. 349.

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Setting the scene 3 There are a number of terms that were used to describe the men and/or women who put together almanacs, including ‘compiler’, ‘author’ or ‘writer’. For the purposes of this chapter, they will be used interchangeably. 4 B. Hammond, Professional Imaginative Writing in England 1670–1740: Hackney for Bread (Oxford, 1997), p. 22. 5 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500–1800 (London, 1979), pp. 44 and 52–55. 6 C. Blagden, ‘The distribution of almanacks in the second half of the seventeenth century‘, Studies in Bibliography, 11 (1958), pp. 107–116. 7 J. Dunton, The Life and Errors of John Dunton (London, 1705), pp. 70–71. 8 A. Johns, The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making (Chicago, 1998), p. 183; P. Rogers, Grub Street: Studies in a Subculture (London, 1972), pp. 189 and 211; M. Ezell, Social Authorship and the Advent of Print (Baltimore, 1999), p. 91; and B. Hammond, Professional Imaginative Writing, p. 69. 9 J.D. Fleeman, ‘The revenue of a writer: Samuel Johnson’s literary earnings’, Studies in the Book Trade in Honour of Graham Pollard, Oxford Bibliographical Society Publications, 18 (1975), pp. 211–230. 10 Poor Robin, 1681, sig. A1v. 11 M. Perkins, Visions of the Future: Almanacs, Time and Cultural Change (Oxford, 1996), p. 17. 12 For example, the ‘Swallow’ almanacs contained almost identical advice on ‘Physical Observations’ in 1642, 1647, 1649 and 1653; and the Characters of the Twelve Signs and the Cardinal Winds in 1651, 1652 and 1657. 13 I. Maclean, Logic, Signs and Nature in the Renaissance: The Case of Learned Medicine (Cambridge, UK, 2002), p. 53. 14 P. Burke, ‘Popular culture in seventeenth-century London’, The London Journal, 3 (1977), 143–162. 15 P. Curry, Prophecy and Power: Astrology in Early Modern England (Princeton NJ, 1989), pp. 23–34. 16 G. Tobyn, Culpeper’s Medicine: a Practice of Western Holistic Medicine (Shaftesbury, 1997), p. xiii. 17 J.H. Holden, A History of Horoscopic Astrology: From the Babylonian Period to the Modern Age (Tempe, AZ, 1996), p. 177; and A. Geneva, Astrology and the Seventeenth Century Mind: William Lilly and the Language of the Stars (Manchester, 1995), p. 9. 18 M. Bell, ‘Women writing and women written’ in J. Barnard and D.F.M. McKenzie (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. IV, 1557–1695 (Cambridge, UK, 2002), p. 433. 19 C. Gildon, The Post-boy rob’d of his Mail, Book I (London, 1692), p. 258. 20 H. Cook, The Decline of the Old Medical Regime in Stuart London (London, 1986), p. 49. 21 L. Kassell, ‘How to read Simon Forman’s casebooks: medicine, astrology, and gender in Elizabethan London’, Social History of Medicine, 12 (2000), p. 7. 22 J. Booker, 1651, sig. C1v; and Swallow, 1685, sig. B2r. 23 See, for example, W. Lilly, Christian Astrology (London, 1647), sig. A1r; J. Tanner, The

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The authors Hidden Treasures of the Art of Physick (London, 1659), sig. A1r; J. Gadbury, Thesaurus Astrologiae (London, 1674), sig. A1r; J. Blagrave, Blagrave’s Astrological Practice of Physick (London, 1689), sig. A1r; and T. Trigge, The fiery trignon revived (London, 1672), sig. A1r. 24 A. Geneva, Astrology and the Seventeenth Century Mind, p. xiv. 25 W. Lilly, The Last of the Astrologers: Mr William Lilly’s History of his Life and Times, ed. K.M. Briggs (London, 1715; reprinted 1974), pp. 41–42. 26 Ibid., Christian Astrology (London, 1647), sig. B1r. 27 E. Ashmole, The Diary and Will of Elias Ashmole, ed. R.T. Gunther (Oxford, 1927), p. 27. 28 V. Wing, Correspondence, BODL, Ashm. MS 423.II, 174 (1650) and Correspondence, BL, Add. 4293, 1670–77, ff. 111–126, 128. 29 E.A. Abbott (ed.) Letters from Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple 1652–1654 (London, 1903), p. 275. 30 G. Parfitt, ‘Literature and drama’ in B. Ford (ed.), The Cambridge Cultural History, Vol. 4: Seventeenth-Century Britain (Cambridge, 1992), p. 123; P. Curry, ‘Saving astrology in Restoration England: “Whig” and “Tory” reforms’ in P. Curry (ed.) Astrology, Science and Society (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 1987), p. 254; R. Ames, A Farther Search after Claret (London, 1634), p. 8; and J.B., A Faire in Spittle Fields, Where All the Knick Knacks of Astrology Are Exposed to Open Sale (London, 1652), pp. 1–8. 31 W. Lilly, The Last of the Astrologers, p. 42; and W. Lilly, A Prophecy of the White King and Dreadfull Dead Man Explained (London, 1644), p. 2. 32 Ibid., The Starry Messenger, or, an Interpretation of that Strange Apparition of Three Suns (London, 1645), sig. A4r. 33 A. Tinniswood, By Permission of Heaven: The Story of the Great Fire of London (London, 2003), p. 19. 34 L. Kassell, Medicine and Magic in Elizabethan London (Oxford, 2005), p. 40. 35 F. Wilmouth, ‘Mathematical sciences and military technology: the Ordinance Office in the reign of Charles II’, in J.V. Field, A.J. Frank and L. James (eds) Renaissance and Revolution: Humanists, Scholars, Craftsmen and Natural Philosophers in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK, 1993), p. 116. 36 T. Bretnor, 1607, sig. A1r; 1609, sig. B1v; 1613, sig. B2r; and 1618, sig. A1v; A. Sala, Opiologia: or, A treatise concerning the nature, properties, true preparation and safe use and administration of opium, trans. T. Bretnor (London, 1618), sig. A5r; and M. Pelling, Medical Conflicts in Early Modern London: Patronage, Physicians, and Irregular Practitioners 1550–1640 (Oxford, 2003), p. 159. 37 T. Streete, 1653, sig. F8v; B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 380, refers to lost editions of 1655 and 1656; and T. Streete, 1682, sig. A2r. 38 J.E. McGuire and M. Tamny, ‘Newton’s astronomical apprenticeship: notes of 1665/5’, ISIS, 76, No. 7 (September 1985), pp. 349–365; and V. Wing, Examen Astronomiae Carolinae, or a short Mathematicall Discourse (London, 1665), sig. A2r. 39 P. Curry, Prophecy and Power, p. 34; and R. Anderson, The genuine use and effects of the gunne (London, 1674), sig. A2v. 40 B. Capp, The World of John Taylor the Water-Poet (Oxford, 1994), p. 56. 41 G. Parker, 1690, sig.A2v.

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Setting the scene 42 Ibid., 1697, sig. A1v and 1698, sig. A2v; J. Partridge, Flagitosus Mercurius flagetlus, or, The whipper whip’d (London, 1697), p. 6; and P. Curry, Prophecy and Power, pp. 76–77. 43 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, pp. 294–295; and A. Askham, A little treatyse of Astronomy, very necessary for Physyke and Surgerye (London, 1550), sig. A1r. 44 A. Wear, ‘Medical practice in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century England: continuity and union’, in R. French and A. Wear (eds) The Medical Revolution of the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1989), p. 314. 45 W. Brockbank, ‘Sovereign remedies: a critical depreciation of the seventeenth century London pharmacopoeia’, Medical History, 8 (1964), p. 5; K. Thomas, Religion, p. 414; W. Salmon, Collectanea medica (London, 1703), sig. A3v; and P. Curry, Prophecy and Power, p. 56. 46 M. Harris, ‘Print in neighbourhood commerce: the case of Carter Lane’ in R. Myers, M. Harris and G. Mandelbrote (eds) The London Book Trade: Topographies of Print in the Metropolis from the Sixteenth Century (London, 2003), pp. 45–70; and T. Ballard, Bibliotheca Salmoneana, Pars Secundi, or a Catalogue of the Library of the Learned William Salmon, M.D. (London, 1714). 47 P. Rogers, Grub Street, p. 189; and J. Raymond, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain (Cambridge, UK, 2003), p. 57. 48 A. Halasz, The Marketplace of Print: Pamphlets and the Public sphere in Early Modern England (Cambridge, UK, 1997), p. 64; and C. Hill, A Tinker and a Poor Man: John Bunyan and His Church 1628–1688 (New York, 1988), p. 36. 49 A. Woods, Wood’s Life and Times: The Life and Times of Anthony Woods (Oxford, 1891), p. 331. 50 K. Thomas, Religion, p. 365. 51 See, for example, F.J. King, A Checklist of Almanacs, Chiefly Before 1801, in the Bodleian Library, Oxford (Oxford, 1974); B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 369; and Early English Books Online, an online database owned by Proquest Information and Learning Company and available to educational institutions by subscription. 52 F. Smith, The Early History of Veterinary Literature, Vol. I (London, 1924), p. 284; G. Markham, The English Housewife, ed. M. Best (London, 1994), p. 14; and G. Markham, 1656, sig. C1v. 53 Nathaniel Culpeper, 1680, sig. C4v. 54 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 304. 55 Ibid., p. 297. 56 T. Bird, 1662, sig. A2r. 57 R. Saunders, 1674, sig. A1r. 58 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 307; and S. Rider, 1660, sig. A1r. 59 G. Wharton, 1645, sig. C6v. 60 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 318. 61 J. Evelyn, Diary, 3 July 1666, p. 443; H. Rusche, ‘Merlini Anglici: astrology and propaganda from 1644 to 1651’, English Historical Review, Vol. 80 (1965), p. 323; and G. Wharton, Mercurius coelicus: or, a caveat to all people of the kingdome (London, 1644), sig. A1v.

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The authors 62 Poor Robin, 1692, sig. B4r. 63 M. Bell, ‘Women writing’, p. 439; E. Tebeaux, ‘Women and technical writing, 1475–1700’ in L. Hunter and S. Hutton (eds) Women, Science and Medicine 1500–1700 (London, 1997), p. 55; and L. Hunter, ‘Women and domestic medicine: lady experimenters 1570–1620’ in L. Hunter and S. Hutton (eds) Women, Science and Medicine (Thrupp, 1997), p. 89. 64 S. Jinner, 1658, sig. B1r. 65 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 366; E. Hobby, ‘Vertue of Necessity’: English Women’s Writing 1649–88 (London, 1988), p. 180; R. Shoemaker, Gender in English Society 1650–1850: The Emergence of Separate Spheres? (London, 1998), p. 28; and D. Purkiss, ‘Material girls: the seventeenth-century woman debate’ in C. Brant and D. Purkiss (eds) Women, Texts and Histories 1575–1760 (London, 1992), pp. 69–101. 66 M. Pelling, ‘Older women: household, caring and other occupations in the late sixteenthcentury town’ in The Common Lot: Sickness, Medical Occupations and the Urban Poor in Early Modern England (London, 1998), p. 155. 67 P. Crawford, ‘Sexual knowledge in England, 1500–1750’ in R. Porter and M. Teich (eds) Sexual Knowledge, Sexual Science: The History of Attitudes to Sexuality. (Cambridge, UK, 1994), p. 106. 68 S. Jinner, 1658, sig. B4v–B8v; C1v, C2v, C4r and C4v. 69 Ibid., 1659, sig. B1r. 70 Ibid., sig. B1v. 71 L. Lemnius, The Secret Miracles of Nature (London, 1658), pp. 1, 81 and 225. 72 P. Curry, Prophecy and Power, p. 27. 73 S. Jinner, 1660, sig. B1r. 74 Ibid., 1660, sig. B1r–B2v and B3r–B8r. 75 M. Bell, ‘Women writing’, p. 439. 76 S. Jinner, 1664, sig. B1r–B8r. 77 P. Curry, Prophecy and Power, p. 54; and P. McDowell, The Women of Grub Street: Press, Politics and Gender in the London Literary Marketplace 1678–1730 (Oxford, 1998), p. 5. 78 Parish Registers of Sudbury All Saints 1564–1808, Bury St Edmunds Record Office. 79 M. Holden, 1688, sig. B4r. 80 N. Bradfield, Nine Hundred Years of British Costume (London, 1987), p. 107. 81 M. Holden, 1688, sig. A3r–4v. 82 Ibid., sig. A6r. 83 M. Holden, 1689, sig. A3r. 84 Ibid., sig. B3v. 85 R. Saunders, 1689, sig. A8v. 86 C.L. White, Women’s Magazines 1693–1968 (London, 1971), pp. 21–24; and H. Berry, Gender, Society and Print Culture in Late-Stuart England (Aldershot, 2003), p. 236. 87 D. Partridge, 1694, BODL, Wood Alm. F (8) and B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, p. 241.

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Setting the scene 88 Many thanks to Bernard Capp for pointing this out. 89 Ibid., sig. B1r. 90 Ibid., sig. B1v. 91 D. Partridge, 1694, sig. A1v, A2r and B2r. 92 H. Haggard, The Doctor in History (New Haven CT, 1934), p. 261; and D. Partridge, 1694, sig. B2r. 93 J. Dunton, The Life and Errors, p. 70.

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Chapter 4

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‘Courteous Readers’: the target audience

Seeing (courteous Reader) that Prognostications and annuall Almanacks are commonly published for the use and behoffe of the Common people: I have thought good for their better understanding, to be as plaine therein as I might, and therefore have written little in this Almanacke and Astronomicall Tables, but what (with small paines even of the simplest) may be easily understood.1

A

lthough many almanac writers provided clues as to the types of audiences that they were attempting to reach, it does not necessarily follow that these were the people who actually purchased and/or read them. In fact, Elizabeth Eisenstein has suggested that title pages are only able to provide ‘circumstantial evidence’ as to their eventual circulation.2 This seems a sensible theory that applies to many types of early modern books. At first glance, it might also pertain to the large number of almanacs that are simply called ‘An Almanack’ or ‘A New Almanack’. However, the additional information offered on most title pages provides numerous clues as to the types of people who would be interested in purchasing the almanac. Large numbers of almanacs also contain prefaces, which provide additional information about the types of readers that the author expected to attract. For example, Eisenstein’s supposition that The Shepherds [sic] Almanack was probably read more by ‘playwrights and poets than shepherds’ suggests that she did not look at the text itself. If she had, it would have been clear from the introduction that the almanac was written by a shepherd for ‘the shepherds of England’.3 Unfortunately, actually proving that shepherds read this series is a more difficult proposition. In her work on ephemeral literature, printed twenty-five years ago, Margaret Spufford dramatically stated that the ‘whole question of readership is maddeningly obscure’.4 Other academics, however, believe that it is possible to draw at least some conclusions about early modern readers. Ian Maclean, for example, has argued that while ‘until recently the reader was perhaps the most

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Setting the scene neglected element in the framework of literary communication’ the tide had begun to change.5 Over the past twenty years, a number of academics working in a range of disciplines have addressed the topic of early modern readership from various angles. This has resulted in a variety of studies, some of which focus on specific literary genres, while others debate the ‘politics’ of reading.6 There has also been a growing interest in the relationship between the oral and print culture in early modern England. Despite the differences in approach, however, it has still proved impossible to come up with a definitive, single method of identifying readers of ‘mainstream books’, problems which are often compounded in the case of more short-lived ephemeral literature. In common with other printed works, there are three main challenges inherent in the investigation of readership of almanacs. The first refers to source survival and continuity, which is a frequent and recurring problem for early modern researchers.7 Unlike relatively expensive, bound books, almanacs were said to be ‘got in Morning, born at Noon, and dead by Night’, after which they would be discarded.8 Although this study is based on a sample of 2,286 almanacs, it must be remembered that these only represent a tiny surviving proportion of the number that were originally printed. In addition, it seems likely that the majority of those that have perished were unbound. Therefore, the fact that almost all surviving copies were bound suggests that they originally belonged to people who did so for a specific purpose. This probably included owners who retained them as reference books for ‘the collection of Rarieties’ that they contained.9 Alternatively, they may have been kept for their ornamental purposes, or because of the manuscript notes they contained – notes that helped to make them family heirlooms. Unbound copies were much flimsier and may have simply fallen apart from heavy usage during the course of the year. If the owner did not wish to keep an issue past the end of the year, the most sensible thing to do was to recycle it. It seems likely that many people would have reused the paper for writing notes, lighting candles or even wrapping small items. Alternatively, as the Poor Robin almanac helpfully noted: ‘When an Almanack is out of Date, the Leaves thereof will serve to make your Back-side bright, and are very useful about such privy matters’.10 A second problem in studying readership is that there is often a lack of direct evidence of ownership. Wills or inventories are frequently used to study the possession of various goods, which assumes a certain level of wealth to begin with. As Lorna Weatherill has pointed out, probate inventories, which were lists made shortly after a person’s death, generally cover a range of farming, trade and household goods.11 This might include listings such as the ‘one shovel, one sieve . . . five cows and two bullocks’ belonging to the late John George, yeoman of Writtle in 1638. In terms of household goods, predominance seems to be given to what were perceived as ‘valuable’ items, such as the

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The target audience ‘luxury’ consumer items that appealed to the ‘middling orders’ in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Depending on the part of the country or the wealth of the owner, goods such as decorative furnishings, pewter and china appeared might be listed in the documentation.12 In many cases, inventories will simply refer to ‘books’ or only give identifiable titles that added significant value to the estate. Other texts may either not appear at all, or be lumped in broad categories.13 A similar situation holds true for library lists, which, although they might contain almanacs, chapbooks or pamphlets, would be unlikely to delineate individual titles. An additional, related problem is that ownership and readership are not mutually exclusive terms. A library owned by a man, for example, might contain books which would be read by the women or children in his family. On the other hand, an elderly spinster might have been left one or two books that she was unable to read at all. In addition, even when readers can be identified, the scarcity of this kind of evidence often makes it impossible to quantify.14 Other types of proof are even more difficult to locate, unless one is lucky enough to stumble across a reference in some form of correspondence, or in journals. A third problem occurs when trying to use numbers of books printed and distributed by the book trade to draw conclusions about readership.15 For example, Keith Wrightson has calculated that, by the 1660s, the 400,000 almanacs that were being produced annually would have been enough to supply two-fifths of households with a copy.16 In reality, such figures do not show that two-fifths of households would have had an almanac, but only that vast numbers were being printed. There are a few examples of some people purchasing multiple copies, such as Samuel Jeakes’s collection, which is discussed below. However, in most cases, there is no way of knowing what the buying patterns were like for most early modern English households. In order to address these limitations and attempt to find new ways to identify purchasers and readers, this chapter will employ a mixture of indirect and direct evidence. Since the major focus is on readership, it will begin by addressing the key question of literacy. This will be followed by an examination of four types of indirect economic evidence: the cost of individual almanacs; the prices of the goods that they advertised; the way in which individual copies were bound; and how the almanacs were distributed. Adam Fox has argued that conclusions drawn from such information are ‘highly speculative’ and leave ‘important questions about cheap print’ unanswered.17 Such a statement does have an element of truth to it – if indirect evidence is the only type of material used to draw conclusions. In the case of the almanacs used in this study, however, it is possible to supplement these clues with direct evidence. This will include a discussion of the manuscript entries and other marginalia found in many surviving almanacs. As W.H. Sherman has pointed out, almanacs were ‘the most conventional repository’ for everyday observations on the weather,

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Setting the scene business accounts, comments on the text, recipes, popular poetry and shopping lists.18 Finally, the chapter will conclude by looking at the evidence found in household and miscellaneous accounts. LITERACY Until fairly recently, there has been a tendency to categorize people as either ‘illiterate’ or ‘literate’, with nothing in between. This presumably was based on the Whiggish model, which portrayed history as a continuing, linear transition of progress. Following this argument, it would suggest that only those who were unable to read would have turned down the opportunity to take advantage of the rapidly growing number of available texts. Although it is debatable as to whether this idea holds true for modern Britain, it certainly is not a constructive way to look at early modern England. After all, as Heidi Brayman Hackel has noted, ‘reading is a material and cognitive practice and changes over time and across culture’. Furthermore, it does not necessarily follow that the rising levels of literacy and numbers of printed texts are mutually exclusive.19 It is now commonly accepted that manuscript, print and oral culture coexisted until at least 1700. As a result, people would have had a range of ways in which to ‘sample’ literature. Far from being restricted to the illiterate, Joyce Coleman has suggested that many upper-middle- and upper-class readers simply enjoyed listening to books being read aloud in company. She also argues that what most accurately described as ‘aurality’ occupies a historical and conceptual middle spaces between orality and literacy.20 The idea that literature could be experienced in a number of different ways is presumably one of the reasons as to why Neil Rhodes has suggested that ‘user’ is a more appropriate term than ‘reader’ for almanac owners. In addition, he has argued that the fact that many almanacs contained blank pages (as discussed in Chapter Two) meant that people expected to utilize them as notebooks for making personal notes and comments. It is, of course, true that a great many people kept almanac-diaries, and that many more wrote marginalia in its borders.21 However, Rhodes seems to be missing the point that ‘users’ were presumably also readers, because otherwise there was no reason to purchase a printed almanac at all. In order to begin a discussion on the types of people who were able to read almanacs, one must begin with an explanation of what it means to ‘read’. Kevin Sharpe has defined reading as a process ‘in which we translate into our own words, symbols and mental contexts the marks and signs on the page’.22 A prospective reader, therefore, would need to learn how to: know the letters within bookes and also the figures, and the numeracall letters . . . secondly to know and shew which are vowels, which consonants.23

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The target audience Until fairly recently, the most popular method of determining literacy rested on the assumption that if a person were able to write their name, rather than simply leaving a mark, then they were also able to read. Adam Fox has suggested that the origins of this theory lay in the nineteenth century, when elementary education was becoming widespread and a signature was used to signify literacy.24 The continuing acceptance of this idea is illustrated in Lawrence Stone’s theory of the ‘hierarchy of literacy’, first published in 1969. This defined the most elementary form of literacy as consisting of those who could ‘read a little and sign their name’. The next level included the ‘lower or middle classes with more reading, writing and use of numbers’. Stone’s third level contained people who were educated enough to keep accounts and other business records. The fourth level included those who had sufficient education in the classics to go on to university. At the very top of the scale were those who either had gone to university and/or those who were members of an inn of court.25 Stone’s theory has a number of flaws, the primary one being that, in the early modern period, reading was taught before writing, and many students may never have progressed beyond learning to read. Furthermore, it suggests that literacy is a ‘single, autonomous phenomena’, when in fact, it can take many different forms at different times, and although the ability to write almost certainly signifies the ability to read, the same does not hold true in reverse.26 Finally, while learning to write fluently was a separate, secondary skill, producing a signature is a relatively easy thing to learn and does not necessarily mean that the person could write anything else.27 An individual might also have only have achieved a level of ‘utilitarian’ or functional literacy. Defined as the acquisition of the minimum level of literacy necessary to provide skills necessary for doing certain jobs, such as simple book-keeping, such literacy is now believed to have been fairly widespread in early modern England.28 H.M. Jewell has taken this a step further, by arguing that such ‘utilitarian’ literacy was the most common type of literacy in social levels below the elite. Deborah Simonton, on the other hand, points out that since ‘education was shaped by perceptions of class and status’, that there would have been a much greater variety of levels of literacy within society as a whole.29 INDIRECT EVIDENCE: THE COST OF ALMANACS, ADVERTISEMENTS, AND PHYSICAL EVIDENCE Barry Reay has suggested that the prices of popular books illustrate a potential hierarchy of readers. The cheapest works were the penny ballads, almanacs and chapbooks, followed by popular romances for one or two shillings, while a bound volume of a book such as Sir Philip Sidney’s Arcadia could sell for around nine shillings, which was roughly the same price as 100 ballads.30 Regulations meant to protect consumers ‘against the excessive price of books’

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Setting the scene were periodically enacted, such as a ruling from January 1598 which stated that a work of two sheets could not be sold for more than a penny. Longer publications could charge a maximum of a penny for a sheet and a half.31 While Reay’s idea initially sounds logical, it suggests that price was the only, rather than one of many factors used in contemplating the purchase of printed works. It may be that many people could only afford the cheapest types of literature on a daily basis, but might choose to save money to buy a religious text. On the other hand, there is ample evidence that wealthier people purchased chapbooks and other types of ephemeral literature in addition to weighty tomes.32 It therefore follows that while some simply could not afford to purchase certain books, the perceived value of a certain edition might induce others to somehow find the money needed. In addition, as this chapter illustrates, almanacs were purchased by almost all strata of society, whatever their income. Early sixteenth-century almanacs, in common with ballads, chapbooks and jest books, were priced in a scale beginning at a penny or one-and-a-half pence, while, by the later part of the century, broadsheets generally cost a penny, and a twenty-four page almanac just two pence.33 The scale was determined by the Company of Stationers, who set a limit of two shillings and six pence for a quarterne of almanacs and prognostications in 1611.34 During the 1650s and 1660s, two-penny almanacs by authors such as Blagrave, Swallow and Bowker could still be purchased. There were also a number of larger almanacs that sold for as much as three times that price, including those by Culpeper, Lilly and Wharton. By 1676, the price had moved with the economy and risen to three pence (unbound) and, by the beginning of the eighteenth century, the cheapest sheet almanacs were priced at 3d, with multi-paged editions costing even more.35 There were some fluctuations in these figures, however, depending on whether a copy was purchased in London or the provinces, where, for the latter, a half or whole penny might be added to the cost for carriage.36 Consumers with a greater amount of disposable income had more choice, and were able to either purchase them bound, or make their own decisions about coverings. These observations on the price of almanacs lead into the second, related point regarding the services and goods advertised therein. Although it will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Nine, there is one point that merits discussion with regard to readership. This is the fact that the types of goods advertised in a specific almanac provide clues as to its original readership. In other words, the items or services offered would have been those likely to appeal to, and be affordable to, their readers. This idea is supported by Robert Houston, who has suggested that early modern readers can be placed into three categories: academics and reviewers; the educated middling and upper classes; and the ‘unlettered’ or barely literate general readers.37 Advertisements for lessons in ‘Latine, Greek or Hebrew’

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The target audience were more likely to have been targeting members in the middle group hoping to increase their chances of upward mobility. The same holds true for the numerous offers of lexicons and other learning aids in both English and foreign languages, such as the book by Johann Buxtorf: A short introduction to the Hebrew tongue, trans. John Davis (1655), and a later edition of this published in 1685.38 More utilitarian publications aimed at students were also promoted, such as A General Dictionary in English, which interpreted ‘all hard words and terms in any Art or Science’, or a book offering instructions on ‘the keeping of a shop’.39 On the other hand, the almost complete absence of advertisements for texts in foreign languages suggests that some titles were not trying to reach those with a classical education, such as the gentry or the clergy.40 There are also gradients in the type of vernacular medical books advertised in almanacs. Some of the titles were most likely to have appealed to either medical practitioners or more erudite readers, such as O. Croll, Royal and Practical Chymistry, in three curious Treatises (London, 1670), or Morbus Polyrhizos & Polymorphoeus: A Treatis of the Scurvy; examining Opinions and Errors concerning the nature and cure of this Disease (London, 1666). Other books, such as C. Wirsung’s The General Practise of Physick (London, 1654), were aimed to appeal to ‘all persons whatsoever or for ‘the young student . . . who may come to the perfect knowledge of that Art, without burthening [sic] his Memory with too many prolix rules’.41 The third category of indirect evidence is provided by the original covering – if any – of the almanac itself. It seems likely that many people would have found binding such cheap publications either unnecessary or else prohibitively expensive. Anthony Wood paid an additional five pence to have a book sewn, or ‘stitched’ in 1668. For hard bindings for three books, he was forced to pay 7s 6d each.42 While this might have been considered well worth the cost for an expensive book, it was probably deemed an unnecessary expenditure in the case of almanacs, most of which were probably purchased – and remained – unbound. The inventory taken at the death of shopkeeper John Foster of York showed a stock of fifty-four bound almanacs, compared with five hundred and fifty loose copies.43 The least-expensive option for bound copies was simple trade binding, such as vellum or calf-skin.44 Although the price would vary according to the agreement made between the bookbinder and bookseller, an almanac covered in calf-skin might raise the original price by as much as a third.45 PHYSICAL EVIDENCE The almanacs most likely to have been bound were those that were used as account books, diaries or copies meant to be retained for some other purposes

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Setting the scene at the end of the year. Almanacs that have survived in their original bindings are fairly uncommon, and tend to be collections of a variety of titles either from the same year(s) or by a single author covering a number of years. It seems likely that some of these may have been used as reference books, while others often appear to have been purposefully accumulated and provided with ornamental bindings, perhaps to adorn the library shelves of stately homes.46 Finally, single bound volumes still appear to have retained their original bindings simply because they were passed down the centuries as family heirlooms. Although many single bound almanacs have survived, they are greatly outnumbered by volumes containing a dozen or more copies. It may be that such collections were compiled to be used as reference or desk books.47 Alternatively, they may have been bound for cosmetic purposes, perhaps to complement the bindings of other books in a personal library. For example, Durham Cathedral Library has a collection purchased and donated by Bishop Thomas Thurlow in the late eighteenth century, thought to have been acquired during the dispersal of the Duke of Sussex’s estate in the late 1780s. All of these volumes contain matching decorative gilt designs, and are embossed with the coat of arms of William and Mary, although this may have indicated a sign of respect rather than implying royal ownership.48 Commercially bound almanacs generally follow a similar pattern – of covers made of layers of coarse grey-brown paper pasted together with a veneer of leather. A number of such pre-bound copies were presented to their authors, who usually also received some stitched ‘off-prints’.49 Surviving copies with ornate, embossed covers made of fine kid-skin or vellum were likely to have been much more expensive to purchase. Many almanacs of this type also show evidence of originally having hooks or clasps, such as a 1641 almanac covered with a high-quality, soft white leather, and decorated with golden designs.50 Almost every accessible, surviving copy of Rider’s British Merlin (London, 1654–1700) either has, or shows signs of, a previously working clasp on the cover. Remaining at a reasonable two pence per edition through the 1650s and 1660s, the manuscript notes in many editions suggest that it was extremely popular with businesspeople; the clasps, therefore, would have been useful for keeping other papers from falling out, as well as being a decorative feature. Other editions of the British Merlin provide even more tantalizing clues to their original owners. The 1670 edition, preserved at the Newberry Library in Chicago, is covered with an expensive-looking cover of dark-brown leather embossed on the front in gold. There is also an envelope-like flap on the back cover, perhaps meant for the safekeeping of papers or documents.51 The Bodleian Library also has a number of bound copies of Rider’s almanac in their collections, including a 1690 edition in soft beige leather decorated with a finely etched two-piece clasp, while a slightly later copy has an exquisitely soft

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The target audience casing of white kid-skin, and has also retained a working clasp – albeit plainer and more utilitarian.52 The vast majority of almanacs, however, were probably left unbound, and as a result have not survived the centuries. The only exception seen by this author was a single copy of A Scripture Almanack from 1647, covered with a piece of parchment. It has retained a shape that suggests it was carried in a pocket. On the front cover is a simple drawing of a soldier in black, with the letters ‘sckepe’ printed in red.53 Although there are no further annotations, the illustration provides a vivid image of the events of that year. Unbound almanacs were probably available from a much greater range of retailers than the bound copies, whose weight and cost would have made them more the domain of booksellers with permanent shops. Margaret Spufford’s work on wills, inventories and the licensing records generated by the Act of 1697 provides an idea of the large number of hawkers and pedlars operating in early modern England. Unfortunately, those who sold almanacs, Acts of Parliament and a range of other printed materials were exempt from the Act, and so have left little evidence of their work.54 Michael Harris has broken down the network of ‘itinerant traders in print’ into two main categories. The first group includes street-sellers using London or another urban centre as a regular base. The second included those who might sell in towns but were constantly on the road. Such men and women also often offered printed ballads and other cheap printed wares travelled on one of the ‘chapmen’s routes’ that were already well established to the extreme north and south-west by the end of the sixteenth century.55 DIRECT EVIDENCE: INVENTORIES, AUCTION LISTS, ACCOUNTS AND MANUSCRIPT NOTES Since their purpose was to value the goods of the recently deceased, inventories or wills often provide valuable economic and social information and are therefore a useful tool for studying the growth of material culture. On the other hand, this type of source is problematic, in that they only represent the wealthier segments of society.56 In addition, although many inventories include books, often only the most expensive volumes are named – while the rest are not. As David Cressy pointed out, those at the top of the scale, such as elaborately bound volumes or religious books, had a greater chance of being listed than popular romances or ephemeral literature.57 The previously mentioned inventory for yeoman John George of Writtle, for example, records ‘one Book of Martyrs’ worth two pounds, and ‘other books’, which were collectively worth four shillings.58 During the course of research for this study, only one inventory has been seen that refers to an almanac. The title of this almanac is unknown, as is the date or owner. It was

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Setting the scene mentioned as being bound into ‘an old book beginning 1612’ in an inventory dating from 1786.59 Printed auction lists are often more fruitful sources for information about texts owned by individuals. While the concept of auctions dates back to Roman times, the first European auction for selling printed books occurred in Holland in 1599 to dispose of the library of Philip van Marnix. The first English auction, along with a printed list, was held in 1676 in order to sell the library of Lazarus Seaman. This quickly became such a popular method of selling collections that by the end of the century there were at least ten auctions being held in London each year, as well as smaller sales in the provinces.60 There were various methods used for sorting the collections in printed lists. Some carried the name of the original owner of the cover, while others simply announced ‘a catalogue of the libraries of two eminent persons’ or simply a variety of books.61 In general, most divided their sections by format, whether folio, quarto or octavo. Others ordered the books by subject – often accompanied by place or year or publication and sometimes price. Most auctions took place during the winter months, and by the early eighteenth century these were a standard component of the English book trade.62 In general, expense books or other forms of household accounts often prove to be more valuable sources of information about the purchasers of almanacs. They often either provide the owner’s name and/or place of residence, some idea of their financial or social standing and other types of miscellaneous information. There are also a number of printed transcriptions of account books that refer to almanacs, such as those belonging to James Master of Yotes Court in Kent, who was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge and Lincoln’s Inn, and later became a ‘Kentish bachelor of fortune’. His monthly accounts show that he regularly purchased books, ranging from poetry to historical works as well as volumes on vernacular medicine. Master also enjoyed purchasing and reading ‘paper books’, ‘newes books’ and ‘four little books concerning ye times’. The first almanac that Master mentioned is recorded in a similar way to the other unspecified ephemeral literature. His note reads that in 1646 he purchased ‘2 almanacks and a glass of inke’ for 1 shilling and 6 pence. However, in 1647, he purchased ‘Gallen’s Almanack, wax & pamphlets’ for a total of 10 shillings. Two years later, Master turned his back on Gallen and purchased ‘Lillye’s Almanack’.63 The ‘farming and memorandum books’ belonging to Henry Best, who purchased the manor of Elmswell in the East Riding of Yorkshire in 1618 from his elder brother, date from 1617 to 1645. These contain many different types of information that appear to cover both his work and personal life. In April 1642, he noted that his shepherd had given him a count of his ewes and lambs. ‘Wee sette them downe in our allmanacke, as wee doe allsoe them that dye betwixt one marking time and another’.64

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The target audience Another set of transcribed and printed accounts belonged to the Shuttleworth family. Although they include very little information on the family, it appears that they were successful enough yeomen to employ a steward, while the bulk of the transactions refer to agricultural and domestic goods purchased. However, there are also three references to the purchase of unspecified almanacs. This was first mentioned on 8 January 1617, when the steward purchased ‘twoe almanackes’ for four pence. The following year, two almanacs were purchased for the same price in February. In October 1621 three nameless copies were bought for a total of twelve pence at Stourbridge fair.65 Such examples suggest that while it was necessary to keep a record of all purchases, almanacs were not considered to be important enough to describe in any detail. Library lists, both those compiled by the original owners, as well as by their descendants, sometimes provide more information about the purchasers of almanacs. Although the libraries they refer to may no longer exist, the exceptions often provide the opportunity to prove both ownership and readership through manuscript notes. Most surviving examples originally belonged either to members of the aristocracy, gentry or the educated elite. John Locke, for example, owned a number of European and English almanacs. Another collection from the 1690s, now preserved at the Newberry Library in Chicago, belonged to Joseph Granville Stuart Goff of Hale Park. Although Hale Park was located in Hampshire, the Goff family also held property in the counties of Kerry and Longford in Ireland.66 Another almanac dating from 1700 contains the bookplate of the courtier and politician Henry Grey, Duke of Kent (c.1671–1740).67 The simple inclusion of a family name does not mean, of course, that any of its members actually read the almanac. Furthermore, relatively few almanacs contain inscriptions of names or printed bookplates. This may have been because the owners felt that almanacs did not need such identification, as they were unlikely to be lent to others. Another reason could have been that it seemed unnecessary because they would eventually be discarded. The almanacs most likely to contain a signature or bookplate were bound copies that were meant to be kept. For example, the 1693 almanac containing the inscription ‘Dr. A. Charlett’ refers to the master of University College in Oxford from 1691–1722 where it is still kept.68 Fortunately, there are also a number of surviving almanacs which contain marginalia, which, as W.H. Sherman has recently noted, can provide important clues about how books were circulated and read.69 The collection of family papers begun by Sir John Nicholas contains several such almanacs. These belonged to the senior Sir John Nicholas, Secretary of State from 1649 until 1669, and his son, who was Clerk to the Privy Council between 1667 and 1703. Interestingly, neither contained references to political matters, although both men included notes on a range of private matters.70

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Setting the scene Another collection belonging to Nicholas Crouch of Falldoe par Higham in Bedfordshire, also contains almanacs. Having obtained two degrees from Oxford, Crouch spent much of the rest of his life at Balliol College, Oxford, where his surviving papers and books are kept. This collection shows that Crouch was interested in a range of topics, from Hebrew writings to Latin medical books. Although the records of Balliol College Library do not show the identity of the original owners of these almanacs, palaeographical evidence suggests that the marginalia were written by Nicholas Crouch.71 The most comprehensive collection of identifiable almanac-diaries belonged to the Oxford antiquarian Anthony Wood, who made notes both on the blank spaces left by the printer and on the additional pages that he had arranged to have bound into the book. Although Wood purchased a range of titles, he appeared to favour those by John Gadbury. These diaries contained notes on a range of topics, including numerous references to his business matters, as well as events in Oxford such as several outbreaks of small-pox.72 Interestingly, Wood left certain pages of his almanacs uncut in 1681 and 1688.73 While this might suggest that he was not interested in the section on fairs and one on astrological calculations, it might simply have been that, since he had a growing collection of diary-almanacs, he found it unnecessary to look at every page. Other handwritten notes are more difficult to interpret, such as those in short-hand, which possibly illustrate an innate self-consciousness, or a desire to keep their thoughts private. John Dee preferred to use non-verbal marks such as underlining certain points, using lines, brackets, asterisks, quotation marks or hands with pointing fingers to highlight parts of the text; while John Evelyn also used a secret system in the almanacs – a system that he had previously used in his student days in Oxford. Manuscript notes by the naturalist William Courten in his 1698 copy of Saunders’ almanac used as a diary by the naturalist William Courten, were also partly in cipher.74 The majority of inscribed almanacs, however, are not in code and are part of what Lawrence Stone called ‘a literature of self-exploration’, described as a natural consequence of the general growth in literacy, and printed materials.75 This refers, in part, to the growth in keeping diaries, ‘a habit [which] penetrated all classes of society’ and which was thought to have ‘particularly appealed to women’.76 However, while many diaries by women have survived, there is little evidence of book ownership in general and of almanacs in particular. One of the few accounts refers to an almanac owned by Ann Watts, a female fortuneteller, who in 1687 was apprehended for sleeping rough in the woods of a private estate in Essex. The local JP, Sir William Holcroft, then ordered that the three books that she had in her possession be burnt – two being books by Cornelius Agrippa, while the third was an almanac by John Gadbury.77 It is interesting, and slightly ironical that this fortune-teller should have chosen

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The target audience Gadbury’s almanacs, as the author refused to even call his predictions ‘prophecies’, preferring to use the lower-key ‘conjectures’.78 Although almanacs may also have been used as diaries by women, the only surviving copy that this author is familiar with is the 1680 edition of Rider’s almanac held in the Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington DC. Originally owned by Sarah Sale, the volume still has its original binding of dark-brown goat-skin and is decorated with gold double borders on the front and back covers, and the remnants of clasps can still be seen. Mrs Sale was a widow who took notes about the running of the family farm in Buckinghamshire, as well as entries for cookery and medical receipts. The former was almost identical to those found in other handwritten agricultural accounts in almanacs and included lists of the crops that were grown and sold, including maslin (a mixture of wheat and rye), wheat, oats, and white and grey peas. This almanac also contains references to agricultural tasks allocated to servants, such as hedging, weeding barley or wheat, and pruning bushes.79 The remainder of the almanac-diaries that were examined for this study appear to have been written by men, and were mainly used for keeping business accounts. The type of entries varied according to the needs and lifestyle of the owner. Although there is some overlap, generally most appear to refer to either agricultural or urban professions. The Country Almanack of 1676 boasted that it was including additional blank space that year for: The well-meaning husbandman . . . to Write down his Accounts betwixt his Cow, and the Bull, or when he paid Tom half a crown towards his Quarters wages.80

Such agricultural accounts were, in fact, a common feature of almanacdiaries. Two surviving copies of almanacs from 1648 illustrate the daily records of two different husbandmen. The first one appears to have been a fairly successful farmer. In the front of the book there is an inventory of livestock, which includes 130 ewes, forty-one ‘hogges’, seventy-four shared ‘hogges’, three rams and fifty-nine lambs. This person also conducted a large number of transactions concerning the buying and selling of animals. One grouping of these concerned the sale of a ‘black giddy heifer’ for £4 10s, a ‘blake heifer’ for £4 and a black cow for £6.81 The second almanac from 1648 suggests a somewhat less prosperous agricultural worker. This man noted manual jobs, which he appeared to have carried out himself. Between 13 and 17 May, this man was occupied with transporting bundles of sticks equalling 1,910 faggots of wood. He also referred to collecting fees for allowing cows to graze on his pastures.82 Richard Stapley of Hickstead Place in Twineham used a copy of An Almanack for Six Years (London, 1687) by Samuel Gilbert as his daily diary. This ran from 1687 to 1692, and contained mainly purchases, including books as well as other information about the running of the family farm.83 A 1689 copy

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Setting the scene of Nathaniel Culpeper’s almanac belonged to a Peter Foulkes of Henllan, near Denbigh, who appears to have been a husbandman. Foulkes used his almanac to record a range of expenses, from buying ‘6 apel trees for cartes’ through to selling ‘3 yoakes oxen’ for £21. Wages for various types of labourers were also included, with the services of the village handyman, plus boy, being 7d, while those who ‘lived in’ could earn as much as four pounds a year.84 There are also a number of almanacs whose unknown owners kept notes of miscellaneous transactions. These included a payment to ‘the collar maker 46 s in full’ and selling ‘Mr Biers . . . 4 bushels of wheat’ in 1672’.85 Another anonymous writer gave a listing of differential prices for animals, depending on what they had been fed on. No grasses fed oxe for more than 16 s., a fat salled cow at 12 s., another cow at 10s, a fat mutton cowne sod or whose wooll is well growne at 20 pounds another fat mutton shorned at 17 pounds a fat hag of 2 yeares at 3 s. 4 pounds.86

Such figures infer a prosperous lifestyle, while an almanac diary of 1662, in contrast suggests a more meagre livelihood. The relatively small quantities of food purchased or the small quantities of goods sold, such as a single breast of mutton and a ‘bushel of bark’ to Goodman Mansell, or a bushel of barley to William Fowler, suggests that the writer may not have been very prosperous. It is also clear that literacy was valued in that household, as illustrated by the fact that Goodman Eaton was paid for ‘teaching Nicholas untill Michaelmass’.87 Some almanacs contain only a handful of comments, which makes it difficult to draw any concrete conclusions about the original writer. For example, one copy of a 1643 almanac kept at the British Library states only ‘Laundress paid in September’, while another anonymous owner referred to purchases that he and his wife had made, including an iron pot on 3 January, and a horse on 23 January.88 A copy of Culpeper Revived (Cambridge, 1689) contained a number of debts and payments, many of which are for purchasing of animals, such as ‘the filly’ bought for four shillings – listed on the March page of the calendar, while a Goldsmith almanac contained notes about the sale of ‘silk for embrodery for Indian work’.89 Other almanacs referred to business activities that probably related to owners living in cities. The series of Rider’s British Merlin appears to have been particularly popular for such notes, with one surviving copy having an additional thirty-three double extra sheets bound in the back. The owner ensured that every bit of paper was used for accounts of debts and payments, by turning it upside down and continuing to write.90 Another reader made notes on both the title and end pages, as well as using every extra sheet for listing sums that he was owed.91 Although he did not identify himself, it is clear that the owner of one 1696 almanac was a wealthy Member of Parliament.92

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The target audience Some almanacs retain often types of clues as to their original owners. A copy of Rider’s British Merlin from 1661, now stored at the Cornwall Records Office, contains a chit recording the fact that: ‘The 27th of Sept. 1668 Agreed wth Jo: Merren & ffookes to thresh all my Barley for 4d p Bushell, oats . . . 3d p Bush and wheate att 10d p bush.’ Another almanac from 1697, owned by carpenter John Phillipps, holds nine folded pieces of paper, each of which contains fairly detailed notes about his financial and business dealings.93 The value of such almanacs to their owners is illustrated by the rewards offered for lost copies. In 1677 Mr Lowes at the Artichoke Cooks’ Shop in Princes Street, London, advertised for the return of ‘a bound Almanack of Riders, clasped on one side, with several Papers and notes in it . . .Whoever brings it to Mr. Lowes at the Artichoke a Cooks Shop, in Princes-Street aforesaid shall have 10 shillings reward’, which was comparable to that offered for the return of a missing horse. A newspaper notice that appeared thirteen years later presents a picture of another missing almanac, ‘full of Glasier’s Bills and other Accompts’ with the promise that whoever returned it ‘shall be well rewarded’.94 In addition to business notes, a number of the almanacs in the study also referred to remedies and illnesses, many of which were quite detailed.95 A 1645 edition of Booker’s Mercurius Coelicus contains full details of the progression of illnesses suffered during the winter, including pains in his head, ‘emrods’, ‘scowring in the ear and pain in my neck’. However, the following list for the summer details seemingly more serious illnesses, chronicled on an almost daily basis, which may have been done in order to aid in their astrological diagnosis and treatment. 11. I was taken sick with paine in my head, neck; 12. in al my body. 13. Foure ease. 14. Very ill. 15, 16, 17. Some ease 18. Ill with cough 19. Nursing much paine in my head from 9 am to 3 pm 26. I went to Dr Arde 27. I tooke pills. 5 stools 4 vomit, very ill from 11 till 3. 28,29,30,31. Much paine in my head. 31. Swelling in my thigh.

On 1 September, the writer’s illness reached its crisis point with ‘sweat 10 and 11 am: & the pain left my head, my bile broke, much pain with it.’96 While most marginalia about health appear to focus on either friends or family of the writer, some refer to that of members of royalty. Unlike the modern media, which provide vast quantities of similar information for

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Setting the scene a hungry public, almanacs could not offer such time-sensitive material. Instead, various readers took it upon themselves to record such news as it occurred. For example, on 26 August 1643 one writer reported that: ‘Princess Elizabeth breaks her head perhaps she had also the yellow jaundies’. Fiftyone years later, another note commented on the death of Queen Mary on 20 December. Unfortunately, it has not been possible to ascertain the identity of the people who owned these almanacs, and there is no other supporting material to suggest why they thought such events were worthy of inclusion in their almanacs.97 CONCLUSION Although authors provided clues as to the type of readers that they expected to attract, a particular title may, in fact, have attracted many different types of people. It is also important to remember that the purchase of an almanac does not necessarily mean that it was read. For any type of early modern printed work, readership is a tremendously difficult area to research, and is often even harder to determine for ephemeral literature. Commonly used source materials for studying book ownership, such as library lists, inventories or wills, generally do not refer to the lower end of the print market. Relatively few people bothered to put bookplates or other identifying information in their almanacs, although they are sometimes listed in account books. Furthermore, although marginalia can offer general insights into the person who wrote them, these notes generally do not offer definitive proof of the writer’s identity and are often difficult to date.98 This chapter has attempted to address these problems by employing a mixture of indirect and direct evidence. The former included an examination of three types of indirect economic evidence, the cost of individual almanacs; the prices of the goods that they advertised; the way in which individual copies were bound; and how the copies were distributed. The latter focused on marginalia, household accounts and other miscellaneous material found in many of the almanacs used in this study. It is important to use such a mixture, for although well over 2,000 editions have been examined, the fact that most are bound suggests that they are not representative of the vast majority that were produced and then remained unbound. As a result, the clues that they contain about readership tend to be biased towards wealthier, and perhaps, more educated readers, such as Henry Grey, Duke of Kent or John Evelyn. Within these limitations, however, it has still been possible to extrapolate some worthwhile conclusions. For example, the surviving copies still represent a wide range of titles written to appeal to a variety of readers. Unfortunately, surviving almanacs with ‘job-specific’ titles do not contain marginalia that might help to identify

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The target audience their original owners. However, surviving editions do show that many people purchased more than one title, of varying prices. Samuel Jeakes bought twopenny almanacs, as well as expensive titles such as a copy of William Gibbon’s almanac of 1655 for six pence. Jeakes also owned copies of George Wharton’s six-penny almanacs, which complained that some potential customers with ‘disdaindfull Eye, Pores on me Two long houres, before he Buy: Whilst Nobler Judgments, purchase at first sight’.99 However, if there had not been a market for differently priced almanacs, they would have disappeared. Considering that Wharton’s almanac cost six pence during this period, it is hardly surprising that some people needed to consider carefully whether they could afford it.100 On the other hand, the author Daniel Leeds boasted that ‘One Reason why I make my Almanack less, is that it may be cheap’.101 Sadly, it is specifically this type of almanac that was unlikely to have survived the centuries. Direct evidence of ownership or readership is, of course, more difficult to come by, and it has been difficult to find inventories or wills that include almanacs. Although almanacs may have represented very minor expenditures for many people, they were still sometimes listed in account books. Anthony Wood, for example, regularly noted the editions that he purchased either in December or January of each year.102 The bindings of surviving almanacs also offer clues as to their original owners. Unlike more expensive publications, which would have required bindings either to sit on a shelf or for more aesthetic reasons, most almanacs would have been carried around on a daily basis, and even a simple trade binding, such as vellum or calf-skin, might be seen as an unnecessary expense.103 Those that were bound, particularly in ornate covers with gold leaf, clearly were fulfilling a function different to that of one used as scrap paper at the end of the year. In other words, such surviving copies show that many owners considered almanacs to be sufficiently worthy to display in their homes or offices. Advertisements, which will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Nine, also provide insights into the intended audience. The type of products and services that were promoted shows that the Stationers would have had a sufficiently accurate picture of their markets to only include services such as Hebrew or Greek lessons or sophisticated astronomical tools in some of their almanacs. The titles of books, which were the most frequently advertised products, also differ greatly between almanacs. Advertisements for products such as proprietary medicines, however, could be found in a wide range of titles, and therefore seem to be addressing a much larger potential audience. The most fruitful source of evidence, however, is that found in marginalia, which, as William Sherman has observed, ‘represent an extensive and still largely untapped archive of information’.104 While most appear to have been written by men, the notes cover a wide range of topics, including political

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Setting the scene events, business affairs and worries about health. Some owners used cipher to record their thoughts, suggesting that they believed that others might also access their almanacs at some point. Others, however, seemed happy enough to make notes, which although seemingly innocuous to modern readers, were important enough to warrant being kept once the almanac was out of date. It is also important to remember that it is not only modern scholars who find it difficult to identify readers of ephemeral literatures. Almanac writers were also concerned about who would actually buy their work and the way in which it would be received: The Author to his Book. To shew thy self abroad now thou must go, Poor little Book! Thy Fate will have it so. I pitty thee, because I know, alas! The way is rough and cragged, thou must pass; There’s some will think thee rash, others espy In thee a smack of singularity. This laughs, and that derides, another scorns, A Wilderness is not without its Thornes. Let carping Momus, in his Life but look, He’l find worse Lines there, then in thee my Book. Thy habits plain, ’tis true, what though it be? Our Painted Windows give least Light we see. Go then, if thy success be not too bad, I’l send thee forth next Year far better clad.105

NOTES 111 G. Gilden, 1621, sig. B2v. 112 E. Eisenstein, The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK, 1983), p. 34. 113 Ibid., p. 34; and J. Bucknall, 1675, sig. A1v. 114 M. Spufford, Small Books and Pleasant Histories: Popular Fiction and Its Readership in Seventeenth Century England (Cambridge, UK, 1981), p. 258. 115 I. Maclean, ‘Reading and interpretation’ in A. Jefferson and D. Robey (eds) Modern Literary Theory (1986, 2nd edition), p. 122. 116 See, for example, P. Slack, ‘Mirrors of health and treasures of poor men: the uses of the vernacular medical literature of Tudor England’ in C. Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979), pp. 237–274; R. O’Day, Education and Society 1500–1800: The Social Foundations of Education in Early Modern Britain (London, 1982), pp. 193–194; L. Jardine and A. Grafton, ‘ “Studied for action”: how Gabriel Harvey read his library’, Past and Present, 129 (1990), pp. 30–78; W.H. Sherman, John Dee: The Politics of Reading and Writing in the English Renaissance

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The target audience (Amherst, MA, 1995) and A. Johns, The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making (Chicago, 1998). 117 K. Wrightson, ‘The enclosure of English social history’ in A. Wilson (ed.) Rethinking Social History (Manchester, 1993), p. 62. 118 J. Dunton, A Voyage Round the World, Vol. I (London, 1691), p. 32. 119 S. Jinner, 1658, sig. B1v. 110 Poor Robin, 1696, sig. A1v. 111 L. Weatherill, ‘The meaning of consumer behaviour in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century England’ in R. Porter and J. Brewer (eds) Consumption and the World of Goods (London, 1993), p. 208. 112 A. Hughes (ed.) Seventeenth-century England: A Changing Culture, Vol. I (London, 1980), p. 17; M. Berg, ‘New commodities, luxuries and their consumers in eighteenth-century England’ in M. Berg and H. Clifford (eds) Consumers and Luxury (Manchester, 2002), pp. 63–85; and J. Brewer, Pleasures of the Imagination: English Culture in the Eighteenth Century (London, 2004). 113 D. Cressy, Literacy and the Social Order: Reading and Writing in Tudor and Stuart England (Cambridge, UK, 1980), p. 50. 114 R.A. Houston, Literacy in Early Modern Europe (London, 1988), p. 128. 115 W. Ford, ‘The problems of literacy in early modern England’, History, 78 (February 1993), p. 26. 116 K. Wrightson, English Society 1580–1680 (New Brunswick, Canada, 1982), p. 197. 117 A. Fox, ‘Ballads, libels and popular ridicule in Jacobean England’, Past and Present, 145 (1994), pp. 47–83. 118 W.H. Sherman, ‘What did Renaissance readers write in their books?’ in J. Andersen and E. Sauer (eds) Books and Readers in Early Modern England: Material Studies (Philadelphia, 2002), pp. 126–130. 119 H. Brayman Hackel, Reading Material in Early Modern England: Print, Gender and Literacy (Cambridge, UK, 2005), p. 18. 120 P. Beal, In Praise of Scribes: Manuscripts and Their Makers in Seventeenth Century England (Oxford, 1998); and J. Coleman, Public Reading and the Reading Public in Late Medieval England and France (Cambridge, UK, 1999), pp. xi and 2. 121 N. Rhodes, ‘Articulate networks: the self, the book and the world’ in J. Sawday and N. Rhodes (eds) The Renaissance Computer: Knowledge Technology in the First Age of Print (London, 2000), p. 186. 122 K. Sharpe, Reading Revolutions: The Politics of Reading in Early Modern England (New Haven, CT, 2000), p. 34. 123 T. Lambrocke, Milke for children, or, A plain and easie method teaching to read and write (London, 1685), p. 20. 124 A. Fox, Oral and Literate Culture in Early Modern England (Oxford, 2000), p. 408. 125 L. Stone, ‘Literacy and education in England 1640–1900’, Past and Present, 42 (1969), p. 70. 126 K. Thomas, ‘The meaning of literacy in early modern England’ in G. Baumann (ed.) The Written Word: Literacy in Transition (Oxford, 1986), pp. 97–131.

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Setting the scene 127 J. Simon, Education and Society in Tudor England (Cambridge, UK, 1966), p. 376; B. Coward, Social Change and Continuity in Early Modern England 1550–1750 (London, 1988), pp. 86–87; M. Spufford, ‘First steps in literacy: the reading and writing experiences of the humblest seventeenth-century autobiographers’, Social History, 4, No. 3 (1979), pp. 407–435; and D. Cressy, Education in Tudor and Stuart England (London, 1975), p. 75; and D. Cressy, Literacy, p. 55. 128 A. Finkelstein, ‘Gerard de Malynes and Edward Misselden: the learned library of the seventeenth-century merchant’, Book History, 3 (2000), 1–20. 129 H.M. Jewell, Education in Early Modern England (Basingstoke, 1998), pp. 147–148; and D. Simonton, ‘Women and education’ in H. Barker and E. Chalus (eds) Women’s History: Britain, 1700–1850 (London, 2005), pp. 33–56. 130 B. Reay, Popular Cultures in England 1550–1750 (London, 1998), p. 56. 131 W.W. Greg, Some Aspects and Problems of London Publishing Between 1550 and 1650 (Oxford, 1956), p. 17. 132 An excellent example is the collection of chapbooks owned by Samuel Pepys, which are held at the University of Cambridge. 133 M. Spufford, Small Books, p. 48; and J. Securis, 1576, sig. A3r. 134 J. Raymond, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain (Cambridge, UK, 2003), p. 56; and Stationers’ Company, Records of the Court of the Stationers’ Company, ed. W. Jackson (London, 1957), p. 221. 135 S. Jeakes, A Radical’s Books: The Library Catalogue of Samuel Jeake of Rye, 1623–90, eds M. Hunter, G. Mandelbrote; R. Ovenden and N. Smith (Cambridge, UK, 1999), pp. 308–310; W.S. ‘Early almanacks’, Notes and Queries, 5 (13 February 1858), p. 134; J. Vaux, 1676, sig. B1v; Country Almanac, 1676, sig. B1v; J. Crankanthorp, Accounts of the Reverend John Crankanthorp of Fowlmere 1682–1710, eds P. Brassley, A. Lambert and P. Saunders (Cambridge, UK, 1988), pp. 195, 230 and 256. 136 E. Bosanquet, ‘Notes on further addenda to English printed almanacks and prognostications to 1600’, The Library, Fourth Series, 18 (1938), p. 46. 137 R.A. Houston, Literacy, p. 215. 138 C. Atkinson, 1671, sig. B8v; E. Pond, 1677, sig. C8v; J. Gadbury, 1696, p. 16; J. Lawson and H. Silver, A Social History of Education in England (London, 1973), p. 14; and J. Booker, 1655, sig.C8r. 139 D. Browne, 1630, sig. B1v; and J. Blagrave, 1659, sig. C8r. 140 W. Lilly, 1662, sig. C8v. 141 Idem, 1670, sig. F8v; J. Gadbury, 1666, sig. C8v; Nicholas Culpeper, 1656, sig. F8r; and J. Gadbury, 1679, sig.C8v. 142 A. Wood, Wood’s Life and Times: The Life and Times of Anthony Wood, Antiquary of Oxford 1632–1695, Vol. II, ed. A. Clark (Oxford, 1891), pp. 146 and 299. 143 R. Leigh, The Early Seventeenth-Century Book Trade and John Foster’s Inventory (Leeds, 1994), p. 55. 144 J. Raymond, Pamphlets, p. 56. 145 M. Foot, ‘Some bookbinders’ price lists of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries’ in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) Economics of the British Booktrade 1605–1939 (Cambridge, UK, 1985), pp. 124–175; and E. Potter, ‘To Paul’s Churchyard to treat with a bookbinder’

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The target audience in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) Property of a Gentleman: The Formation, Organization and Dispersal of the Private Library 1620–1920 (Winchester, 1991), pp. 25–41. 146 S. Jinner, 1658, sig. B1v and the almanacs dating from the 1640s to the late 1670s collected by John Robartes, Baron of Truro (1605–85) at Lanhydrock House, Cornwall. 147 C. Blagden, ‘The distribution of almanacks in the second half of the seventeenth century’, Studies in Bibliography, 11 (1958), p. 115. 148 Almanac series, DCL, QIX1–22; and D. Pearson, Provenance Research in Book History (London, 1994), p. 109. 149 C. Blagden, ‘The distribution of almanacks’, p. 111. 150 R. Allestree, 1643, BDL, Rawl. Alm. 5/1. 151 S. Rider, 1670, NWB, Alm. g.1670.1. 152 Idem, 1690, BODL, Ms.Lister31 and 1694, BODL, Rawl. Alm. 91b. 153 Scripture Almanack, 1647, BL, Add. 2465. 154 M. Spufford, Small Books, p. 6. 155 T. Watt, ‘The broadside trade 1550–1640’, in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) Spreading the Word: The Distribution Networks of Print 1550–1850 (New Castle, DE, 1998), pp. 61–81. 156 See, for example, L. Wetherill, Consumer Behaviour and Material Culture in Britain 1660–1700 (London, 1988); S. Pennell, ‘Consumption and consumerism in early modern England’, The Historical Journal, 42, No. 2 (1999), pp. 549–564; M. Berg, ‘New commodities’, pp. 63–87; K. Wrightson, Earthly Necessities: Economic Lives in Early Modern Britain 1450–1750 (London, 2002); and D. McKitterick, ‘Women and their books in seventeenth-century England: the case of Elizabeth Puckering’, The Library, seventh series, 1 (December 2000), p. 366. 157 D. Cressy, Literacy, p. 55. 158 A. Hughes (ed.), Seventeenth-century England, p. 17. 159 L. Prince, The Farrier and His Craft: The History of the Worshipful Company of Farriers (London, 1980), p. 10. 160 F.A. Mumby, Publishing and Bookselling (London, 1974), p. 123; and D. Pearson, Provenance Research, p. 136. 161 See, for example: J. Bullord, A Catalogue of Theological, Philosophical, Historical, Philological Medicinal & Chymical Books . . . later Dr Rugeley (London, 1697); Anon., A Catalogue of the Libraries of Two Eminent Persons (London, 1684); and Anon., A Catalogue of English and Latin Books (London, 1694). 162 M. Harris, ‘Newspaper advertising for book auctions before 1700’ in R. Meyers, M. Harris and G. Mandelbrote (eds) Under the Hammer; Book Auctions Since the Seventeenth Century (London, 2001), pp. 1–14. 163 Mrs. Dallison, ‘The expense book of James Master Esq. of Yote Court’, Archaeologia Cantiana, 15 (1883), 152–199. 164 H. Best, The Farming and Memorandum Books of Henry Best of Elmswell, 1642 (Oxford, 1984), pp. xvii, xx and 87. 165 Anon., ‘The Shuttleworth Accounts: Stewards’ House and Farm Accounts of the Shuttleworths of Smithills and Gawthorpe’, Chetham Society, Vol. 35 (1858), pp. 227 and 402.

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Setting the scene 166 G. Parker, 1691, Newberry Library, Case A1.0175 and Victoria County History, Hampshire IV (London, 1911), pp. 577–578. 167 W. Cookson, 1700, Durham Cathedral Library, QIX 22/1. 168 I. Abendano, 1696, BODL, Rawl. Alm. 100, sig. A1v and DNB, ‘Charlett, Arthur’. 169 W.H. Sherman, ‘What did Renaissance readers write in their books’, p. 116. 170 BL, Add. 41202. 171 BAL, MS 455/7; BAL, MS 905.f.4 and BAL, MS 670.a.3. Thanks to assistant librarian Alan Tadiello for pointing this out. 172 T. Gallen, 1683, BODL, Wood Alm. b(6); and A. Wood, Life and Times, Vol. II, pp. 124, 133, 138 and 172. 173 E. Pond, 1681, BODL, Wood Diaries 25, sig. C5r–6v; and J. Gadbury, 1688, BODL, Wood Diaries 32: J. Gadbury, 1688, sig. C2v–3r. 174 M. Hunter and A. Gregory, An Astrological Diary of the Seventeenth Century (Oxford, 1988), p. 25; W.H. Sherman, John Dee: The Politics of Reading and Writing in the English Renaissance (Amherst, NY, 1995), p. 81; BAL, 670.a.13; and R. Saunders, 1698, BL, Add. 4956, f.66. 75 L. Stone, The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500–1800 (Cambridge, UK, 1979), p. 154. 176 Letts [sic], A History of Diary Keeping in Great Britain from the Sixteenth to the Twentieth Centuries (London, 1987), p. 4; and S.H. Mendelson, ‘Stuart women’s diaries and occasional memoirs’ in M. Prior (ed.) Women in English Society 1500–1800 (London, 1991), pp. 181–210. 177 J. Sharpe, Instruments of Darkness: Witchcraft in England 1550–1750 (London, 1997), p. 281. 178 P. Curry, Prophecy and Power: Astrology in Early Modern England (Princeton, NJ, 1989), p. 39; and P. Curry, ‘Saving astrology in Restoration England: “Whig” and “Tory” Reforms’ in P. Curry (ed.) Astrology, Science and Society (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 1987), pp. 246–248. 179 Folger Shakespeare Library, MS.A2254, ff. 25–27 and 36r–v. 180 A. Martindale, 1676, sig. B1v. 181 T. Gallen, 1648, BL, CUP. 407.f.22, sig. 1v and blank pages between sig. B3v and B4r. 182 V. Wing, 1648, BAL, 670.a.3(15), sig. B1r and B8r. 183 E. Turner, ‘Extracts from the Diary of Richard Stapley’, Sussex Archaeological Collections, 3 (1849), pp. 105–108. 184 E. Bosanquet, ‘English seventeenth-century almanacks’, The Library, Fourth Series, Vol. 10 (March 1930), pp. 394–397. 185 W. Lilly, 1671, BODL, Ashm.605/1. 186 W. Gallen, 1692, sig. C7r. 187 T. Gallen, 1662, BAL, 670.a.7(4): sig. B5v and B8r. 188 W. Gallen, 1643, BL 1374; and J. Booker, 1645, BODL, Ashm.72 (7). 189 Nathaniel Culpeper, 1689, BL 2418; and J. Goldsmith, 1695, BL 1413. 190 S. Rider, 1670, NWB, Alm.g.1670.1.

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The target audience 191 Ibid., 1686, BL 1517. 192 Ibid., 1696, BODL, Rawl.Alm.96 (2) p. 42. 193 Thanks to Adam Smyth for providing these references from Cornwall Record Office DD T 1288 (Rider’s British Merlin, 1669) and Folger Shakespeare Library, V.a.516 (Dove, 1697). 94

London Gazette, No. 1040 (4 November to 8 November 1675), p. 2 and No. 2728 (31 December to 4 January, 1691–92), p. 1.

195 See, for example, E. Ashmole, The Diary and Will of Elias Ashmole (Oxford, 1927); A. Browning (ed.) Memoirs of Sir John Reresby (London, 1991); M. Hunter and A. Gregory, An Astrological Diary; A. MacFarlane, The Diary of Ralph Josselin 1616–1683 (London, 1976); and E. Walsingham, Life of Sir John Digby (London, 1910). 196 J. Booker, 1645, BODL, Ashm.727. 197 R. Allestree, 1643, BODL, Ashm.72/2; and S. Rider, 1694, BODL, Rawl. Alm. 91/2, inside front cover. 198 H.J. Jackson, Marginalia: Readers Writing in Books (London, 2001); and D. Pearson, Provenance Research, p. 54. 199 A. Wood, Life, Vol. II, p. 24; S. Jeakes, A Radical’s Books, p. 308; and G. Wharton, 1657, sig.G3v. 100 A. Wood, Wood’s Life and Times, Vol. II, p. 24. 101 D. Leeds, An Almanack (Philadelphia, 1694), sig. A1v. 102 See, for example, A. Wood, Life, Vol. II, pp. 122, 127, 212 and 278. 103 J. Raymond, Pamphlets and Pampleteering (Cambridge, UK, 2003), p. 56. 104 W. Sherman, ‘What did Renaissance readers write in their books?’, p. 119. 105 H. Hills, 1684, sig. C8v.

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Part II

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Structures of practice and knowledge

Chapter 5

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Astrology and popular culture

The divine and laudable Science of Astrology, is a Learning that teaches by the Natures, Motions, Configurations, Significations, and Influyences [sic] of the Heavens and Stars therein, how to judge of future Contingencies, or to predict natural Events.1

What we now refer to as astrology has played an important, albeit changing, role in Western society for over two millennia. For centuries, it was regarded as one of two parts of the science of the stars, with astronomy providing the theoretical foundation for astrology, which was used to interpret the movements of the stars. Although there have always been critics of the interpretative elements, the discipline has only fallen into general disrepute in fairly recent times. Some academics have attacked astrology by arguing that it ‘dominated the minds of the vulgar and uneducated’ until fairly recent times. Others, however, are even harsher and dismiss it as being a ‘pseudoscience without any scientific evidence to support its existence’ along with other types of ‘supernatural’, psychic or religious phenomena.2 Paradoxically, at the turn of the twenty-first century, a study by Granada Television showed that 50% of people questioned had read their horoscopes in the previous week, while other research suggests that between 20 and 50% of the population in Europe, North America and Asia believe either ‘mildly or strongly’ in astrology.3 There are, of course, a number of possible explanations for this phenomenon. Roy Willis and Patrick Curry have argued that ‘it is a safe assumption that human beings have always found the heavens a source of wonder, meaning and guidance’. This idea seems to be shared by Nick Campion and Steve Eddy, who state that ‘since the beginning . . . our views of the cosmos have shaped our beliefs about our place and purpose’. Marjaana Lindemann has suggested that its modern popularity is due to the fact that astrology fulfils several ‘basic social motives’, including ‘providing individuals with a better understanding of themselves, their future and the world in which

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Structures of practice and knowledge they live’. Anthony Grafton has taken an even stronger stance by stating that astrology should be considered ‘the most consistent, unified and durable body of beliefs and practices in the western tradition’.4 Whatever their own views on the subject, most modern historians now accept the necessity of examining astrology within the social and cultural context of their own times. Many, probably influenced by Keith Thomas’s Religion and the Decline of Magic, acknowledge the idea that historically, the study of the effects of the heavenly bodies was an ‘intellectually demanding’ discipline with ancient roots, and that astrological beliefs and practices played in every sphere of early modern society.5 In fact, Michael MacDonald has suggested that the influence of this work has radically altered modern scholarship, with astrology now being examined ‘from the perspective of our ancestors, rather than from the [modern] point of view’.6 Tamsyn Barton, on the other hand, argued in 1994 and again in 2002 that there was still ‘huge scope’ for examining the ways in which astrological practices and beliefs influenced all aspects of life in earlier periods.7 The astrological content found in almanacs illustrates a variety of ways in which astrological beliefs and practices formed a major part of the world view in early modern England. Bernard Capp has suggested that the advent of printed almanacs helped to transform ‘the long tradition of popular lore based on the moon, planets and eclipses’ into ‘a form that could be widely disseminated through society’.8 This astrological material, according to Maureen Perkins, ‘provided the underpinning of many beliefs about the environment, about society and about time.’9 Earlier studies, such as Don Cameron Allen’s classic Star-Crossed Renaissance, have argued that the early modern period was a time of the ‘continued triumph of astrology’.10 This view, however, was heavily contested in the later part of the twentieth century. Patrick Curry, for example, feels that while astrology experienced ‘an unprecedented flowering’ during the Civil War and Interregnum years, it then fell ‘from this earlier peak into a disgrace from which it never really recovered’. Some academics suggest that this was a general decline, while others feel that it pertained to ‘elite society’ and not to those below.11 A major problem with such arguments is the way in which ‘astrology’ is used in a generic sense. In fact, contemporary debates tended to focus not on the validity of astral influence, but on the ‘negotiation of agreed limits’ about its application.12 This chapter will begin with a brief overview of astrology and popular literature, before moving on to the astrological content in almanacs (with the exception of astrological physick, which will be discussed in the next chapter). Although there are various ways of classifying such information, this section will employ the same categories used by almanac writers, namely natural and judicial astrology. As this material will illustrate, there was little argument

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Astrology and popular culture about ‘natural’ astrology, but a great deal linked to ‘judicial’ astrology and its potentially dangerous predictions.13 Rather than illustrating the decline of astrology, the most popular form of mass media suggests that natural astrology remained as popular as ever, and that the absence or presence of judicial astrology was not due to public sentiments but to the whims of government censors. ASTROLOGY AND POPULAR LITERATURE In early modern England, astronomy and astrology were simply two parts of the same ‘noble science’ and the two terms were often used interchangeably.14 Astronomy was defined as ‘the calculation of the true place and motions of the planets’, while astrology explained ‘the effects of the planets’. In other words, astronomy was the ‘theorick’ part used to ‘measure their [the planets’] motion’ after which astrology the ‘practick’ part would help to interpret or ‘to know the mind or meaning of the Starres’, a view which continued to be propounded in almanacs throughout the 150 years of this study.15 Lauren Smoller has divided the astrological content in early modern popular books into four main categories. The first included general predictions about the effects of the stars on ‘society, weather, war, famine and plague’. This was followed by nativities, or genethialogical portraits of the traits and characteristics set by a person’s time of birth. The third category were elections, or inceptions, which would calculate the best time to carry out some given action based on astrological considerations, and the final grouping were interrogations, which used the position of the stars to answer a specific question.16 While this is a useful, general description for printed books, it does not accurately describe the astrological content of most almanacs. A more constructive method for almanacs would be to divide them into the two categories of judicial and natural astrology. This is not to suggest that the two were found in equal proportions, however. While the later form generally attracted little opposition, the former had the potential to be tremendously controversial, and authors were periodically forced to exclude judicial predictions in their almanacs. JUDICIAL ASTROLOGY In the strictest sense, judicial astrology referred to the movements of the planets and their influence on individual decisions and actions which would eventually lead to a predetermined result. Such views were thought to be both dangerous and inaccurate by the medieval church, partially because this involved what was seen as ‘the occult influence’ of the stars and planets. Furthermore, many religious leaders felt that judicial astrology promoted

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Structures of practice and knowledge ‘pagan superstition’ and challenged the basic Christian precepts of human free will and moral autonomy, with the result that many people would sin, while others would feel that it was impossible to improve their lives.17 Changes in the English church following the Reformation caused an increasing hostility to astrology. According to many modern historians, this was complicated by the fact that priests were no longer thought to have the power to heal sick people, which probably encouraged patients to turn to astrologers for supernatural assistance.18 However, despite Puritan censures, many early modern clergy still appeared to regard astrology as a science.19 This support can be seen in sermons by Thomas Swadlin, called Divinity no Enemy to Astrology in 1653, or by Richard Carpenter who published Astrology proved Harmless, Useful and Pious (London, 1653) after delivering it to a meeting of the Society of Astrologers in London, a group which was active between 1647 and 1658. The doctor of divinity, Robert Gell, who professed to believe in astrology, also preached two sermons to the society in 1649 and 1650 which offered praise that ‘ye and your Art are servants unto the God of Heaven.’ In his second sermon, Gell lauded the ‘motion of the starres and their great multitude’, arguing that astrology can ‘right to lead us to the knowledge of greater things’.20 By the middle of the seventeenth century, writers such as George Wharton were also still arguing that astrology was ‘Divinely Excellent, and necessary for a Christian’.21 A great many other almanacs also defended astrology, reminding readers of the ‘determined and decreeable truth’ in the ‘Art of Astrologie and Astronomie.’22 Political predictions based on the future configurations of the stars and planets were seen to be a powerful propaganda tool that could cause or promote civil discontent. While it is true that this potential was vast, many forecasts were actually phrased in such a vague manner that they were relatively unthreatening, such as the warning that the ‘influence of Mars shall be so violent, that divers souldiers in partes beyond the seas, shall fall out for want of their pay’. That said, other predictions of prolonged warfare, the arrival of the Antichrist, the Black Death, or Protestant splits in the Church, certainly were also dangerous. As discussed in Chapter Three, numerous political prophesies appeared in almanacs printed during the Civil War by Parliamentarian supporters, such as John Booker and Nicholas Culpeper, and by the pro-Royalists George Wharton and Vincent Wing.23 For example, Booker’s 1644 almanac reproduced what he claimed were a series of prophecies from a manuscript almanac by John Walgrave dating from 1508. Written ‘by the Authors owne hand’, this almanac supposedly predicted events ‘from the 25 of March to the last of December 1644’, in the form of pictures of: Bee-hives turned up side downe, and the Bees flying away, Arrowes flying the ayre, dead Bodyes rapt in shrines with crosses, crucifixes on their brests, upon the

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Astrology and popular culture shrines, mountaines and hills and one with a crowne on his head, and starres about him, over which is likewise written thus, viz a cold sommer, foule weather, bees goe away, hunger in the land, death of children, a full and glorious state much wind.24

Joad Raymond has argued that while the mass media only played a marginal role in politics in the early part of the seventeenth century, it became a major force in the last few decades.25 I disagree with his use of the term ‘marginal’, on the grounds that almanacs, particularly those from the middle of the century were an important source of political propaganda.26 However, it is true to say that the relationship between the press and politics was certainly a tumultuous one in the final decades of the century. Various efforts were made to exclude potentially dangerous predictions in almanacs, as in 1687 when Daniel Woodward warned his readers that ‘we are not admitted to publish Astrological Prognostications’ linked to a number of factors, including widespread anxiety about the Catholic heir, James, Duke of York, the fear of a popish plot and a resulting paranoia about ‘Popists’.27 Although most astrologers tended to exercise greater caution in their writing, such precautions did not always work. John Gadbury, for example, was accused of being a ‘Popist’ on the grounds of the content of his 1679 almanac. This was not on the grounds of his predictions, but rather because of ‘an omission of the Feast for Deliverance from the Gunpowder Treason’ on 5 November. In a pamphlet published while he was incarcerated, Gadbury swore that he ‘ever did own the Powder Treason for a damnable and horrid Popish Plot (as I also do the present wicked one)’. He argued that ‘nor can an Almanack printer print what he please’ and that this failure was as much the responsibility of the Licenser who had examined his text before it was allowed to be printed. Gadbury’s final argument for his innocence was that ‘I never yet had any acquaintance with any Popish Priests’ and even included a testimonial from the Curate of the Parish of St Margaret’s, Westminster, stating that he practised the Protestant faith.28 Since this pamphlet was written by Gadbury in the hopes of being released from prison, it is interesting that he failed to refer to his booklet Astrological Predictions for the Year 1679 (London, 1679), in which he suggested that the stars promised a year of ‘Famous, Malicious, Crafty and Treacherous’ events.29 NATURAL ASTROLOGY a countreyman . . . will not undertake a Journey (although it be of Ten Miles length) until he hath consulted with his Almanack, to know what Weather will happen at that time.30

Natural astrology, which included weather forecasts, was the least controversial aspect of astrology and the foundation on which almanacs were built. As

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Structures of practice and knowledge Alexandra Walsham has pointed out, the ‘dividing line between divinatory practices . . . and officially sanctioned strategies (by clergy)’ were not very clear.31 Therefore, while attempts have been made to divide the type of natural astrology found in almanacs into two main categories, it is inevitable that there will be some facets that straddle the boundary. For example, the first, and largest, was what might be called ‘environmental astrology’ and represented the general character of planetary influences with the weather, agriculture and husbandry. The closeness of their relationship lives on in the nickname which is often given to almanacs as being ‘Farmers’ calendars’.32 This is complemented by the second category of health and illness, which will be discussed in detail in the following chapter. The most common form of environmental astrological information was on the weather. This is hardly surprising, as unseasonable conditions would affect the personal and professional lives of both urban and rural dwellers. Many almanac readers in the first category may have been most interested in the way in which weather forecasts affect travel conditions, while the latter may have looked for clues as to how their livestock or crops would be affected. On a broader level, climactic variability could result in widespread economic or environmental change, resulting in crop failure, economic failure and hunger.33 Poor weather conditions could also heighten the severity of existing illnesses or, even worse, be the harbinger of plague.34 Most almanacs offered readers easily accessible and understandable weather forecasts for the coming year by dividing them into four seasons. Some authors made further divisions into individual ‘parts’ or months. This was such a typical component that one writer simply refused to include them, stating that ‘these things [are] commonly known, and indeed the work of every trivial Almanack’.35 Although the ‘four quarters’ contained general medical information, which will be discussed in the next chapter, they also included advice on other matters. Many almanacs also offered advice on the correct times for carrying out planting, tending and harvesting crops, based on astrological considerations. Agricultural advice was generally presented either as monthly advice, either within the calendar section or separately under ‘advice for husbandmen’ or ‘observations for husbandmen’ or occasionally even as ‘observations for good husbandry and good housewifery’. This astrological information, in common with medical advice, continued to follow traditional, orthodox lines throughout the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Much of the agricultural advice in almanacs simply reiterated and confirmed information that had circulated as part of oral culture for centuries and had been later disseminated in contemporary husbandry manuals. This included advice found in the large number of texts attributed to the well-known writer Gervase Markham, who reproduced information from earlier printed and manuscript works.36 Interestingly, this orthodoxy

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Astrology and popular culture was apparent across all almanacs providing such material, regardless of the socio-economic status of their intended audience. Agricultural innovations, such as convertible husbandry, where permanent grass and arable land were replaced by rotating arable land, receive no mention in almanacs. There was also absolutely no mention of the role that new winter fodder crops such as clover, turnips or maize played in over-wintering animals.37 Almanac writers acknowledged the strong relationship between weather and health in sections entitled ‘the country-mans Counsellor for Health and Husbandry’ or ‘astronomicall elections for administration of Phisicke & Husbandry observations’. These almost always carried predictions of unseasonable weather, episodes of which could result in ‘enduring harme to Cattel’ or ‘lean crops’, which could result in plagues, pestilence and famine. Too much rain, on the other hand, could cause ‘putrefaction of the Fruites of the Earth’, while very dry weather would ‘forehold small store of Fruites’. Winds could also be dangerous to farmers, with ‘unwholesom gusts’ or air, particularly those from the north or east which brought droughts in their wake. Such forecasts were seen to be a vital part of almanacs, with writing about the ‘various mutation and change of weather, or temperature of the air’ being necessary to ‘satisfie the sober minds of our judicious countrymen’.38 The position of the planets was believed to influence ‘all Plants, Seeds and other things, which are produced out of the Bowels of the earth’. Therefore, it followed that every type of plant was linked to a planet whose nature it shared, which led to a series of rules governing the planting, growing and harvesting of different crops. A letter from Mary Evelyn to an unknown correspondent commented on a ‘new Almanack now under the presse foretelling the disasters of plants if not sett in just a face and minute of the Moone’.39 Although authors, on the whole, did not threaten readers with such dire results, many did provide detailed advice as to the best times for these activities. In addition, the moon played a particularly important role in this cycle, for ‘all the world knows that Husbandry cannot spare her Lunar nature, since the moon governs the moisture and spirit of the earth’.40 A particularly auspicious time for planting crops or tending to trees and shrubs was when the moon was increasing, which would make them grow faster. Readers were also advised to have their own hair cut, as well as shearing animals, for the same reasons.41 Although almanac writers clearly did not feel it necessary to provide the underlying rationale for these changes, it may be that this is because all living things absorb more moisture when the full moon is at its highest.42 While such weather forecasts generally did not result in mass public unease, the same cannot be said for predictions of events that would follow in the wake of comets, eclipses or meteors. Vladimir Jankovic´ has argued that the scientific rationale, and the results of such ‘grand meteorological events’ were

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Structures of practice and knowledge considered to be ‘privileged philosophical facts’.43 This seems to be somewhat of an overstatement, for although most people would not be able to predict such events, such information was widely available in the pages of almanacs, generally accompanied by its likely consequences. It was a simpler matter for astrologers to manipulate or link further judgements to such dramatic phenomena, than for more routine weather forecasts to do so. For example, comets were always assumed to foretell misfortunes that might include ‘plague, famine, war, and mutations of kingdoms . . . great and inordinate winds, earthquakes’, depending on the shape of their heads.44 The ‘blazing star’ that was visible from December 1664 through to the latter end of January in Oxford was thought to have led to ‘prodigious births . . . [and] the devill let loose to possess people’ as well as earthquakes and plague.45 However, predictions could do much more than simply frighten readers; they could also be used to incite religious or political unrest through merging natural and judicial astrology. As Keith Thomas has pointed out, many astrologers used the solar eclipse of 29 March 1652 to make political statements. William Lilly forecast that the eclipse would result in the end of Presbyterianism and major changes in the law and government, while Nicholas Culpeper predicted that ‘Black Monday’ would signal the rise of democracy and the fifth monarchy. Such comments generated such fear that John Evelyn noted ‘that celebrated Eclipse of the Sun, so much threatened by the Astrologers’ which had ‘so exceedingly alarm’d the whole Nation, so as any hardly would worke, none stir out of their houses’.46 In this case, however, the sun only had a partial eclipse, making Lilly and other astrologers open to criticism and even ridicule.47 CONCLUSION The continuing popularity, and indeed, omnipresence in the modern world, has earned astrology the title of ‘the most consistent, unified and durable body of beliefs and practices in the western tradition’.48 Marjaana Lindemann suggests that this is because astrology fulfills ‘basic social motives’ such as reducing uncertainty, which provides a better understanding both of an individual’s self and of the larger world in which they live. Furthermore, it helps people to feel as if they have a greater sense of control of their future.49 There are, of course, a range of other possible explanations for the continuing interest in astrology. Nicholas Campion has suggested many people view astrology as ‘a matter of belief or faith rather than knowledge’.50 Henry Bauer, on the other hand, argues that astrology ‘can hardly be disproved since there are so many conceivable ways in which observations could be hampered or helped by adjusting factors that might affect those powers or influences’.51 In other words, he appears to be suggesting that the powers of astrology might actually

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Astrology and popular culture be proven if only our society could come up with a suitable way for measuring them. There are also problems with the historical study of astrology. While many academics tend to define ‘astrology’ as a single entity, this was clearly not the case in early modern England. Depending on the social climate, most almanac writers made it clear that their works contained both judicial and natural astrology during more peaceful periods, or only natural astrology during times of political unrest. It is not surprising that this was the case, as the former was based on making predictions based on astral movements and therefore had the potential to cause trouble for the author. Many almanac writers were intimately involved with radical politics and religion, which suggests one of the main reasons for the ebb and flow of the astrological content of almanacs over the 150 years of this study. There were, of course, accompanying causes such as the ongoing religious debate about whether astrology took away free will and determinism, and recurring social, economic and political upheaval. The end result, however, was the periodic implementation of heavy censorship, which prohibited the inclusion of judicial astrology in astrological publications.52 Natural astrology, with its simple accounts of how the planets and stars would influence ‘natural’ events such as the weather, human temperaments or behaviour, was more difficult to contest. As George Atwell pointed out, this rested purely on ‘undeniable demonstrations Geometrical’ and therefore was not open to debate in the way that predictions based on these calculations could be.53 Astrological physick was one of the most important elements of natural astrology, and, as the following chapter illustrates, played a major part in sixteenth-and seventeenth-century almanacs. NOTES 1 W. Knight, Vox stellarum: or the voyce of the stars (London, 1681), sig. A2r. 2 P. Thagard, ‘Why astrology is a pseudoscience’, The Philosophy of Science Association, I (1978), pp. 233–234; and H. Bauer, Science or Pseudoscience: Magnetic Healing, Psychic Phenomena and Other Heterodoxies (Champaign, IL, 2001), p. 14. 3 G. Sarton, Six Wings: Men of Science in the Renaissance (New York, 1966), p. 72; and V.W. Mitchell and S. Hagget, ‘Sun-sign astrology in market segmentation’, Journal of Consumer Marketing, 14, No. 2, 1997, pp. 113–131; and W.R. Newman and A. Grafton, ‘Introduction: the problematic status of astrology and alchemy in premodern Europe’ in W.R. Newman and A. Grafton (eds) Secrets of Nature: Astrology and Alchemy in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, MA, 2001), p. 2. 4 R. Willis and P. Curry, Astrology, Science and Culture: Pulling Down the Moon (Oxford, 2004), p. 3; N. Campion and S. Eddy, The New Astrology: the Art and Science of the Stars (North Pomfret, VT, 1999), p. 6; M. Lindemann, ‘Motivation, cognition and pseudoscience’, Scandinavian Journal of Psychology, 39 (1998), 257–265; and A. Grafton, ‘Starry messengers: recent work in the history of western astrology’, Perspectives on Science, 8, No. 1 (2000), pp. 70–83.

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Structures of practice and knowledge 5 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1971); P.M. Curry, Prophecy and Power: Astrology in Early Modern England (Princeton, NJ, 1989); and H. Carey, Courting Disaster: Astrology at the English Court and University in the Later Middle Ages (London, 1992). 6 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1991), pp. 335–336; M. MacDonald, ‘The career of astrological medicine in England’, in O.P. Grell and A. Cunningham (eds) Religio Medici: Medicine and Religion in Seventeenth-Century England (London, 1996), pp. 62–90; H.M. Carey, Courting Disaster; L. Demaitre, ‘The art and science of prognostication in early university medicine’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 77, No. 4 (2003), pp. 765–788; C. Scott Dixon, ‘Popular astrology and Lutheran propaganda in reformation Germany’, History, 84 (1999), 403–418; A. Grafton, ‘Starry messengers’; and M. Robyns, ‘Medieval astrology and the Buke of the Sevyne Sagis’, Forum for Modern Language Studies, 38, No. 4 (October 2002), 420–434. 7 T. Barton, Power and Knowledge: Astrology, Physiognomics, and Medicine Under the Roman Empire (Ann Arbor, MI, 2002), p. 29. 8 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500–1800 (London, 1979), p. 283. 9 M. Perkins, Visions of the Future: Almanacs, Time, and Cultural Change (Oxford, 1996), p. 3. 10 D. Cameron Allen, Star-Crossed Renaissance: The Quarrel about Astrology and Its Influence in England (Durham, NC, 1941), p. 155. 11 P. Curry, ‘Saving astrology in Restoration England: “Whig” and “Tory” reforms’ in P. Curry (ed.) Astrology, Science and Society (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 1987), pp. 245–260; K. Thomas, Religion; and M. Hunter, ‘Science and astrology in seventeenth-century England’ in P. Curry (ed.) Astrology, Science and Society (Woodbridge, Suffolk), pp. 261–282. 12 R. Dunn, Astrology in Harriot’s Time, The Durham Harriot Seminar, Occasional Paper, 14 (Durham, UK, 1995), pp. 5 and 6. 13 P. Wright, ‘Astrology and science in seventeenth century England’, Social Studies of Science, 5 (1975), pp. 399–421; and P. Curry, ‘Astrology in early modern England: the making of a vulgar knowledge’ in S. Pumfrey, P.L. Rossi and M. Slawinski (eds) Science, Culture and Popular Belief in Renaissance Europe (Manchester, 1991), pp. 274–291. 14 L. Digges, A prognostication euerlasting of right good effect (London, 1592), sig. A4v; and R. Edlyn, Observations Astrologicae or an Astrological Discourse (London, 1659), p. 6. 15 See, for example, T. Bretnor, 1615, sig. A2r; Dove, 1652, sig. A2v; J. Blagrave, 1660, sig. A3r; and Swallow, 1685, sig. C2r. 16 L. Smoller, History, Prophecy and the Stars: The Christian Astrology of Pierre D’Alilly 1350–1420 (Princeton, NJ, 1994). 17 A. Walsham, Providence in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1999), p. 23; L. Thorndike, History of Magic and Experimental Science, Vol. VII (New York, 1958), p. 90; and E. Grant, Planets, Stars and Orbs: The Medieval Cosmos 1200–1687 (Cambridge, UK, 1994), p. 569. 18 P. Curry, ‘Saving astrology in Restoration England’, pp. 245–260; and A. Wear, ‘Puritan perceptions of illness in seventeenth-century England’ in R. Porter (ed.) Patients and Practitioners (London, 1985), pp. 55–87. 19 S. Doran and C. Durston, Princes, Pastors and People, p. 81; K. Thomas, Religion,

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Astrology and popular culture pp. 58–59. J. Sharpe, Instruments of Darkness: Witchcraft in England 1550–1700 (London, 1996), p. 41; and Notes and Queries, 6 (6 November 1858), p. 374. 20 BOD, Ashmolean MS.423, f. 168; R. Gell, Stella Nova, A New Starre, Leading Wisemen unto Christ (London, 1649), sig. A4r; and R. Gell, A Sermon Touching Gods [sic] Government of the World by Angels (London, 1650), sig. B1r. 21 G. Wharton, 1653, sig. F8r. 22 D. Browne, 1615, sig. A2v; and J. Booker, 1645, sig. B4v. 23 A. Foulwether, 1591, sig. A8v; M. Aston, ‘The fiery trignon conjunction: an Elizabethan astrological prediction’, ISIS, 61 (1970), p. 160; J. North, The Fontana History of Astronomy and Cosmology (London, 1994), p. 264; H. Coley, 1682, sig. C5r; and P. Curry, Prophecy and Power, pp. 23, 27 and 33. 24 J. Booker, 1644, sig.A1v. 25 J. Raymond, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain (Cambridge, UK, 2003), p. 26. 26 For further information about the relationship between almanacs and politics, see B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press, chapter 3. 27 D. Woodward, 1687, sig. A2r. 28 J. Gadbury, Magna Veritas: or, John Gadbury (Student in Physick and Astrology) not a Papist but a True Protestant (London, 1680), pp. 2, 7 and 10. 29 J. Gadbury, Astrological Predictions for the Year 1679 (London, 1679), pp. 5 and 8. 30 Poor Robin, Poor Robin, 1696, sig. B8v. 31 A. Walsham, Providence, p. 174. 32 M. Campbell, The English Yeoman (London, 1967), p. 178. 33 J.D. Post, ‘Climactic variability and the European morality wave of the early 1740’s’, Journal of Interdisciplinary History, XV (Summer, 1984), pp. 2–9. 34 P. Slack, The Impact of Plague in Tudor and Stuart England (London, 1985), pp. 26–27. 35 W. Andrews, 1680, sig. C4v; J. Woodhouse, 1653, sig. B2r; and T. Trigge, 1674, sig. C1r. 36 See Chapter Ten of this volume for further information about Gervase Markham. 37 M. Overton, Agricultural Revolution in England: The Transformation of the Agrarian Economy 1500–1850 (Cambridge, UK, 1996), p. 116. 38 E. Pond, 1602, sig. J. Woodhouse, 1619, sig. A4v; J. Pool, 1655, sig. A1r; T. Hill, 1572, sig. B3r; R. Allestree, 1618, sig. B2v; Nathaniel Culpeper, 1681, sig. B4r; J. Johnson, 1618, sig. B6r. W. Lilly, 1674, sig. B3v; J. Bucknall, 1676, sig. C3v; and W. Andrews, 1658, sig. C6v. 39 BL, MS Evelyn ME11, ff. 4r–v, Evelyn correspondence. 40 T. Trigge, 1692, sig. C1r; and J. Goad, Astro-meteorologica, or Aphorisms and Discourses of the Bodies Coelestial (London, 1686), p. 17. 41 E. Pond, 1604, sig. B8r. 42 N. Campion, The Ultimate Astrologer (London, 2002), p. 159. 43 V. Jankovic´, Reading the Skies: a Cultural History of English Weather, 1650–1820 (Manchester, 2000), p. 4.

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Structures of practice and knowledge 44 A. Geneva, Astrology and the Seventeenth Century Mind: William Lilly and the Language of the Skies (Manchester, 1995), p. 87. 45 A. Wood, Wood’s Life and Times: The Life and Times of Anthony Wood, Antiquary of Oxford 1632–1695, Vol. II, ed. A. Clark (Oxford, 1891–92), pp. 53–54. 46 K. Thomas, Religion, p. 354; and J. Evelyn, The Diary of John Evelyn, ed. G. de la Bedoyere (Woodbridge, 1995), p. 82. 47 B. Woolley, The Herbalist Nicholas Culpeper and the Fight for Medical Freedom (London, 2004), p. 299; and A. Geneva, Astrology, p. 128. 48 A. Grafton, ‘Starry messengers’, pp. 70–83. 49 M. Lindemann, ‘Motivation’, pp. 257–265. 50 N. Campion, Prophecy, Cosmology and the New Age Movement: The Extent and Nature of Contemporary Belief in Astrology, PhD dissertation, Bath Spa University, 2004, p. 153. 51 H. Bauer, Science or Pseudoscience, p. 97. 52 P. Curry, Prophecy, p. 46; and J. Sutherland, The Restoration Newspaper and Its Development in Early Modern England (Cambridge, UK, 1986), p. 2; and A. Johns, Nature of the Book, pp. 231–233. 53 G. Atwell, An apology, or, Defence of the divine art of natural astrologie (London, 1660), sig.A1v.

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Chapter 6

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Astrology and physick

No Man can reasonably deny, but that the whole Prognostick part of Physick is govern’d by Astrology; and those Physitians which follow Hippocrates and Galen, in making that their Principal refuge, do wisely and commendably.1

A

s the previous chapter has shown, although almanac writers were forced to omit judicial astrology during periods of religious or political tension, natural astrology remained largely unaffected. Weather forecasts, for example, were clearly considered to be one of the ‘necessary thinges of Astrology’ and continued to play a major role in all almanacs.2 Astrological physick also remained a highly visible component throughout the 150 years of this study, with many writers emphasizing that it was one of the most important parts of astrology. Thomas Bretnor praised God for providing the understanding of ‘the verity and excellent of Astrology in Physick’, which, according to Thomas Fowle would allow readers to ‘see so much of Gods [sic] Power, wisdom and Goodness, as will make thee love and serve him the more’.3 John Partridge took an even stronger stance on the subject, vehemently stating that physick was ‘the main business of Astrology’, with Nathaniel Culpeper insisting that ‘Galen himself confirms this assertion’.4 These sentiments were mirrored by the Galenic–astrological beliefs which underpinned the medical content found throughout the 150 years of this study. While large numbers of more specialized texts were produced (texts which provided information about the innovations or changes that were occurring in the greater medical or scientific community during this period), there is almost no sign of such ‘advances’ in almanacs. Instead, despite the potentially large differences between the target audiences, authors continued to offer conservative, familiar and time-honoured medical advice to their readers. Within these parameters, however, there were differences in the level of sophistication of an individual volume’s medical information, variations which depended on the author and the type of audience that he/she was writing for.

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Structures of practice and knowledge However, almanacs could not, and did not try, to provide readers with a great deal of theoretical or technical information. Instead, they offered practical advice on how the movements of the stars and planets over the coming year would affect the readers’ health, as well as what to do about it. Bernard Capp has suggested that this content ‘ensured that knowledge of astrological medicine was more widely accessible than ever before’. Michael MacDonald, on the other hand, has argued that the public was already regularly exposed to the fundamentals of astrology in ‘literature, sermons, illuminations, prints, diagrams and epigrams’.5 There were also a large number of texts on the market, many by almanac writers including Anthony Askham, Nicholas Culpeper, Richard Saunders or Joseph Blagrave, who promised to ‘sufficiently instruct’ readers in the intricacies of astrological physick.6 Patrick Curry has suggested that the period from 1616 until 1654 ‘just spanned both the popular and elite ends of the sociointellectual tradition’ [of astrological medicine]. However, the wide range of texts on astrological physick by almanac writers, some of which were highly technical, through to the end of the seventeenth century, suggests a slightly different story. Furthermore, Mark Harrison has recently argued that ‘the belief that the heavens influenced bodily health persisted, even in learned medicine, until well into the 19th century’.7 One of the problems with such statements is that it is not clear what is meant by the use of the words ‘elite’ or ‘learned’. As with astrology, astrological physick was based on a highly complex theoretical and practical system that, in its purest form, required both mathematical and analytical skills. It would therefore require a good education in classical sources, such as the Galenic De Diebus Decretoriis (quoted in A. Wear (ed.) Health and Healing in Early Modern England (Aldershot, 1998)), which, in the third book, discussed the effects of the moon on health. Many early writers also believed that Hippocrates had been interested in the subject, owing to the presence of a medieval treatise known as the Astronomia or Astrologia Ypocratis (quoted in N. Siraisi, ‘Anatomizing the past: physicians and history in Renaissance culture’, Renaissance Quarterly, 53, No. 1 (Spring 2000), 1–30), as well as a few statements about the stars in the Hippocratic corpus. During the thirteenth century, new, highly technical texts began to appear, such as Aggregationes, which also claimed to be based on ancient Greek sources. Such translations, along with other scientific and philosophical works, lay behind the medieval ‘quadrivium’ or basic university curriculum. However, it must also be noted that although astrological physick played a major role in university studies, it was both complemented and extended by many ‘other factors from scholastic discourse’.8 By the time of the Renaissance, writers had inextricably linked Galenic and astrological medicine, regardless of whether this was ‘technically’ correct.9 The combination of the two was said to be useful for ‘expressing the state of the

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Astrology and physick body, nature of the infirmity, and consequently the cause of the same’.10 In the view of one almanac writer, astrological physick could be used to: Most easily find the nature and quality of a disease or sicknesse by the heavens, which is the onely way, and most assured for discovering of the quality of the humour offending in any disease.11

At its most simplistic level, an almanac might only contain a diagram of Zodiac Man, which showed the relationship between the signs of the zodiac and parts of the human body. The second most common feature was a section on basic astrological guidelines on the most auspicious time for preventative or remedial physick, generally placed under the heading of ‘physical observations’. In some almanacs the topic might be covered in a handful of brief paragraphs, offering guidelines on the most auspicious times to carry out specific treatments. A large number of almanacs, however, provided fairly detailed discussions of both preventative and remedial medicine. Depending on the author, this might include medical recipes or information on herbs and other foodstuffs. This section was closely related to the next most common theme of the relationship between health and the ‘four quarters’ of the year. The final category of medical advice would probably fall under the ‘miscellaneous’ heading, covering a broader range of material, which might include advice on how to prepare or interpret an astrological chart, or advertisements for services, books or goods relating to astrological physick. ZODIAC MAN The content of most almanacs suggests that readers were expected to have at least a rudimentary idea of the relationship between the heavens and the human body. At the most basic level, this probably included knowing the sign that one had been born under and the concept that each part of the body was linked to a sign of the zodiac. If a sign governing a particular section was affected by a malevolent planet or bad planetary aspect, that part of the body would become ill. The type of illness would be determined ‘by the various and different Aspects and Positions of the Stars’, which were orchestrated by God who was their ‘chief Gouvernour’. Through careful manipulation, God could cause the plagues or epidemics to strike whole communities or even nations.12 This association was illustrated in the majority of almanacs with a diagram of ‘homo sigorum’, which dates back to the ancient Greeks. According to Harry Bober, the earliest known surviving diagram was drawn in the eleventh century and became increasingly common in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century manuscripts. The earliest representation of Zodiac Man in an almanac is thought to date from a thirteenth-century work composed by Petrus de Dacia.13 By the

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Structures of practice and knowledge sixteenth century, however, the drawing was a ubiquitous feature of English almanacs. Although Richard Allestree mockingly referred to the way in which Zodiac Man ‘long enough hath gulld my countrey friend’, he included an illustration similar to that in Figure 6.1, in all of his almanacs, claiming that without them ‘He [country friend] with contempt would straight refuse to buy’.14 In the later part of the sixteenth century, the figure of Zodiac Man was often portrayed as a naked baby or young child, but in the following century the figure of a full-grown man was much more common. Although these illustrations almost always portrayed a totally nude figure, Maureen Perkins has suggested that this fact led to their eventual exclusion from almanacs by late eighteenthcentury reformers.15 However, sixteenth- and seventeenth-century readers appeared to be unperturbed by such images, which generally depicted the twelve astrological signs arranged around them. Although some almanacs contained a rudimentary explanation of what this arrangement signified, most did not, presumably because it was considered unnecessary. Almanac writers expected readers to know that if the sign

Figure 6.1 ‘Zodiac Man’

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Astrology and physick governing a particular part of the body was affected by a malevolent planet or bad aspect, it would become diseased. However, as one almanac author explained, the figure would be particularly useful for explaining the concept to those who ‘do not understand the part of the body that is governed by the severall signs’. As Zodiac Man illustrated, the cycle began with Aries, which ruled the head, and ended with Pisces, which was linked to the feet. Some almanacs contained some brief accompanying text, such as a list of the symbols that went with each sign of the zodiac, a list of the planets, or the ‘character’ and ‘qualities’ of the different signs. Others preferred to accompany the image with a poem or rhyme, a device which had long been used as an aid to memorizing information.16 The Ramme doth rule the head and face: The Necke and Throat is Taurus’s place. The Twinnes the Armes and Shoulders guide: The Crab the Breast, the Spleene and side. The legges T’Aquarius doth fall: And Feete to Pisces last of all. The Heart and Back’s hold Leo’s share: Of Belly and Bowels the maid takes care. To Libra Reines and Loynes belong: The Secrets to the Scorpion. The thighs the Archer doth direct: And Capricorne the knees protect.17

PHYSICAL OBSERVATIONS The second most common type of astrological physick was generally found under the heading of ‘Physical Observations’, although the section was sometimes referred to as ‘An Astrologo-Physical Discourse’ or ‘Astronomicall Elections’. According to William Andrews, in his book Physical observations for the year 1671, the term referred to the ‘great signification’ that ‘the Stars’ had ‘unto the Diseases and Distempers incident unto Mankind’. Although his almanac for that year failed to discuss this topic at all, his monograph on the subject provided detailed, daily predictions as to the kinds of health problems that readers would be faced with during the coming year. On 23 January, for example, ‘he, or she that shall happen to be taken sick . . . about 3 or 4 in the morning, will be much infirmed in the privy parts . . . the Pox small or French (or Meazels) if Children’. Interestingly, Andrews offers no explanation as to the kind of astral configurations that threatened such diseases.18 As illustrated in Figure 6.2, the ‘physical observations’ in almanacs were, of necessity, much less detailed, due to lack of space. Once again, there were variations in the ways in which authors presented their information. The most

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Figure 6.2 ‘Physicall observations’

common form was to divide the material into two main sections, beginning with a discussion of constitutions, followed by guidelines about carrying out specific preventative or remedial treatments, such as bloodletting, taking medicines, carrying out surgery and bleeding. The first, larger part would focus on the individual attributes of a patient that had to be taken into account before carrying out any preventative or remedial treatment. As the physical observation pages from Rodney Clark’s almanac show, these included factors of sex, ‘constitution’, age, body size, the time of year and, if used for therapeutic reasons, the ‘strength and vehemency of the Disease’.19 Some of these variables would change over the course of time, while others would not. The most obvious factors involved one’s age, particularly at the two extremes of infancy or ‘decrepit old age’. Children were thought to be predominantly warm and moist, while old people were cold and dry. Richard Allestree warned readers to be cautious about administering physick to their children, as ‘he that taketh much physicke when he is young will much repent it when he is old’.20 The elderly were also advised to use caution when partaking of medical treatment, due to the increasing presence of ‘bad’ humours which lowered the body’s heat and moisture.21 Other factors that could change over time included body weight. As a number of almanacs showed, the ‘grosness or leanness’ of a person had a big impact on what types of treatments could be carried out. For example, it was considered as dangerous to let blood from someone who was ‘very fat and

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Astrology and physick grosse’ as it was from a ‘weak and lean’ person. In many cases, however, the discussion of weight included gender, something that was immutable. For example, women were thought to be ‘less robust’ than men, partly because they had a greater quantity of blood, which was colder and thicker than that of men. This made them susceptible to a wider range of illnesses, particularly those falling under the category of ‘Hysteric’ diseases, such as apoplexies, epilepsy, palpitations of the heart and violent coughs or vomiting.22 A person’s constitution, which was determined by their time of birth, was also unchangeable. Someone born under the sign of Aries, for example, was likely to be ‘of middle stature, lean and spare, big bones, strong thick shoulders, a long neck and a dusky brown or swarthy complexion’. Since the ruling planet for Aries was Mars, they would be most at danger from hot and dry diseases which would affect the head and face, such as head-aches, tooth-aches, migraines, ‘heat and pimples in the face’ and small-pox.23 The second most common feature in ‘Physical Observations’ focused on diagnostic measures. As previously mentioned, in its purest form astrological physick was an extremely complex topic and not something that could be understood without a great deal of study, for, as John Gadbury warned his readers, ‘it is not for every smatterer to expect to be an Astrologer’.24 However, there were many gradients of knowledge, and someone with only sketchy knowledge could, and often did, attempt to diagnose and treat illnesses according to the main principles of astrological physick. While the way in which diseases were diagnosed during a consultation with an astrological physician will be discussed below, some authors did provide information on specific steps of the process that a reader might carry out. For example, Nathaniel Culpepper reminded readers that the most important factor to be considered was ‘the position of the Heavens for their time of the party’s first falling sick’, when ‘first lying down’ or ‘when dangerous Symptoms did arise’. The next step was to ‘set a Scheme of the hour and minute’; this occurred so that ‘a Judgement’ or diagnosis could be made. Culpeper’s last piece of advice, however, was to consult Richard Saunder’s Astrological Judgment of Diseases (London, 1677), which he felt ‘was the fullest and best piece of that nature extant’.25 Timothy Gadbury, on the other hand, offered what he aptly called ‘brief instructions’ on ‘How to Erect a Figure of Heavens’. This included an illustration of the blank table, accompanied by the explanation that each of the ‘empty places’ represented the twelve houses surrounding the ‘vacant place in the middle’, which, in turn, stood for the earth. The next task was to look up the positions of the sun and the other planets at the time that the patient fell ill (this information was usually found in the front of the almanac), and to place them in their proper locations.26 Unfortunately, he did not provide an example of a finished chart of ‘a rationall figure upon the decumbiture’ with an accompanying explanation of what it meant, similar to

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Structures of practice and knowledge that found in full-length books on the subject.27 Neither did he describe the significance of the relationship between the houses and different aspects of the patient’s life, or the medical importance of the first, sixth and eight houses when occupied by ‘an evil planet’.28 1st. The personality of the subject. 2nd. Money, fortune, goods, possessions. 3rd. Friends and relatives, education, communication, travel. 4th. Parents, hearth and home. 5th. Pleasures, games, love, creativity, children. 6th. Health, small animals. 7th. Marriage, enemies. 8th. Death. 9th. Religion, philosophy, long journies, large animals. 10th. Profession, career. 11th. Friendships. 12th. Ordeals, secret enemies, illnesses and other misfortunes.29

The fact that Gadbury offered such brief information about preparing and analysing the chart suggests one of two possible things. It may be that his target audience of seamen were already expected to be familiar with such information, and that his rather sketchy explanation was meant to remind – rather than to teach his readers. Alternatively, although Gadbury did not urge his audience to turn to texts on the subject, as some other authors did, he may have assumed that this would be the normal course of action for anyone seriously interested in the topic. Some almanac writers provided slightly more advice about a different form of diagnosis that had been one of the central tools of medieval physicians. Although ‘uroscopy’ focused on the physical characteristics of a sample of urine taken from the patient, the sixteenth-century astrological practitioner Simon Foreman argued that ‘the instante tyme when the question is made or the urine broughte’ (to the physician) was even the most important consideration.30 While ‘urine-gazing’ was said to be increasingly used only by quacks in the early seventeenth century, some almanac writers (who obviously did not see themselves in that way) continued to provide information about it throughout the period of this study. Presumably, this was because they felt – or the members of the Stationers felt – that there was a continuing demand for it.31 In 1662, Robert Morton provided information about ‘the Signification of several urins’, explaining that the colour of the urine would help to explain the type of humoral imbalance that the patient was suffering from, although it needed to be used in conjunction with other diagnostic tools. William Dade used his almanac to promote the presence of such information on the title page, stating that it included ‘How to judge the Diseases in Man or Woman, by the Urine’. This included thirty-two different descriptions of the appearance,

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Astrology and physick smell and texture of the urine. Although Dade did not mention astrological links, he believed that red urine was a sign of liver trouble and that black urine was a presage of death.32 Most sections on physical observation also included a simple list of rules on bleeding, purging, bathing and sweating, whether used ‘to keep health’ or ‘to cure disease’.33 Since these will be discussed in greater detail in Chapters Seven and Eight, it will suffice to briefly mention their astrological links in this section. The most obvious was that there was always a specific ‘Astrological time when most Convenient’ for carrying out various types of procedures.34 This was determined not only by the position of the planets at the time, but also by the characteristics and complexion of the individual in question. A number of authors also clearly believed that it was important to provide information about the planetary links with herbs or other organic substances that would be used for medicinal purposes. Although preventative and remedial medicine will be discussed in detail in Chapters Seven to Eight, it is important to mention the relationship of herbs and other plants with the stars and planets. As previously mentioned, all living entities were believed to have unique properties linked to the signs of the zodiac. This concept also applied to plants, which would share the characteristics of the planet that they were linked to. Nicholas Culpeper listed a number of these relationships in his almanacs, such as the fact that ‘misseltoe’, being a ‘plant of the Sun in Aries’ was hot and dry and useful for treating cold and wet illnesses of the head.35 Due to the demands on space, most almanac writers provided fairly pithy, concise, factual advice. Readers who wished to learn more could turn to a wide range of herbals and other books for more detailed information on herbs and astrology, a number of which were written by the same people who produced almanacs. Some of these works focused on the actual physical and astral properties of the materials, while others were full of beautifully drawn illustrations of various plants. There were also a large of number of books on subjects of husbandry and domestic health-care, which discussed the importance of astrological considerations that would determine when plants should be sown, harvested, ‘properly elected and applied’.36 Thomas Tryon, for example, provided tables that would tell his readers what month and day to gather certain leaves, roots or flowers, in order for them to be most medically beneficial: As for Example, I would know what time is best in the Year 1683, to gather Fleewort; looking in the Table, I find Fleewort to be an Herb of Mars, and to be gathered in September; then look underneath for September and against the Year 1693. I find 12 and 21, which doth shew, that the 12th and the 21st are the best Days to gather that herb in.37

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Structures of practice and knowledge The consequences of not following such rules were made clear in a case study recounted by John Gadbury of a woman who died of the ‘Palsey’. He explained that the herbs making up the medicine she had been given should have been of another ‘nature’ because everyone knew ‘that herbs and plants properly elected and applied’ were of the utmost importance.38 While few almanacs had the room to provide in-depth information about this link, readers could turn to Culpeper’s Complete Herbal for detailed advice on herbal medicine: First, consider what planet causeth the disease; that thou mayest find it in my aforesaid Judgment of Disease, Secondly, Consider what part of the body is afflicted by the disease, and whether it lies in the flesh, or blood, or bones, or ventricles. Thirdly, Consider by what planet the afflicted part of the body is governed: that my Judgement of Diseases will inform you also. Fourthly, You may oppose disease by Herbs of the planet, opposite to the planet that causes them: as diseases of Jupiter by the herbs of Mercury, and the contrary. Fifthly, There is a way to cure diseases sometimes by Sympathy, and so every planet cures his own disease; as the Sun and Moon by their Herbs cure the Eyes.39

For surgical treatments, it was vital not to make an incision in the part of the body where the moon was in its ruling sign. This meant, for example, that it was ill-advised to operate on the head or face when the moon was in Aries, or ‘the privates’ when it was in Venus. Although certain conjunctions of planets promised auspicious times for taking medicine or carrying out procedures, others could be very dangerous. The positions of Saturn and Jupiter, for example, were considered to be particularly hazardous in medical terms.40 Jupiter by itself, on the other hand, was considered to be ‘the helper and comforter of the Vertues, so that the Medicine can but weakly expell the humours’. The phases of the moon were another vital component, as the amount of blood in the body was also thought to ebb and flow in response to its movements. Since this was greatest at the time of a full moon, readers were therefore advised not to let blood ‘within three dayes before or after the Change of the Moone’. It was also important to avoid letting blood ‘within 24 houres before nor after the full’, because this was when the humours would be in the process from flowing from the interior to the exterior of the body. Phlebotomy was also ill-advised when the moon was in aspect with Jupiter, ‘the giver of life’ which would multiply the effect of any treatment that was given, although the most dangerous position of all was when the moon was in any aspect with Saturn which would ‘conceal the humours’, thereby rendering any medical treatment ineffective.41

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Astrology and physick Most almanacs, however, seemed to concentrate more on warning readers about the dangers of using phlebotomy at all, urging them to ‘bleed not at all except urgent causes compel thee’.42 Many writers provided guidelines in their section on ‘physical observations’, advising readers to first consider the time of year, the age, complexion and physical state of the patient, and, of course, the phases of the moon. It was thought to be dangerous to let blood when ‘the weather is extreame hot or cold’. The amount of blood that could safely be let was also linked to the complexion of a patient – those with ‘coole complexions’ only had ‘narrowe vaines and little bloude’, while a ‘hote’ complexion ‘aboundeth with much bloud’ and could afford to have more taken. Finally, it was safer to let blood from the ‘corpulent’ or those of a ‘ruddie colour’ than from those who were ‘very leane’ or ‘weake’.43 There were similar guidelines to be considered before using other methods of purging, with one of the most important points being able to choose the correct type of purgative. Because the humours would ‘move from the inward parts of the body to the outward’ as the moon moved from full to a quarter, it was better to use ‘external evacuations’ during the first and third weeks of the moon’s course, and to save internal purgations for the other weeks’.44 Drugs taken either to purge or ‘comfort’ the body would also react in different ways according to the movements of the stars and planets. If administered in the ‘wrong hour’, they would have the opposite effect from what they were meant to do. This was particularly true of medicines given under signs that ‘chew the cud’, such Aries and Taurus, as the patient would be unable to keep from vomiting them up.45 If the aim was to purge the body, then the most auspicious time to take a purgation would be when the moon was in an aspect with a moist sign such as Cancer, Scorpio or Pisces, which ‘stirred up and down’ the humours, aiding in the process. The best time to administer pills was in the watery sign of Pisces, which would help to dissolve completely in the body.46 FOUR QUARTERS The number ‘four’ figured strongly in early modern astrology, with a universe divided into the four basic elements of fire, water, earth and air. These characteristics were mirrored in the bodies of all living creatures, as well as in their life cycle, which was also broken into four phases, beginning with a warm and moist childhood and moving on to a cold and dry old age. Each of the four seasons of the year was similarly linked, with spring being hot and moist, summer hot and dry, autumn cold and dry, followed by winter, which was cold and wet. As with individuals, each season was associated with specific signs of the zodiac, which gave them their characteristic features. Each quarter would begin when the sun moved into a certain sign, such as winter starting when

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Structures of practice and knowledge the sun travelled into Capricorn. Since this was based on astrological calculations, the exact time when this would happen would vary each year. For example, in 1598, the winter quarter would start on the twelfth of December and continue until the tenth of March. The following year this quarter would start a day earlier and continue until the eleventh of March.47 While such minutiae may not have been considered very important by some readers, most were interested in a range of other commonly included information, much of which pertained to weather and/or predicted agricultural conditions, such as unseasonable conditions likely to result in crop failure, economic failure and hunger, or even be the harbingers of plague.48 Many writers would begin with a brief explanation of the nature of that season by explaining which planets determined its representative features. Most would then go on to discuss how each season could affect the health of both man and beast. On the broadest level, this included lists of diseases that were common in each quarter. A large number would also provide information on what times of the year were best for carrying out various medical procedures. This information was given in a more abbreviated form than that found in the Physical Observations section. Springtime, for example, was linked to Leo and Aries, which meant that it was a hot and moist season and therefore paralleled people with a predominantly sanguine complexion. As a result, although the spring was said to be ‘the most comfortable quarter in all the yeare’, this was ‘comparatively such’, as it could still cause humoral imbalances in someone with a similar constitution.49 One author declared that the word ‘summer’ came from the German, ‘for it is as if you would say Sun-mehr . . . because we have more of the Sun now, than at any other time’. This ‘aestival’ or summer quarter began with the Sun entering Cancer, which signalled the coming of hot and dry weather, suiting those of a phlegmatic constitution because ‘the powerful heat of the Sun in this season dryes up the superfluous moisture that accustometh to discompose him’. Others, however, were likely to suffer from ‘Stomach aching, posthumes, pestilent Feavers [and] Jaundise’. In general, the summer season threatened the health of an even greater number of people, as particularly high temperatures could ‘cleave the stoutest Trees nay the Earth it self: and must therefore Rack and tear mens [sic] Bodyes’.50 On the other hand, ‘harvest’, or the autumn, was considered to be a ‘second spring’ and therefore almost as propitious a season – best suited to those of a ‘sanguine complexion’. The autumn, being naturally cold and dry, best suited those of a ‘sanguine complexion’. Those of a ‘melancholy constitution’ would be most subject to disease at that time.51 Since it was generally considered to be ‘a suitable time to take Physick in’, the satirical Poor Robin almanac suggested that it be referred to as ‘the Physicians Harvest’, presumably referring to the vast amounts of fees they could hope to ‘gather’.52

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Astrology and physick To modern readers, it appears that many almanacs repeated the same standard information on seasonal diseases every year. Much of it also sounds very trite, such as the statement that many ‘aged persons’ were likely to die during the winter quarter.53 However, many writers supplemented such content with highly specific, annual predictions. For example, in 1554 Anthony Askham warned his readers that although January would have ‘no great sicknesses’, February would bring great quantities of snow and rain which would result in ‘rewmes, goutes, dropsies and quotidian agues’.54 Some almanacs even provided daily forecasts, such as to expect windy, cold and dry weather for the first two days of January and cold snow or rain on the third, or to beware of certain forthcoming conjunctions of planets.55 As discussed in Chapter Five, many writers included warnings of forthcoming, unusual astral configurations that might occur during one of the four quarters. Such events were commonly believed to be ‘providential tokens of future misfortune’ which were ‘contemplated with a mixture of anxiety, astonishment, and awe’.56 According to one contemporary writer, ‘such Harbingers’ were provided by God so that ‘Men may Expect and Provide in time against those unhappy events’.57 While comets and eclipses were thought to signal the beginnings of wars, they were also believed to have a particular impact on health. The forthcoming eclipse of the sun in the summer of 1590 which ‘untymely births . . . burnyng heat in their [children] braynes and other partes of their bodyes’.58 Some seventy years later, William Andrews warned readers to beware of the forthcoming eclipse that would cause ‘diseases and distempers in the bodies of people of violent and hot natures’.59 Comets or ‘blazing stars’ were thought to be made of ‘dry, hot and thick fat matter’, which signified forthcoming high temperatures, drought, sickness, pestilence and dearth.60 MISCELLANEOUS ASTROLOGICAL PHYSICK The final category of astrological physick found in almanacs was that of advertisements for books, medical products and services. Although this topic will be discussed in greater detail in Chapter Nine, this is a useful place to point out the many advertisements for astrological textbooks – offers of consultations or private lessons for readers who wished to learn more about astrological physick. In 1654, John Booker advised readers that they could purchase ‘globes of all sizes’, along with an ‘excellent Book entitled A Tutor to Astronomy and Geography’ that would ‘explain their uses at Joseph Moxon’s shop in Cornhill’.61 This was a translation of Institutio astronomica, written by Willem Janszoon Blaeu. The English version appears to have been a success, because it appeared in numerous editions – attributed to Moxon rather than Blaeu from 1665 onwards.62 William Lilly’s comprehensive guide Christian Astrology

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Structures of practice and knowledge offered ‘by a most Methodicall way, Instructeth the Student how to Judge or Resolve all manner of Questions contingent unto Man, viz. of Health, Sickeness, Riches, Marriage, Preferement, Journies, &c.’63 The almanac writer Joseph Blagrave reassured readers that his book could teach astrological physick to ‘those who can but read and will take pains may assuredly attain unto it’.64 The prolific Nicholas Culpeper produced a number of books on physick. Semeiotica uranica, or an Astrological Judgment of Diseases was made up of a series of lectures that Culpeper had given.65 A number of other almanac writers also produced books on astrology, including William Andrews, Lancelot Coelson, Henry Coley, William Eland, John Gadbury, John Poole, William Salmon, John Tanner and George Wharton.66 Many almanac writers were prepared to offer private astrological consultations. William Andrews promised that he was ‘willing to pleasure his Countreymen’ by calculating nativities to determine ‘what nature the Disease or distemper is, whether curable or not’.67 In the 1690s, Daniel Woodward advertised that his services as ‘an Astrological Professor and a Practitioner in its several parts’ were available from ‘10 in the Morning, till 7 at night’ at this house. Readers who wished to learn about astrological physick were also catered for. Charles Atkinson, for example, offered either a consultation or lessons to teach ‘any that implore him’. A number of other almanac writers also proposed lessons in the theory and practice of astrological physick. These included John Booker, William Andrews, Daniel Woodward, George Parker and Henry Coley.68 Some almanac writers invited readers suffering from any ailments to visit them for a private consultation so that they could ‘erect’ and interpret astrological charts, which would then help to provide the ‘astrological judgement’ of their illness.69 One such author advised readers that they should consult with ‘such judicious Artists as not only erect them [astrological charts] but give large Judgments from the degree ascending’.70 Richard Saunders offered ‘the astrological Judgment and Practice of Physick, Deduced from the position of the Heavens at the Decumbiture of the Sick Person’.71 As mentioned above, the process would have to start with information as to the exact time that the patient fell ill. In order to obtain this, a consultation with an astrological physician would have begun with an ‘interrogation’, or a number of horary questions. As previously discussed, the answers would be used to set up a nativity (i.e. horoscope) based on the ‘hour’ (i.e. time) that they were asked, or when the patient fell ill. As Richard Saunders explained: Astrologians (that are addicted to Coelestial Contemplations, and well versed therein) do observe not only the day, but also the very hour and minute when any Person fell sick, and for that Moment of time, to erect a Figure for the Position of heaven, then observing the Hyligical places, the Lord of Constitution or Ascendant

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Astrology and physick and Significators of the Disease, from whose position, good or bad they do conjecture and foretel of the Disease, whether it will terminate in Life or Death or whether it shall be long or short of continuance.72

Once the figure was complete, the information needed to be interpreted, which is where the knowledge and experience of the astrologer became of paramount importance. As Lauren Kassell’s work on Simon Forman has shown, a good practitioner would have to use both diplomacy and skill to convince his patients to accept his advice.73 However, in a society where such a myriad of medical options were available, it seems likely that these were traits needed by all types of would-be healers. As Michael MacDonald has pointed out, astrologers offered far more than ‘information, advice and hope’, they were also able to provide ‘meaning of a cosmological and social dimension’ to their patients.74 CONCLUSION As one almanac writer noted, ‘Physic without Astrology is like a Cloud without Rain’.75 The content of the almanacs examined during this study shows that this was a relatively uncontested view amongst authors, regardless of the type of audience that they were trying to reach. Instead, all remained firmly ensconced in a traditional, orthodox system of medical beliefs and practices consisting of a mixture of Galenic rationalism and astrological medicine, based on the theory that God would use the heavens to communicate his will to all living creatures. The movements of the planets and stars would result in humoral imbalances, which could be treated with the help of plants, animals and other items provided by God for just that purpose. As many readers would probably have known, astrological physick in its purest form was extremely technical, involving detailed mathematical calculations and complex analysis and applied to all aspects of medical practice, from determining the nature of a disease through to administering the proper medicines to ease it.76 Due to the nature of almanacs, the information offered was necessarily short and pithy. Interestingly, in some cases this included advice about uroscopy in the second half of the seventeenth century, a procedure which had been said to have fallen out of general usage a century before. Astrological physick, however, showed no sign of becoming obsolete. Such content clearly supports Roy Porter’s conclusion that readers of vernacular medical literature approved of rational physick that they were already familiar and comfortable with.77 Those who wished to learn more about the science were generally advised to read other books, often written by the author of the almanac, or consult the writer him or herself. Even so, a great deal of information could be found in

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Structures of practice and knowledge the pages of almanacs, most of which assumed that readers already had some knowledge of astrological principles. At the lowest level, this would have included an understanding of the basic relationship between the planets and various parts of the body. Most contained an illustration of Zodiac Man, to help reinforce and help readers to apply this information order to diagnose and treat their illnesses. Other almanacs offered more detailed advice, such as the rules linking the movements of the moon, sun and other planets to the course of an illness, and whether or not the patient would survive. As John Gadbury reminded his readers: Without the knowledge of these Arts all Learning is imperfect, and nothing but Sound and Shadow, and all Diseases both Mental and Corporal, are either cured by a kind of Chance, or else miserable Mankind doth linger and languish tediously under them, from their first taking them to the latest time of their dissolution; so that it commonly cometh to pass, that Person and distemper come to be buried together.78

NOTES 1 J. Gadbury, Thesaurus Astrologiae (London, 1674), sig. A4v–5r. 2 O. Fine, The rules and ryghte ample documentes, touchinge the use and practise of the common almanackes (London, 1558), sig. A3v. 3 T. Bretnor, 1618, sig. A3r; T. Fowle, 1695, sig. B1v; G.C., A Briefe and Most Easie Introduction to the Astrologicall Judgement of the Starres (London, 1598), sig. A3r; J. Tanner, The Hidden Treasures of the Art of Physick (London, 1659), p. 40; L. Coelson, 1680, sig.C8v; and J. Gadbury, 1692, sig. C8r. 4 J. Partridge, 1681, sig. C7v; and N. Culpeper, 1682, sig. C2v. 5 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500–1800 (London, 1979), p. 206; and M. MacDonald, ‘The career of astrological medicine in England’ in O.P. Grell and A. Cunningham (eds) Religio Medici: Medicine and Religion in Seventeenth Century England (Aldershot, 1996), pp. 62–90. 6 A. Askham, A Litell treatyse of Astronomy, very necessary for Physyke and Surgerye (London, 1550); N. Culpeper, Semeiotica Uranica, or an Astrological Judgment of Disease (London, 1651); R. Saunders, The Astrological Judgement and Practice of Physick (London, 1677); and J. Blagrave, Blagrave’s Astrological Practice of Physick (London, 1672), sig. B1r. 7 P. Curry, Prophecy and Power: Astrology in Early Modern England (Princeton, NJ, 1989), p. 23; and M. Harrison, ‘From medical astrology to medical astronomy: sol–lunar and planetary theories of disease in British medicine, c. 1700–1850’, The British Journal for the History of Science, 33 (2000), 25–48. 8 D.C. Lindberg, ‘The transmission of Greek and Arab learning in the West’ in D.C. Lindberg (ed.) Science in the Middle Ages (Chicago, 1978), pp. 52–90; N. Siraisi, ‘Anatomizing the past: physicians and history in Renaissance culture’, Renaissance Quarterly, Vol. 53, No. 1 (Spring 2000), 1–30; and L. Demaitre, ‘The art and science of prognostication in early university medicine’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 77, No. 4 (2003), 765–788.

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Astrology and physick 9 V. Nutton, ‘Galen in the Renaissance’ in A. Wear (ed.) Health and Healing in Early Modern England (Aldershot, 1998), p. 245; and C. O’Boyle, Medieval Prognosis and Astrology: A Working Edition of the Aggregationes de Crisi et Creticis Diebus (Cambridge, UK, 1991), pp. 1–2. 10 R. Allestree, 1640, sig. C5v. 11 W. Andrews, The Astrological Physitian (London, 1656), p. 61. 12 T. Trigge, 1678, sig. C1v; V. Wing, 1643, sig. A2r; and A. Chapman, ‘Astrological medicine’ in C. Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979), pp. 275–300. 13 H. Bober, ‘The Zodiacal Miniature of the Très Heures of the Duke of Berry: its sources and meaning’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 11 (1948), pp. 1–34; and B. Katz, Cuneiform to Computer: A History of Reference Sources (London, 1998), p. 123. 14 Pond, 1641, sig. A2r. 15 M. Perkins, Visions of the Future: Almanacs, Time, and Cultural Change (Oxford, 1996), p. 16. 16 Dove, 1698, sig. C2v; R. Allestree, 1622, sig. A3r; and A. Fox, Oral and Literate Culture in England 1500–1700 (Oxford, 2000), p. 36. 17 J. Goldsmith, 1692, sig. B2r; and G. Naworth, 1645, sig. A3r. 18 W. Andrews, Physical Observations for the Year 1671 (London, 1671), sig. A2r and A8v. 19 L. Coelson, The poor mans [sic] physician and chyrurgion (London, 1656), p. 6. 20 R. Allestree, 1620, sig. C4v; S. Ashwell, 1640, sig. A4v; P. Gil-Sotres, ‘The regimens of health’ in M.D. Grmek (ed.) Western Medical Thought From Antiquity to the Middle Ages (Cambridge, MA, 1998), pp. 291–319; and R. Allestree, 1636, sig. C6r. 21 S. Shahar, Growing Old in the Middle Ages (London, 2004), p. 37. 22 F. Winter, 1646, sig. B1v; Dove, 1649, sig. C2r; H. King, The Disease of Virgins: Green Sickness, Cholorosis and the Problems of Puberty (London, 2004), pp. 8 and 23; and J. Pechey, A general treatise of the diseases of maids, bigbellied women, child-bed women and Widows (London, 1696) sig. A2v. 23 W. Eland, A Tutor to Astrology: Or, Astrology made easie (London, 1657), p. 4; and R. Ball, An Astrolo-Physical Compendium or a Brief Introduction to Astrology (London, 1697), pp. 1–2. 24 J. Gadbury, 1669, sig. A4r. 25 N. Culpeper, 1683, sig. C3r. 26 T. Gadbury, The Young Seamans [sic] or Mariners [sic] Almanack (London, 1660), sig. A3v and A4r. 27 See, for example, N. Culpeper, Semeiotica Uranica, or an Astrological Judgment of Diseases (London, 1651), pp. 47–50. 28 L. Kassell, Medicine and Magic in Elizabethan London, Simon Forman: Astrologer, Alchemist, and Physician (Oxford, 2005), p. 132. 29 M. Gauquelin, Astrology and Science (London, 1969), p. 71. 30 L. Kassell, Medicine and Magic, pp. 137–138. 31 L. McCray Beier, Sufferers and Healers: The Experience of Illness in Seventeenth Century

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Structures of practice and knowledge England (London, 1987), p. 23; and A.W. Sloan, English Medicine in the Seventeenth Century (Durham, UK, 1996), p. 51. 32 R. Morton, 1662, sig. D1v; W. Dade, 1686–1689, sig. A8r and B1r; and W. Dade, 1690–1698, sig. A6v and A7r. 33 L. Coelson, 1671, 1681, 1685–87, sig. C8v; and F. Winter, 1646, sig. B1r. 34 L. Coelson, 1674 sig. A3v. 35 N. Culpeper, 1655, p. 10. 36 W. Clarke, 1668, sig. C3r; J. Gadbury, 1676, sig. C8r; and G. Parker, 1694, sig. E8r. 37 T. Tryon, The Way to Health, Long Life and Happiness: Or, A Discourse of Temperance (London, 1697), p. 357. 38 J. Gadbury, 1676, sig. C8r. 39 Nicholas Culpeper, Complete Herbal and English Physician Enlarged (London, 1653; reprint Ware, 1995), p. viii. 40 G. Gilden, 1623, sig. C1v. 41 F. Sofford, 1621, sig. B7v; and R. French, ‘Astrology in medical practice’ in L. GarciaBallester, R. French, J. Arrizabalaga and A. Cunningham (eds) Practical Medicine from Salerno to the Black Death (Cambridge, UK, 1999), pp. 30–59; and J. Woodhouse, 1634, sig. B6r. 42 S. Ashwell, 1640, sig. A4v. 43 E. Gresham, 1604, sig. B2r. 44 G. Gilden, 1616, sig.C3r. 45 J. Blagrave, Blagrave’s Astrological Practice of Physick (London, 1687), sig. A5r; and R. Clark, 1634, sig. C2r. 46 Swallow, 1640, sig. B8r. 47 G. Friend, 1598, sig. 2r. 48 P. Slack, The Impact of Plague in Tudor and Stuart England (London, 1985), pp. 26–27; and W. Andrews, 1680, sig. C4v. 49 R. Allestree, 1614, sig. B2r; and W. Clarke, 1668, sig. B4r. 50 Swan, 1670, sig. B4r; T. Trigge, 1676, sig. C2r; and T. Trigge, 1667, sig. C1r. 51 M. Holden, 1688, sig. A4r; and J. Bowker, 1679, sig. C4r. 52 Poor Robin, 1682, sig. C4v. 53 W. Lilly, 1684, sig. A7r. 54 A. Askham, 1554, sig.A2r. 55 J. Booker, 1651, sig. C7v; J. Baston, 1657, sig. B5v; and C. Atkinson, 1673, sig. C2r. 56 A. Walsham, Providence in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1999), p. 167. 57 J. Edwards, Cometomantia, A discourse of comets (London, 1684), pp. 91–92. 58 T. Buckminster, 1590, sig. C6r. 59 W. Andrews, 1661, sig. C6r. 60 J. Vaux, 1666, sig. B6r. 61 J. Booker, 1654, sig. C8v.

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Astrology and physick 62 J. Moxon, A Tutor to Astronomy and Geography (London, 1665). 63 W. Lilly, Christian Astrology (London, 1647), sig. A1r. 64 J. Blagrave, Blagrave’s Astrological Practice of Physick (London, 1689), sig. A4r. 65 N. Culpeper, Semeiotica Uranica, sig. A3r. 66 See the Bibliographies of this volume for a full listing of works by almanac writers. 67 W. Andrews, 1658, sig. B8r. 68 C. Atkinson, 1673, sig. A1rl; J. Booker, 1654, sig. C8v; W. Andrews, 1679, sig. C8r; D. Woodward, 1682, sig. A2r; G. Parker, 1695, sig. C8r; and H. Coley, 1699, sig. A1r. 69 T. Streete, 1653, sig. F8v; and H. Coley, 1678, sig. A8v. 70 T. Streete, 1653, sig. F8v. 71 H. Coley, 1678, sig. A8v. 72 R. Saunders, 1681, sig. A4v. 73 L. Kassell, Medicine and Magic, pp. 148 and 151. 74 M. MacDonald, ‘Astrological medicine’, pp. 62–90. 75 R. Saunders, 1681, sig. A6v. 76 L. Kassell, ‘How to read Simon Forman’s Casebooks’, p. 8. 77 R. Porter, ‘The patient in England, c.1660–c.1800’ in A. Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society (Cambridge, UK, 1992), p. 109. 78 J. Gadbury, Thesaurus Astrologiae, sig. A2r–v.

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Chapter 7

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‘To keep out disease’: preventative medicine

An admonition to all such as wyll keepe themselves in health, and to prevent sycknesse by the grace and helpe of God . . . not that I meane that we may or can prevent or resist the wyil and ordinance of God, whensoever it pleaseth hym to write as with any kynde of sickness: but that (because he hath ordeyned remedies, as meanes, both as well to prevent, as also to expel sicknes when it commeth) we may, reasonably and soberly using those good meanes & giftes of God, keepe our selves in that state of health.1

A

lthough it was accepted that God had the ultimate power over health and illness, individuals were still expected to take measures to try to protect their health. Since moral behaviour and health were seen to be linked, this included what might be called ‘spiritual’ and ‘physical’ efforts. The former was linked to the idea that disease first appeared on earth as a direct consequence of ‘the original sin’. It therefore followed that sinful behaviour should be avoided in order to prevent falling ill.2 The latter would involve taking measures to build and maintain a strong body, guided by a range of popular publications giving advice on what we would now call ‘healthy lifestyles’. Early modern writers regularly reminded readers that ‘one of the most important Businesses of this Life, [was] to preserve our selves in Health’.3 When discussing the concept of preventative medicine, many texts used an analogy of the body being a fortress under perpetual threat from foreign enemies. This was likely to have been a familiar device for readers accustomed to the Christian imagery of the body protecting the soul against the ‘demons of outer darkness’.4 Furthermore, comparing the body to a fort constantly under attack was something that most people could empathize with in an age of recurrent social upheavals, political conflicts and wars. Richard Saunders argued that it was: ’tis simple reason . . . to keep out an enemy, then to let him in, and afterwards to beat him out, so doubtless if men in the Government of their health would use Reason more, they would use the Physician less.5

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Preventative medicine There were thought to be three basic types of phenomena whose mixture would define whether an individual was healthy or diseased. These consisted of ‘thynges naturall’, ‘thynges not naturall’ and ‘thynges ageynst nature’. The first included what might be called unchangeable factors, such as the four elements of earth, air, fire and water, which manifested themselves as the four humours in living creatures. The second type were the ‘non-naturals’ which had the power to alter one’s humoral imbalance, whereby ‘sicknesse is induced and the bodie dissolved’. According to Galenic thought, there were six nonnaturals which consisted of ‘ayre’, ‘meate and drinke’, ‘slepe and watch’, ‘mevying and rest’, ‘emptynesse and replettion’ and ‘affectations of the minde’.6 The final category that could influence health consisted of ‘contranaturals’, which literally meant against the naturals or ‘thynges ageynst nature’. These consisted of pathological conditions made up of ‘syckenesse, cause of syckenesse and accidents whiche foloweth syckenesse’.7 Although little could be done to alter either the naturals or the contranaturals, it was believed that the non-naturals could be manipulated. It was generally accepted that the most effective way to do this was by following a daily health regime based on living by ‘Rule and wholesome Precepts’ which would result in a stronger body and mind.8 Information about how to have a ‘healthy lifestyle’ was widely available through various types of popular literature. There is an ongoing debate amongst historians as to what types of people were either exposed to or read such advice, as well as whether they, or anyone else, actually integrated it into their daily lives. As with all types of readership issues, it is somewhat easier to determine the target market for health regime texts than the actual audience that they reached or whether the advice was actually followed. Studies of modern health behaviour suggest that while it is relatively simple to disseminate information on current ideas of how to maintain a healthy lifestyle, such messages are not particularly effective at changing behaviour. The BBC’s ‘Fighting Fat, Fighting Fit’ campaign, which ran in 1999, for example, resulted in a high awareness of their message about diet and exercise, although little change in actual behaviour. These findings are supported by a recently published American book, which showed that while campaigns to increase public awareness of what constitutes a healthy lifestyle seem to be fairly effective, they generally do not appear to change health behaviour dramatically.9 It seems likely that some of the main reasons for failing to adhere to modern guidelines are because people find them too difficult, taxing, expensive or unpleasant. Many people begin each New Year with resolutions to exercise, drink less alcohol, and eat less sugary or salty snack-foods. In most cases, however, these vows prove to be short-lived. Some studies show that most people, for example, tend to fall by the wayside in the early stages of their exercise programmes. Others illustrate that although adherence to ‘healthy living’

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Structures of practice and knowledge differs according to factors such as previous state of health, only around 30 to 50% of people will continue to follow a special health regime on a regular basis.10 One early modern writer claimed that contemporary health books would ‘charge men with so many rules, and exact so much observation and caution about the qualitie and quantitie of meats and drinks; about aire, sleep, exercise, seasons of the yeare, purgations, bloud letting and the like’ that they bring them ‘unto perfect slavery’.11 Almanacs, however, offered an abbreviated form of advice on health regimens which were both easier to understand and to follow. As in so many cases, it is almost impossible to determine which aspects, if any, individual readers would have decided to follow. However, the fact that such material was included suggests that it was perceived to be important enough to justify the space that it took up each year. It seems unlikely that most people would have had the desire or resources available to follow a regimen slavishly, but would instead pick certain facets. This chapter will examine the major components of the early modern model of ‘healthy living’ as they appeared in almanacs. These focused on the Galenic non-naturals, which initially appear to concentrate on the physical, rather than mental or spiritual state. However, as Chapter Six illustrated, medical beliefs and practices are firmly linked to the society, culture and time period in which they take place. Unlike modern medicine, which focuses on individual pathogens, early modern medicine was based on the holistic model, which ‘presumed unity of body and behaviour with the physical and the psychological two sides of the same coin’.12 Therefore, there was always an underlying acknowledgement of this relationship, although it is most visible in the final non-natural – the passions. Furthermore, while some of that category undoubtedly falls under the heading of ‘sinful behaviour’, it should be noted that almanacs do not discuss religion to any great extent. Many writers referred, in passing, to what might be God’s will, but failed to address issues about sinful behaviour. Those readers who desired an in-depth discussion about sin and health would have had to turn to a wide range of other types of literature. EVOLUTION OF THE CONCEPT As with definitions of what constitutes a state of ‘health’, the concept of maintaining such a condition varies according to the society, culture and time period in question. Since early modern medicine was based on astrological–Galenic principles, the most logical place to begin this discussion is with Greek ideas of preserving health, ideas which focused on a ‘suitable’ lifestyle. The central focus was on ‘diet’, which originated with the ‘diaita’ or way of life. Vivian Nutton has suggested this began with ‘the administration of foodstuffs in a

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Preventative medicine hierarchy . . . to match the perceived degree of severity of the illness’. By the late fifth century bc, however, treatises such as Di Diaeta [Regimen] began to include both food and exercise in a regimen that could be used either to preserve or return the body to a state of health.13 A century later, Epistula de tuende valetudine went into even greater detail about how to develop a lifestyle that revolved around the health of the body. Classical medicine taught that the right frame of mind, composure, control of the passions and suitable lifestyle could help to prevent illness by strengthening bodily defences against internal and external causes. However, Pedro GilSotres has suggested that it was only under Galen that ‘hygiene acquired its titles of nobility’. His argument is based on Galen’s treatise Hygieina and its ‘remarkable originality’ on the differences between individuals, variations in their complexions during the ageing process, and the effects that they would have on health regimens.14 The earliest European manuals on health regimen, or a ‘salutis regimen’ began to appear in the twelfth century.15 These were vernacular works translated from the Latin into either Middle English or Anglo-Norman. Not surprisingly, their content varied according to the particular interests of the translator, and even of the scribe responsible for a certain edition.16 The text that set the standard for the following centuries was the Regimen sanitatis salernitannum or Salernitan Regime of Health (T. Paynell, London 1539). The original edition, which is sometimes credited to Arnald of Villanova (1240–1311) was in the form of verses about each of the non-naturals of air; motion and rest; sleep and waking; things taken in and things excreted; and the passions and emotions. The poems were associated with the tenth- and eleventh-century medical school of Salerno, a city which played a major role in the revival of classical medicine in the Christian West. Legend has it that its medical school based its teachings on the writings of Hippocrates, said to have been brought to Salerno by ‘a Latin, a Jew, an Arab and a Greek’. Regardless of whether this was based on truth, this story was presumably meant to suggest that the regimen was universally supported by members of the medical profession. In any case, the Salernitan Regime of Health became so popular that it appeared in at least 240 versions in Latin, and multiple editions in English and other European languages, over the following centuries.17 Luis García-Ballester has argued that although these manuscripts were initially aimed at civil or ecclesiastical nobility or royalty, in the fourteenth century their audience changed to include members of the growing urban bourgeoisie.18 The advent of printing in the later fifteenth century provided an even greater boost to these publications, with a number of new versions produced by a range of authors. It has long been a historical commonplace that the readership of such manuals was restricted to university-educated physicians or the

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Structures of practice and knowledge social elite during the late medieval and the first part of the early modern period. In 1979, for example, Paul Slack argued that the regimens would have been mainly read and used by university-educated physicians. Almost twenty years later, Carol Rawcliffe suggested that they were used as a tool by doctors to design individual regimens for their patients. The most recent support for this theory has come from Andrew Wear and Roger French, who argued that ‘health advice’ books were aimed either at ‘the literate and reasonably well to do’ or ‘the learned and rational ‘physician’.19 Ken Albala, however, has suggested that there were three separate phases in the development and readership of regimen books. He agrees that educated physicians, courtiers and other members of elite society were the main consumers of these works from roughly 1470 to 1530. However, Albala argues that 1530–70 was a period of transition, with a growing number of writers producing texts aimed at less-educated and less-prosperous readers. This trend continued into the 1650s with a range of new writers who tried to simplify their works in order to make them understandable to consumers with a lower level of literacy.20 All of these arguments seem to rest on the assumption that such works would only have been useful to literate consumers with enough money to follow the advice that they contained. There are two major flaws, however, with such reasoning. The first is that the various facets that made up a healthy lifestyle were certainly not novel and had probably already been well known within the oral culture for some time. This idea is supported by the poetic format of the medieval Regimen sanitatis salernitannum or Salernitan Regime of Health. This use of rhyming was a common device that helped people to remember things such as prayers, spells or charms, even if they were illiterate.21 Therefore, the basic tenants of a good regime would have been able to ‘constantly feed’ between the oral and literate cultures.22 Bob Bushaway takes this argument even further, stating that the widespread distribution of ‘cheap printed materials . . . both reinforced and were underpinned by oral culture’.23 For example, many types of printed literature were either meant to be read to oneself or commonly ‘shared’ in public places such as coffeehouses, taverns and alehouses.24 Secondly, the suggestion that regimens could only be followed by readers with sufficient disposable income is problematic. While some areas, such as diet, may have called for foodstuffs that were unaffordable to some, a greater number such as avoiding foul air or sexual activity at certain times of the year were totally free. Furthermore, as previously mentioned, it was most likely that people would pick and choose elements of the regimen that both appealed to them and could fit in with their daily life. Finally, the fact that so many almanacs, which targeted such a wide range of the market, offered such advice, suggests that it appealed to a much wider portion of the population. While

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Preventative medicine almanacs could not offer the depth that an entire book could, many, however, did provide a range of practical information about trying to manipulate the non-naturals to help maintain a healthy body. THE SIX NON-NATURALS Thomas Cogan divided the ‘art of Physicke’ into two parts, the first ‘declaring the order how health may be preserved’ and the second ‘how sicknesse may bee remedied’. While he recognized the importance of the latter, Cogan argued that ‘in mine opinion that is more excellent which preserveth health and preventeth sicknesse’.25 In the early modern period, the way to preserve health was by following a lifestyle based on the six non-naturals. Many of the non-naturals still play an important role in current thinking about how to preserve health, showing that although the underlying principles of why they were effective may have changed, the components that are believed to make up a ‘healthy lifestyle’ have not.

ayre [air] The ayre cannot be to [sic] cleane and pure considering it doth close, and doth compasse us round aboute, and we doe receive it into us, we cannot be without it for we live by it, as the fyshe lyveth by the water.26

It is hardly surprising that the first non-natural focuses on the allencompassing element of air. The ancient Greeks believed that air was ‘the most powerful of all things’, linked not only to human and animal life, but also to the transmission of disease. There were also a range of gradients in what constituted ‘good’ or ‘bad’ air, as well as what constituted the ‘healthiest’ type for various individuals, although the main aim was to try to ‘Keepe your selfe in a pure Ayre’.27 However, it must be remembered that the definition of ‘clean’ air is a function of early modern society and culture, and might not have been the same in the sixteenth as in the twenty-first century. What is now referred to as ‘air pollution’ is said to emanate from a number of sources, including industry, agriculture, services, households, solid waste management, and road, air, and sea transport.28 With the exception of air transport, all of these factors also featured in the creation of early modern miasma, joined by ‘emanations from the earth’ and ‘the perspirations of vegetable and animal substances’. The former involved noxious vapours caused by subterranean heat, which would rise up and contaminate the air, while the latter would ferment, putrefy and sink into the soil, only to be spewed back at a later time.29 As a result, areas such as battlefields, which combined both vapours from the soil and from decomposing bodies, were widely perceived to have unhealthy air. Swamps or other waterlogged areas were also thought to exude

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Structures of practice and knowledge dangerous gases. However, the very best type of air depended on various factors, such as the place of one’s birth, one’s constitution or complexion, age, sex and general state of health. It was thought that the air quality differed dramatically in far-flung parts of the world, with the air in one’s place of birth considered to be healthier than in other locations. In addition, the air in rural areas was thought to be cleaner than in densely populated towns.30 There were a number of other factors, such as winds or other meteorological phenomena, that also helped to determine how healthy the surrounding air would be. Andrew Boorde recommended that houses should only be built on ‘good soyle and place’ with a good ‘prospect’ facing east, west, southeast or southwest.31 Because a south-facing house would get the most natural sunlight, it seems likely that Boorde’s reasoning was based more on protecting the building from the most dangerous ‘meridiall’ wind. East winds were thought to be cold and could result in ‘sharp feavers, raging madnesse, and perilous Aposthumations’, while those from the south were hot and moist and ‘breedeth corrupt humours and in hot bodies cramps, giddinesse in the head, or the falling sicknesse, pestilence and cruel fevers.’ Windy weather also helped spread diseases that were carried and transmitted through ‘ill ayre’. These included highly contagious illnesses such as small-pox and measles, as well as malarial fevers and intestinal infections, which could even turn into a plague epidemic.32 The best way to avoid dangerous winds, or other unusual weather conditions, was to avoid going outside. This was particularly true ‘when the Air is cold long after sun-rising, where the Air is long hot after sun set [and] where the Air is long, close, cloudy or thick’. Those who ignored this advice were likely to find the ‘cheerful virtues of the body greatly weakened.’33 The seriousness of ‘contagious air’ could not be over-emphasized, as ‘there is nothing, except poyson that doth putryfye, or doeth corrupte the blood of man; and also doth mortify the spirites of man’.34 Changing weather conditions also had a powerful impact on air quality. Wet or unseasonable weather could ‘prejudice the labourious Husbandman in his Harvest’ and result in shortages of wheat, grains, herbs, summer fruits and ‘all the earth produces’.35 A windy and dry spring was ‘bad for old people and childbearing women’, while a wet spring signalled a ‘multiplicity of dangerous Agues the Summer following, with Frensies, Vertigoes, Imposthumes, and the like’. If it was not only wet, but also warm with many south winds, the reader was warned to expect many ‘dangerous and infectious Diseases’, while a very still summer could signal oncoming plague.36

meat and drink The Throat destroies more than the Sword doth, excess in either meat or drink causeth Crudities, Crudities Sickness and Death.37

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Preventative medicine As previously mentioned, the medical relationship between diet and health in early modern England can be traced to Greek treatises by writers such as Diocles, Mnesitheus and Philotimus, with the original definition of ‘diet’ encompassing an entire lifestyle. This non-natural, however, focused on substances that were eaten or drunk, each of which were thought to have individual properties in parallel with the four humours. Therefore, in order to preserve health it was important for a person to eat the correct foods. In theory, this meant that a hot and dry person would need to consume similarly hot and dry foods to stay well. However, since it was assumed that humours were almost never in a perfect state, such a person would have been advised to eat moderate amounts of cold and moist foods in order to attain the best possible state of balance for their body.38 Galen’s three-book On the Powers of Food, written about 180 ad, classified foods according to their humoral qualities, such as whether they were good or bad for the stomach, constipative or laxative, and cooling or heating. The keynote, however, was that everything should be taken in moderation, and to eat ‘neither lesse nor more, but as your stomake desireth’ in order to avoid illhealth and a dulled mind.39 Early modern readers who desired information about the qualities of foods and the way in which these could alter the humoral balance of the person who ate them, could find it widely available in the popular press.40 Robert Burton, for example, wrote extensively about the qualities of different types of food and drink. He considered beef to be ‘a strong and hearty meat’, which was cold in the first degree and was therefore only suitable for those that ‘are sound of and of a strong constitution’. Pork, on the other hand, was the ‘most nutritive’, although it was too moist and full of humours for ‘such as live at ease or are any wayes unsound of body’.41 Many almanacs also offered dietary advice, but because of their small size this was often in a somewhat abbreviated form. Most writers began by reminding readers that their individual constitution was the most important factor in choosing a healthy diet, and that what constituted a ‘healthy’ food might differ over the course of the year. However the majority of information focused on ‘general’ information about diet. For example, in the winter, the ‘inward parts’ of healthy people were ‘very hotte’, which strengthened their digestion. This meant that ‘strong meats’ such as ‘Beef, Barren Does, Gelt [gelded] and spiced and baked meats’ could be eaten in moderation by most people. In the warmer seasons, however, when ‘blood begins to heat and wax rank’, it was healthier to consume ‘meats of light digestion’.42 ‘Cold’ foods were suitable for hot weather because they helped to cool the body. On the other hand, if the body was already cold due to the weather, ingesting such foods could lower one’s internal heat to dangerous levels. Some almanacs offered more detailed information about specific types of food that healthy people could eat. In spite of the modern perception that dairy

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Structures of practice and knowledge products were only consumed by the poor, many writers felt that they were good for certain types of constitutions.43 In 1629, John Evans advised those who wished to ‘temper choler and to allay heat’ should eat ‘new cheese’, a suggestion that was echoed sixty-six years later by Pond’s almanac. Although Dove suggested that cheese was ‘wholesome food’ for the healthy, other writers warned of not eating too much of it, particularly before going to bed.44 That said, other evidence suggests that wealthier people preferred to use butter only for cooking, while the consumption of cheese, along with fish and ale or beer, increased among working town-dwellers during the seventeenth century.45 As with everything else in life, however, it was important to only eat cheese in moderation, as too much would be ‘hurtfull to the Teeth’ and could ‘opilate and stop the Liver and the Veins and thicken the blood’.46 A moderate consumption of alcohol has long been thought to be an important ally in the fight against disease, with numerous references to the medicinal benefits of wine in the Old and New Testaments, as well as a number of Islamic writings.47 When taken in moderation, wine was said to benefit both the soul and the body, being able to ‘refresheth the heart and the spirits, tempereth the humours, ingendreth good bloud, breaketh flegme, conserveth nature and maketh it merry’.48 It was also considered to be an excellent digestive aid, which ‘maketh the meates to go wel downe, and directh by the naturall heate and encreaseth it’, and would ‘multiplyeth or encreaseth mans [sic] spirite’ at the same time.49 Drinking too much wine, however, was potentially dangerous not only to one’s health, but to one’s reputation. The physical consequences of excessive consumption included the natural temperature of the body being destabilized, which would open the way to cold diseases. 50 Drinking too much wine presented a moral dilemma, as well, for both men and women. In 1698, Robert Gardner warned readers that drunkards would be subject to ‘God’s Judgements’ which ‘we must justly expect, and not undeservingly’.51 Women, on the other hand, were also were expected to restrain themselves so as not to be labelled as ‘drunk and promiscuous’.52 While it was generally accepted that too much wine could make you sick, some thought that not drinking enough wine would have the same effect. As one author noted, many gentlemen believed the saying ‘drinke wine & have the gowte, drink none & have the gowte’.53 Although Samuel Pepys’s physician diagnosed his kidney stones and decay of memory as being the result of drinking too much wine, his patient did not agree. After abstaining from drink for several weeks, however, Pepys decided that he needed to drink wine ‘upon necessity, being ill for want of it. And I find reason to fear that by my too sudden leaving off wine, I do contract many evils upon myself’.54 The writer Tobias Whitaker was probably wine’s greatest early modern fan. He rhapsodized about wine, claiming that ‘the bloud of the grape’ was ‘neerest

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Preventative medicine to the nature of the Gods and their nature is incorrupt’. Furthermore, Whitaker argued that wine was the most nutritious beverage available, being ‘more pure and better concocted then any other juyce, either of milke, egges, corne, fruits, or the like’. People who regularly drank wine could be expect to be ‘faire, fresh, plumpe, and fat’ as opposed to water or small-beere-drinkers, who ‘look like Apes rather than men’.55 Whitaker’s dismissal of beer drinkers says much more about the social climate in which he lived than about the actual health ramifications of drinking brewed beverages. As Cedric Brown has noted, drinking wine was ‘the mark of social refinement’, while beer was better left to lower levels of society.56 Despite such connotations, ‘small beer’ was widely consumed, particularly at breakfast, by both adults and children.57 Strong beer, on the other hand, was often seen as a more ‘democratic alternative’ to small beer for those who could not afford wine.58 Distilled drinks were also growing in popularity during the period of this study. Although alcohol had been known in Europe since antiquity, the ‘perfect chemical separation’ of spirits only occurred early in the twelfth century. By the early sixteenth century, there were numerous printed books available on how to use stills either to extract the ‘essences’ of plants or to manufacture alcoholic spirits from already fermented liquids. Whisky was already a popular drink by the middle of that century, while France began to manufacture cognac in the 1630s. According to Rudi Matthee, the popularity of spirits in England was linked to the steadily increasing duty on beer in the mid-seventeenth century. Although the consumption of such drinks expanded greatly in the seventeenth century, Andrew Barr has suggested that this only reached dangerous levels (in terms of health risk) in the following century.59 Given the wide range of consumers who purchased almanacs, it is somewhat surprising to find that almanac recipes for almost all preventative tonics were based on wine. As the following chapter will show, instructions for preparing remedies often allow the reader to choose wine, distilled ‘spirits of wine’ or beer. This might suggest that the tonics were seen as more of an optional, or luxury, item rather than a necessity for treating illness. Alternatively, since alcohol was generally used as a base for other ingredients, readers may simply have used whatever they had to hand, despite these instructions. Dietary advice in almanacs also regularly includes advice about eating vegetables, which challenges the common assumption that early modern people ate very small quantities of vegetables and fruits.60 This misconception was presumably linked to the usage of the term ‘meat’ being used generically for all types of food. However, many almanacs refer to the cultivation and consumption of fruits and vegetables in a variety of different ways. Many contained monthly agricultural advice, with information on sowing a range of

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Structures of practice and knowledge vegetables, including oats, onions, parsnips, carrots, ‘cowcumbers’ and potherbs.61 Clearly, all of these were grown in order to be consumed, whether by animals or people. A number of almanacs recommended the virtues of ‘sallets’ as being particularly healthy foodstuffs in the warmer weather. Salads had been growing in popularity since the Elizabethan period, and might consist of a mixture of raw vegetables, fruits and nuts. Occasionally eggs or shellfish might be added, or the salad might consist mainly of lettuce, which was the most common ‘sallet in every garden’.62 Other evidence of the consumption of fresh produce can be found in shipping records. For example, provincial ports had already long been importing fruit from Spain. In the seventeenth century, increasingly large amounts of Portuguese raisins, figs and oranges regularly arrived in London. Dutch imports of fruits and vegetables also increased markedly, presumably because of a rise in demand, and many novel crops, such as maize, tomatoes and potatoes, also began to arrive from the Americas.63 Fresh fruits, in season, were so well liked that many almanacs warned readers about the dangers of overindulging. Instead, authors recommended that readers consume ripe fruit in moderation, and avoid unripe fruit altogether, an idea which harks back to the Galenic theme of moderation in everything.64

sleep and watch Concerning the quantity or time how long wee should sleep, it cannot bee certainly alike defined for all men . . . It must be measured by health and sicknesse, by age, by emptinesse or fullnesse of the body & by the complexion.65

Sleep was an important component of the Galenic health regime, and was a popular topic of discussion in many early modern medical works.66 It was thought that the hours spent sleeping: comforts nature much, refresheth the memory, cheers the spirits, quickens the senses . . . comes as a medicine to that weariness, as a repairer of that decay, so that we may be enabled to such labours as the duties of Religion or works of our Calling require of us.67

The amount and quality of sleep could also provide clues as to the person’s state of health. Edmond Halley described ‘dreames’ as ‘a kind of sleeping and resting of all the Senses’ linked to the movement of humours moving from the stomach and vitals towards the brain.68 Those who were ill, particularly with gout, tended to be ‘oppressed with sleep, and are sluggish and idle’. Disturbing dreams could be a symptom of illness and disease, perhaps aided by a sluggish digestion, while pleasant ones signified a state of good health.69 As with the other non-naturals, moderation was the key word for sleeping habits. There were various medical explanations for this, including the idea that ‘long lying’ resulted in the retention of ‘excrements’ for dangerously long

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Preventative medicine periods. In common with modern studies, early modern writers had different opinions as to how many hours it was best to sleep. Modern recommendations consider eight hours the ideal, as people who get seven hours or less have an increased morbidity rate.70 As with modern guidelines on sleeping, it was recognized that the constitutions of some people made them require more sleep than others.71 In the early modern period, this reasoning would have been based on variety of ‘holistic’ principles, including the sex, temperament, weight, age and humoral constitution of the person in question. John Makluire suggested that healthy people should sleep between six and eight hours, while William Vaughn felt that seven hours were appropriate for ‘sanguine and cholerick men; and nine houres for fleagmaticke, and melancholick men’.72 Even so, the principle of moderation meant that less rather than more sleep was preferable. ‘Long and superfluous Sleep’ could ‘chill the Body, weaken the Natural Heat and breed Flegmatic Humours’, which could result in a range of illnesses. It was also considered dangerous to sleep during the day after meals, as this could cause headaches, ague and ‘cathars’.73 However, readers were advised that it would be ‘ill for the braine’ if they went to sleep immediately after eating at any time of the day or evening, as this would slow the digestion process down to dangerous levels.74 Even during long winter days, napping was discouraged, since ‘Long sleep at after-noons by stirring fumes, Breeds sloth and agues, aking-heads and rhumes.’ Spring mornings were not the time to make up for lost sleep either, as ‘Now ’tis excellently wholsom to rise early’ and to spend time walking in ‘the fields pleasant and gay’ made very clear.75

labour and rest Exercise . . . is said to be a vehement, & a volutaire stirring of ones body, which altereth the breathing, whose ende is to maintaine health, and to bring the bodie to a very good habit.76

The important role that exercise played in preserving health was a constant theme in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century almanacs. There were two main types, with the first consisting of vigorous physical movements, generally related to one’s work or daily duties, that would result in deeper and/or quicker breathing. The second variety included activities undertaken consciously for the purpose of being healthy. In other words, physical labour did not count as exercise unless it was done in one’s leisure time.77 Exercise, when taken in moderation, was considered to be a vital part of a good health regime. According to contemporary theory, exercise would increase the heat of the body, keep muscles limber, allow the body to sweat (thereby removing harmful humours) and improve transpiration.78 As Trigge was fond of reminding readers ‘Exercise is best, for him that in old Age would live at rest.’ Neve’s almanacs went even further in praising exercise, stating for ‘the man that is in health, exercise is the only medicine’.79 The types of

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Structures of practice and knowledge acceptable exercise were heavily influenced by social and cultural considerations, and also varied according to one’s gender or constitution. While men could partake of a range of strenuous activities, it was generally recommended that women take up gardening instead.80 Religion also had a major impact on what types of exercise were considered appropriate and when they were allowed to take place.81 The ‘Declaration of Sports’ issued by the Crown in 1618 and 1633 proclaimed that sports were only permissible after evening prayer was over.82 This meant that for most people, Sundays and church festivals were the only leisure time when they were allowed to enjoy such exercise. Many Puritans believed that the entire day should be committed to religious rejoicing and the praising of God, and even watching others play on the Sabbath was considered a sin.83 Although vernacular books referred to a variety of types of physical exercise, almanac writers were much more conservative. They tended to focus on relatively uncontroversial activities such as walking, a form of exercise approved of even by the Puritans.84 Many authors advised their readers that ‘walking measurably’, particularly in the countryside, was good for health. It was considered even more healthful to walk in fields beside running streams, although there was some debate as to whether it was better to stay on the north or the south side of the water This, perhaps, had to do with where the sun would be strongest in the morning and again in the late afternoon or evening.85 Interestingly, although games that involved ‘leaping’ or running were thought to be ‘very commendable and healthful for the body’, they were rarely mentioned in the almanacs used in this study.86 Most almanac writers also appeared to veer away from suggesting blatantly class-linked types of exercises, such as shooting, horse-racing, bowling or ‘the skill and art of swimming’, which tended to be activities for gentlemen.87 The only two references to such class-linked activities in almanacs dating from 1614 refer to riding, running, leaping, vaulting, ‘wrastling’, fencing and ‘tennusing’.88 Dancing was another form of exercise that appeared only once in an almanac, which recommended combining it with ‘pleasing oneself with songs and music to revive dull blood and melancholy spirits’.89 The absence of recommendations of this type during the Restoration is somewhat surprising, as dancing galliards, rounds and pavanes was considered a respectable form of moderately strenuous activity for both men and women.90 Almanac writers appeared to favour more conservative advice, perhaps assuming that such suggestions might alienate more common folk who agreed with Puritan sentiments that dancing was licentious and opened the way to inappropriate sexual behaviour. Samuel Pepys, for example, wrote of a visit to a dancing school: ‘I do not like the idea of young girls being exposed to so much vanity’, and the satirical almanac Poor Robin equated dancing with ‘great lasciviousness’.91

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Preventative medicine Other types of energetic physical activities were more widely condemned, because of the possible consequences that they could have on health. ‘Violent’ exercise was always to be avoided in order to avoid ‘great distempers’, although the fact that almanac writers did not include examples of what this consisted of suggests that contemporary readers would have already known what this meant. Modern readers, however, can find a clue in the advice to ‘Let honest and moderate labour and exercise procure your sweat.’92 This appears to refer to what we would now call aerobic exercise – taxing enough to raise the pulse and cause the body to sweat. There were a range of popular sports to choose from, including football, activities revolving around horses, whether for ‘running’ or ‘hunting’, and ‘hawking, coursing of Grey-hounds, Shooting, Bowling or Baloone[ing]’.93

emptinesse and repletion Physicks that evacuate are divers, for some do sensibly evacuate the Matter by the Belly, by Vomits, by Urine, by Sweat, by Spittle, by the Palate, by the Nostrils.94

The belief that good health was linked to the periodic removal of excessive humours meant that purging was regularly carried out as a preventative measure, as well as to cure diseases.95 In modern terms, purging generally refers to the emptying of the bowels or regurgitating the contents of one’s stomach. However, in early modern England this was only one of many different methods used. It could refer to either the body’s own attempts to remove unwanted substances through sneezing, menstruation and nose-bleeds, or self-induced methods to provoke the body to release waste. Many almanac writers provided information to help the potential patients decide on what the most appropriate type of purging would be or, indeed, whether it would be dangerous to carry out any procedure, depending on: The time of the year The temperature of the region What part affected The humour abounding The fittest place to avoyde the same The age and strength of the patient The strength of the medicine The place and configuration of the moon96

One of the most frequently recommended purging methods was phlebotomy, which comes from the Greek words ‘phleps’ or vein, and ‘tome’ or incision.97 Although this procedure was often used for treating illness, it was also considered effective as a preventative procedure, as it could ‘presev hym . . . from deseases’, particularly from fevers, pestilence, plurisie, phrensie or such other diseases that are bred and nourished from the corruption and abundance of

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Structures of practice and knowledge bload’.98 Those who were already in a healthy state, and chose to let blood as a preventative method, had more flexibility in carrying out the procedure. However, almanacs did not provide advice on the potentially dangerous procedure of bloodletting. Instead, authors suggested that their readers find someone qualified, who was familiar with the technical literature on the subject, and knew how to make the incisions. Those who failed to take this advice could find that the procedure had ‘openeth a way to dangerous infirmities and oft to present death’.99 Many almanacs provided guidelines on how to prepare the body for bloodletting, as it was necessary to ‘make the body cleane before you can hope to doe any good’.100 According to Thomas Buckminster, the way to do this was to: use moderate and meane, diet, two or three daies before, and also take by counsaile, some gentall purgations or decoction to attenuate and concoct the rawe and crude humours.101

It was also considered wise to abstain from ‘all manner of exercises, as bathing, using carnal copulation, &c.’ before letting blood, and afterwards to stay warm, but refrain from sleeping.102 Readers were advised to closely follow a postbleeding regime that included staying in ‘well-balanced’ air, eating light food and not sleeping immediately afterwards.103 There were a number of other, less-dangerous forms of purging that individuals could carry out without professional assistance. Vomiting, ‘neesing’ [sneezing] and gargarismes [gargles] were considered to be particularly effective methods for clearing the upper body. ‘Clysters’ or enemas were good for emptying the lower parts of the body, while purging ‘by drynkes’ or ‘by pylles’ were more effective at cleansing the entire system. Removing impurities through sweating was another useful method for cleansing the body. This could be done through ‘bathing’, although, as Thomas Buckminster reminded his readers, in order for ‘the superfluities’ to be ‘rype & ready’ to ‘flowe out’, the baths should only be visited ‘two or three dayes after the change and at the full Moon.’104 The most pleasant way of preventing illness, however, must have been ‘by way of Venus’. Although there were many differences in the type of advice given to men and women, there were some similarities. These rested on a ‘one-sex’ model, whereby women and men’s bodies differed only in that the former were cold, weak, passive and with internal genitalia, and the latter were hot, strong, active and with external genitalia.105 It was thought that the ‘evacuating action promoted by coitus’ helped to dry and cool the body to the ‘relief of the head and sense’, and the release of painful superfluities in the kidneys. Both sexes were believed to ejaculate ‘seed’, either from the (superior) exterior organ of the male or the (inferior) internal female organs. Since this ‘seed’ was considered to be one of the main bodily fluids, an excess, or deficiency, could result in a

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Preventative medicine humoral imbalance. If the ‘natural seed’ were kept too long within the body, it would turn into poison and spread throughout the body, which could result in epilepsy, mania or ‘sexual irregularities’. Too much sex, on the other hand, could result in a range of equally dangerous physical or mental infirmities.106 Barry Reay has suggested that this resulted in texts which ‘promoted sex while condemning it’.107 This depended, of course, on what types of literature are being discussed. Religious texts would have promoted the idea that ‘the proper place’ for sexual enjoyment was within ‘a loving marriage’, with the proviso to avoid ‘excessive venery’. On the other hand, writers such as Shakespeare ‘celebrated’ both heterosexual and homosexual sex, while Pietro Aretino (1492–1556) produced what would now be called pornographic literature. There were also a variety of publications aimed mainly at women, including books of ‘secrets’ and midwifery manuals.108 Popular medical books offered men very different advice to that given to women. Much of this was misogynistic, based partially on the idea that women were sexually insatiable. The medical explanation for this could be that women, being cool and moist, required ‘hot and dry’ sperm from men to balance their humours.109 The advice in almanacs, however, tends to be less judgemental and is presented in a purely factual way that accepted that sex was a necessary component (for married men and women) of a good health regime. At the same time, too much sex was thought to weaken the seed, resulting in a stunted or deformed baby.110 Therefore, the foremost advice was to partake of sexual activity in moderation; to beware of sexual activity at the wrong time of year; to avoid ‘trading with any unclean person’; and to be ‘wary and circumspect’ about using public baths which might be used by ‘such persons as be unclean’.111 The most dangerous season for sexual activity was the summertime, when ‘venerious acts’ or ‘venus sports’ could overheat the blood; therefore the safest times for having sex were in months of the year containing a ‘r’ in the name. Injudicious sexual activity could also result in venereal disease, in the form of ‘claps’ or the ‘french pox’. Men who lived in the capital were probably at the greatest risk of contracting venereal disease, due to the large numbers of ‘bawdy houses’ there, calculated to number over one hundred by the latter part of the 1570s.112 In order to drive this point home, some almanacs contained the frightening list of symptoms that such readers could expect: Running of the Reins, and the Symptoms as Pains in the Head, Shoulders, Arms, Shin-Bones, Heat and Scalding of Urine, pricking pains in making Water, soreness; or swelling in the Yard or Groin, hard Pustles or Blisters in the Head, Neck, Face, Whitish, Yellowish, Greenish or Blewish Matter issuing from the Privy-parts.113

affectations of the mind The passions, motions or perturbations of the minde, which otherwise may be called the accidents of the spirit, are strange or sodaine insurections and rebellious

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Structures of practice and knowledge alterations of a tumultuous troubled soule which with-draw it from the light of reason, to cleave and adhere unto wordly vanities.114

The final non-natural illustrates, perhaps more than any other, the close relationship between the mind and the body – something which is often overlooked in our modern system of biomedicine. Some affectations, such as joy or love, were both desirable and ‘good use to the Soul’ when ‘moderated and directed by reason’. However, ‘irregular’ passions would lead the person affected to ‘erroneaous [sic] Desire’, and could only result in ill-health of the body and soul. As always, the key was moderation. Thomas Langley advised the readers of his almanacs to ‘fly wrath and envy’ and to ‘use mirth modestly’. Robert Gardner preached that over-rampant passion and emotions were ‘carrying us Head long to Hell!’, while Richard Allestree thundered that ‘death and life are in the power’ of vocalized sentiments of pride, envy and malice.115 There were various medical explanations as to how an excess of passions would lead to illness. One theory was that giving free reign to any of them would ‘divert the vital heat from the circumference to the centre’. This would result in the body being weakened, which could result in a range of mental or physical disorders. Wrath, for example, could produce such an intense level of heat that it could result in ‘frenzy’. Sloth or excessive disappointment, on the other hand, could generate a corresponding level of coldness.116 Anger, however, could have even worse effects on men and women. For the former, it could ‘dryeth up the body’, which ‘hurteth throughe heatynge & inflaming of mans [sic] harte’. Angry women, on the other hand, could find that their bodies stopped producing sufficient menstrual blood, which could lead to a range of illnesses. In the direst cases, the sins of passion, such as anger or envy, could cause a patient to go mad.117 On the other hand, feeling the emotions of love too deeply could also result in ill-health. Jacalyn Duffin has suggested that an excess of ‘romantic, erotic, limb-loosening, brain-befuddling, all-consuming’ passion could lead to mania or suicidal tendencies.118 While anyone could be affected by disorders of the passions, certain individuals were thought to be more prone than others. For example, people born under fiery signs such as Aries were likely to have a hot, dry and choleric constitution, and were therefore likely to be ‘bold and proud, given to mock, scorn, quarrel, game, drink and wench, and sometimes steal’. The opposition of certain planets could also provoke normally mild-mannered people into detrimental actions such as ‘frequent contests and disputes’.119 Any malevolent configuration of the Sun or Mars could cause people to ‘become disturbed in their Minds, and perplexed in their Fancies’, while those who fell ill under these signs would become prone to anger, and ‘make much clamor or noyse’. The evil influences of these fiery planets were also thought to cause passions

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Preventative medicine or ‘trembling of the heart’, while eclipses were even more dangerous, inflaming men’s lusts and passions.120 CONCLUSION A recent work by Sandra Dolby suggests that the popularity of modern ‘selfhelp’ books lies with the fact that they offer readers ‘a focused meditation on how they might best act with prudence in their individual lives’. Dolby suggests that although authors generally claim that their information is ‘new’, it actually almost always contains ‘whatever [advice] is useful from the past.’121 In fact, modern ideas of good health regimens are extremely similar to those of medieval and early modern England. While the underlying theory of why people become ill has changed, the practical advice has been, and still is, based on the Galenic non-naturals, which were things ‘necessary for the Preservation of Health’.122 As almanacs regularly reminded their readers, although God directed the stars and planets to move in ways that would cause disease on earth, people were expected to make good use of nature’s bounty both to try to preserve their own health and that of their animals. Many writers listed a number of ways in which people could protect their health by choosing a healthy lifestyle, based on the Galenic non-naturals. It seems likely that much of this information would have already been familiar to readers from their oral culture, and therefore reinforced their previous knowledge. The basic principles of a good health regime sound eminently sensible to modern ears, resting on a foundation of clean air, good diet, sufficient sleep, exercise and the maintenance of stable emotions. Presumably, the way in which almanac writers used these categories to offer information in manageable, easily understood segments meant that they also sounded like wise guidelines to early modern readers. While the majority of this advice would have been possible to follow – if somewhat tedious, or perhaps unpleasant, for many almanac readers – it is difficult to really know what types of people followed it. If one assumes that human nature changes very little over time, it seems probable that most would have chosen bits and pieces to add to their daily regime, depending on a range of factors, including gender, age, religion, occupation and social setting, just as people do today. A Puritan housewife, for example, was unlikely to have been in danger of consuming excessive alcohol. At the same time, a hardworking, young male labourer probably would not have been overly concerned about having a ‘balanced’ diet. There were, however, many facets of a healthy lifestyle that would have been relatively easy for many to follow, such as the advice to stay away from the contaminated air of battlefields, or to avoid having sexual relations with promiscuous harlots!

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Structures of practice and knowledge It seems highly unlikely that people in the early modern period believed that attempts to maintain a state of good health could always keep illness at bay. However, the emphasis on trying to protect one’s health probably served two very important purposes. In the first place, attempting to follow a regime based on the non-naturals probably did result in stronger bodies that were more resistant to disease. Secondly, being provided with, and attempting to follow, a systematic method of preventative health, addressed what has been recognized as ‘the rampant feeling of helplessness in the face of disease’.123 Readers would have felt that they were making some effort to control their health, and might even have thought that a disease had been avoided through their efforts – perhaps even through what is now called a placebo effect. When all efforts failed, and disease struck, readers could once again turn to their favourite almanac for assistance, which is the theme of the following two chapters. The types of information that they would have found, however, changed over the course of the 150 years of this study. Chapter Eight will focus on the traditional, time-honoured medical advice that had predominated for centuries. This consisted of what might be called ‘non-commercial’ medical advice, because it focused on remedies that could either be prepared or administered at home, with ingredients sourced either from the household garden or store cabinet or from apothecaries or merchants, rather than those pre-prepared for a mass market. By the middle of the seventeenth century, however, a process began that eventually almost totally replaced such medicines. The new remedies available consisted of a range of pre-made, pre-packaged branded medicines that were widely advertised in almanacs, and will be discussed in Chapter Nine. NOTES 111 J. Securis, 1574, sig. B7r. 112 M.D. Grmek, ‘The concept of disease’ in M.D. Grmek (ed.) Western Medical Thought From Antiquity to the Middle Ages, trans. A. Shugaar (London, 1998), pp. 241–258. 113 P. Physiologus, The Good housewife made a Doctor (London, n.d.), sig. A2v; and R. Saunders, 1681, sig. A7r. 114 M.C. Pouchelle, The Body and Surgery in the Middle Ages (Cambridge, UK, 1990), p. 130. 115 R. Saunders, 1681, sig. A6v. 116 P.H. Niebyl, ‘The non-naturals’, British History of Medicine, 45 (1971), pp. 486–492; T. Cogan, The Haven of Health (London, 1612), sig. A4r; L.J. Rather, ‘The six things nonnatural’, Clio Medica, 3 (1968), pp. 337–347; S. Jarcho, ‘Galen’s six non-naturals’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 44 (1970), pp. 372–377; and A. Boorde, A Compendious Regiment, or Dietarie of Health (London, 1576), sig. A2r. 117 T. Elyot, The Castel of helth (London, 1539), p. 1; and P. Gil-Sotres, ‘The regimens of health’ in M.D. Grmek (ed.) Western Medical Thought From Antiquity to the Middle Ages, trans. A. Shugaar (London, 1998), pp. 291–318.

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Preventative medicine 118 E. Maynwaringe, Vita sana and longa: the preservation of health and prolongation of life (London, 1669), sig. A7v. 119 J. Wardle, L. Rapoport, A. Miles, T. Afuape and M. Duman, ‘Mass education for obesity prevention: the penetration of the BBC’s ‘Fighting Fat, Fighting Fit Campaign’, Health Education Research: Theory and Practice, 16, No. 3 (2001), 345–355; and B. Wansink, Marketing Nutrition: Soy, Functional Foods, Biotechnology and Obesity (Urbana, IL, 2005), p. 184. 110 R.K. Dishman, ‘Overview’ in R.K. Dishman (ed.) Exercise Adherence: Its Impact on Public Health (Champaign, IL, 1988), pp. 1–9; and D. Berry, Risk, Communication and Health Psychology (Maidenhead, 2004), p. 63. 111 L. Lessius, Hygiasticon: or, the right course of preserving Life and Health unto extream old age (Cambridge, UK, 1634), pp. 1–2. 112 R. Porter, Flesh in the Age of Reason (London, 2003), p. 47. 113 M. Toussaint-Samat, History of Food, trans. A. Bell (New York, 1992), p. 755; and V. Nutton, Ancient Medicine (London, 2004), p. 96. 114 P. Gil-Sotres, ‘The regimens’, pp. 291–318. 115 C. Rawcliffe, Medicine and Society in Later Medieval England (Stroud, 1999), p. 37. 116 L.E. Voigts, ‘Scientific and medical books’ in J. Griffiths and D.A. Pearsall (eds) Book Production and Publishing in Britain 1375–1475 (Cambridge, UK, 1989), pp. 345–402. 117 R. Porter, The Greatest Benefit to Mankind (London, 1997), p. 107. 118 L. García-Ballester, ‘Changes in the regimena sanitatis: the role of the Jewish physicians’ in S. Campbell, B. Hall and D. Klausner (eds) Health, Disease and Healing in Medieval Culture (Basingstoke, 1992), 119–131. 119 P. Slack, ‘Mirrors of health and treasures of poor men: the uses of the vernacular medical literature of Tudor England’ in Charles Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979), pp. 237–274; C. Rawcliffe, Medicine and Society, p. 37; A. Wear, Knowledge and Practice in English Medicine 1550–1680 (Cambridge, UK, 2000), p. 157; and R. French, Medicine Before Science: The Business of Medicine from the Middle Ages to the Enlightenment (Cambridge, UK, 2003), p. 120. 120 K. Albala, Eating Right in the Renaissance (Berkeley, CA, 2002), pp. 26–37. 121 A. Fox, Oral and Literate Culture in England 1500–1700 (Oxford, 2000), p. 24; and W.J. Ong, Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (London, 2002), p. 117. 122 D. Cressy, Literacy and the Social Order: Reading and Writing in Tudor and Stuart England (Cambridge, UK, 1980), p. 14. 123 B. Bushaway, ‘Things said or sung a thousand times: customary society and oral culture in rural England, 1700–1900’ in A. Fox and D. Woolf (eds) The Spoken Word: Oral Culture in Britain 1500–1850 (Manchester, 2002), pp. 256–277. 124 J. Friedman, Miracles and the Pulp Press During the English Revolution: The Battle of the Frogs and Fairford’s Flies (London, 1993), p. 5. 125 T. Cogan, Haven of Health, sig. A2r. 126 A. Boorde, A Compendious Regiment, or Dietarie of Health (London, 1576), sig. A6v. 127 C.R.S. Harris, The Heart and the Vascular System in Ancient Greek Medicine: From Alcmaeon to Galen (Oxford, 1973), p. 43; J. Longrigg, Greek Rational Medicine: Philosophy

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Structures of practice and knowledge and Medicine from Alcmaeon to the Alexandrians (London, 1993), pp. 76–78; V. Nutton, ‘The seeds of disease’ in V. Nutton (ed.) From Democedes to Harvey (London, 1988), XI, pp. 1–34; and T. Langley, 1643, sig. B3r. 128 L. Hill Curth, ‘Lessons from the past: preventative medicine in early modern England’, Medical Humanities, 29 (2003), pp. 16–20. 129 A. Corbain, The Foul and the Fragrant: Odour and the Social Imagination (London, 1996), pp. 13 and 22–23. 130 A. Wear, ‘Making sense of health and the environment in early modern England’ in A. Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society: Historical Essays (Cambridge, UK, 1992), pp. 120–143. 131 A. Boorde, A Compendious Regiment, sig. B1r. 132 N. Culpeper, Galen’s Art of Physick (London, 1657), p. 123; and Swallow, 1699, sig. B5v. 133 E. Pond, 1687, sig. C3r; J. Pool, 1657, sig. B2r; and W. Dade, 1678, sig. C2v–3r. 134 A. Boorde, A Compendious Regiment, sig. A6v. 135 J. Tanner, 1669, sig. B2r; and W. Lilly, 1678, sig. B5r. 136 R. Saunders, 1666, sig. A1r; and Swallow, 1676, sig. B2r. 137 N. Culpeper, Health for the Rich and Poor, by Dyet Without Physick (London, 1656), sig. A2r. 138 K. Albala, Food in Early Modern Europe (Westport, CT, 2003), p. 215. 139 M. Grant, Galen on Food and Diet (London, 2000), pp. 68–190; V. Nutton, Ancient Medicine, pp. 240–241; and A. Askham, 1553, sig. A4r. 140 N. Siraisi, Medieval and Early Renaissance Medicine (London, 1990), p. 121. 141 R. Burton, Anatomy of Melancholy (London, 1621), p. 87. 142 J. Dade, 1620, sig. B2r; J. Pool, 1656, sig. B2r; and W. Heathcott, 1665, sig. A7v. 143 D. Davis, A History of Shopping (London, 1966), p. 73. 144 J. Evans, 1629, sig. B8r; Pond, 1695, sig. C3r; Dove, 1661, sig. A2r; and Swallow, 1653, sig. B5r. 145 J.C. Drummond and A. Wilbraham, The Englishman’s Food (London, 1994), p. 105. 146 E. Pond, 1697, sig. C4r. 147 L. Hill Curth, ‘The medicinal value of wine in early modern England’, The Social History of Alcohol and Drugs, 18 (2003), pp. 35–50. 148 W. Vaughn, Directions for Health, both Naturall and Artificall (London, 1617), p. 41. 149 W. Turner, A new boke of the natures and properties of all wines that are commonly used here in England (London, c.1568), sig. C2r; and T. Paynell, Regimen sanitatis Salerni (London, 1539), p. 26 150 M. Grant, Galen on Food, p. 51. 151 R. Gardner, 1698, sig. C1r. 152 A. Lynn Martin, Alcohol, Sex and Gender in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Basingstoke, 2001), p. 3. 153 T. Cogan, Haven of Health (London, 1612), p. 4. 154 S. Pepys, The Diary of Samuel Pepys, eds R. Latham and W. Matthews (London, 1970–83), Vol. II, p. 17, and Vol. III, p. 31.

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Preventative medicine 155 T. Whitaker, The Tree of Humane Life, or, The Bloud of the Grape (London, 1638), pp. 2 and 29–31. 156 C.C. Brown, ‘Drink as a social marker in seventeenth-century England’ in A. Smyth (ed.) A Pleasing Sinne: Drink and Conviviality in 17th-Century England (Cambridge, UK, 2004), pp. 3–20. 157 J.M. Bennett, Ale, Beer, and Brewsters in England: Women’s Work in a Changing World 1300–1600 (Oxford, 1996), pp. 8–9. 158 L. Hill Curth and T. Cassidy, ‘Medical constructions of wine and beer in early modern England’ in A. Smyth (ed.) A Pleasing Sinne (Woodbridge, Suffolk 2004), pp. 143–159. 159 R. Matthee, ‘Exotic substances: the introduction and global spread of tobacco, coffee, coco, tea and distilled liquor, sixteenth to eighteenth centuries’ in R. Porter and M. Teich (eds) Drugs and Narcotics in History (Cambridge, UK, 1995), pp. 24–51; J.A. Spring and D.H. Buss, ‘Three centuries of alcohol in the British diet’, Nature, 270, No. 15 (1977), 567–572; T. Courtwright, Forces of Habit: Drugs and the Making of the Modern World (London, 2001), p. 10; and A. Barr, Drink: A Social History (London, 1998), pp. 8–9. 160 J.A. Sharpe, Early Modern England: A Social History 1550–1750 (London, 1997), p. 49. 161 L. Coelson, 1671, sig. C1v. 162 J. White, 1642, sig. A7r; W. Clarke, 1668, sig. C3r; and R. Saunders, 1682, sig. A5v; J. Brears, ‘Decoration of the Tudor and Stuart table’ in C. Anne Wilson (ed.) Food and Society: The Appetite and the Eye (Edinburgh, 1991), p. 92; G. Markham, A Way to Get Wealth (London, 1661), table of contents; and Nicholas Culpeper, Culpeper’s Complete Herbal and English Physician Enlarged (London, 1653; reprint, Ware, 1995), p. 157. 163 T. Willan, Studies in Elizabethan Foreign Trade (Manchester, 1968), p. 82; R. Davis, English Overseas Trade 1500–1700 (London, 1985), p. 30; D. Davis, A History of Shopping, p. 90; and W.G. Burton, The Potato: A Survey of Its History and of Factors Influencing Its Yield, Nutritive Value and Storage (London, 1948), p. 13. 164 J. Coulton, 1654, sig. C1v; and F. Beridge, 1654, sig. B4v. 165 T. Venner, Via recta ad vitam longam, or, A plain philosophicall demonstration (London, 1638), p. 279. 166 K.H. Dannenfeldt, ‘Sleep: theory and practice in the late Renaissance’, The Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 41 (1996), pp. 415–441. 167 N. Culpeper, Galen’s Art, p. 129; and R. Allestree, The Whole Duty of Man (London, 1680), p. 203. 168 E.H. Cohen and J.S. Ross, ‘The commonplace book of Edmond Halley’, Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London, 40, No. 1 (1985), pp. 1–40. 169 L. Laevinus, The Secret Miracles of Nature (London, 1658), p. 122; W.S.C. Copeman, A Short History of the Gout and the Rheumatic Diseases (Berkeley, CA, 1964), p. 74; and N.G. Siraisi, The Clock and the Mirror: Girolamo Cardano and Renaissance Medicine (Princeton, NJ, 1997), p. 181. 170 G. Alvarez and N. Ayas, ‘The impact of daily sleep duration on health: a review of the literature’, Progress in Cardiovascular Nursing, 25 (2004), pp. 1–4. 171 R. Allestree, The Whole Duty of Man, p. 203. 172 J. Makluire, The Buckler of bodilie health whereby health may bee defended, and sickesse

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Structures of practice and knowledge repelled (Edinburgh, 1630), p. 23; and W. Vaughn, Naturall and artificial directions for health derived from the best philosophers, as well moderne, as ancient (London, 1600). 173 J. Pechey, A Plain Introduction to the Art of Physick (London, 1697), p. 83; R. Allestree, 1625, sig. B4r; and J. Coulton, 1654, sig. B2r. 174 Swallow, 1643, sig. A5r; and Nathaniel Culpeper, 1683, sig. C2r. 175 R. Saunders, 1678, sig. B2r; and E. Pond, 1697, sig. A7r. 176 R. Mulcaster, Positions wherein the primitive circumstances be examined, which are necessarie for the training up of children (London, 1581), p. 53. 177 A. Arcangeli, Recreation in the Renaissance: Attitudes Toward Leisure and Pastimes in European Culture, c.1425–1675 (Basingstoke, 2003), pp. 20–21. 178 Ibid., ‘Dance and health: the Renaissance physicians’ view’, Dance Research: The Journal of the Society for Dance Research, 18 (Summer 2000), 3–30. 179 T. Trigge, 1681–84, sig. A2v; and R. Neve, 1671, sig. A5r. 180 A. Laurence, Women in England 1500–1760 (London, 1996), p. 158. 181 D. Brailsford, Sport and Society: Elizabeth to Anne (London, 1969), p. 178. 182 M. Ingram, ‘From Reformation to toleration: religious culture in England 1540–1690’ in T. Harris (ed.) Popular Culture in England c.1500–1850 (London, 1995), p. 110. 183 R. Malcolmson, ‘Popular recreations before the eighteenth-century’ in R. Malcolmson (ed.) Popular Recreations in English Society 1700–1850 (Cambridge, UK, 1973), p. 9; and C. Hill, A Tinker and a Poor Man: John Bunyan and His Church 1628–1688 (New York, 1988), p. 71. 184 D. Brailsford, Sport and Society, p. 178. 185 J. Chamberlaine, 1631, sig. A5r; Swallow, 1642, sig. A5r; W. Dade, 1690, sig. A2r; S. Rider, 1684, sig. B4v; and Dove, 1657, sig. B7r. 186 D. Loades, The Tudor Court (London, 1986), p. 99. 187 J.T. Cliffe, The World of the Country House in Seventeenth-Century England (New Haven, CT, 1999), p. 159; and H. Peacham, The Complete Gentleman: The Truth of our Times, and The Art of Living in London (London, 1622; reprint Ithaca, New York, 1962), pp. 138–139. 188 J. Neve, 1614, sig. B4r. 189 J. Booker, 1661, sig. B1v. 190 T. Watt, Cheap Print and Popular Piety, 1550–1640 (Cambridge, UK, 1996), p. 66; and D. Hartley and M. Elliot, Life and Work of the People of England (London, 1928), p. 20. 191 S. Pepys, The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Vol. II, eds L.C. Latham and W. Matthews (London, 1970), p. 212; R. Malcolmson, ‘Popular recreations’, pp. 5–17; and Poor Robin, 1683, sig. B3r. 192 J. Neve, 1628, sig. C2r; and S. Rider, 1686, sig. B6r. 193 D. Underdown, ‘Regional cultures? Local variations in popular culture in the early modern period’ in T. Harris (ed.) Popular Culture in England, c.1500–1850 (London, 1995), pp. 28–48; G. Markham, Countrey Contentments (London, 1615), sig. A1r. 194 N. Culpeper, Medicaments for the Poor or Physick for the Common People (London, 1670), p. 2.

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Preventative medicine 195 F. Beridge, 1654, sig. B3r. 196 T. Bretnor, 1609, sig.B3r. 197 T.E. Crowl, ‘Bloodletting in veterinary medicine’, Veterinary Heritage, 1 (1996), 15–21. 198 H. Rogeford, 1560, sig. D2r; and J. Evans, 1629, sig. B8r. 199 J. Woodhouse, 1647, sig. B2v. 100 R. Allestree, 1640, sig. C5r. 101 T. Buckminster, 1567, sig. A3v. 102 H. Coley, 1690, sig.C3r. 103 P. Gil-Sotres, ‘Derivation and revulsion: the theory and practice of medieval phlebotomy’ in L. Garcia-Ballester, R. French, J. Arrizabalaga and A. Cunningham (eds) Practical Medicine from Salerno to the Black Death (Cambridge, UK, 1994), pp. 110–155. 104 T. Buckminster, 1590, sig. C4v. 105 H. King, ‘The mathematics of sex: one to two, or two to one?’ in P.M. Soergel (ed.) Studies in Medieval and Renaissance Medicine: Sexuality and Culture in Medieval and Renaissance Europe, Third Series, Volume II (New York, 2005), pp. 47–58. 106 J. Arrizabalaga, ‘Medical responses to the French disease in Europe at the turn of the sixteenth century’ in K. Siena (ed.) Sins of the Flesh: Responding to Sexual Disease in Early Modern Europe (Toronto, Canada, 2005), pp. 33–55; and D. Jacquart and C. Thomasset, Sexuality and Medicine in the Middle Ages, trans. M. Adamson (Princeton, NJ, 1988), pp. 5–6. 107 B. Reay, Popular Cultures in England 1550–1750 (London, 1998), p. 32. 108 G. Hawkes, Sex and Pleasure in Western Culture (Cambridge, UK, 2004), pp. 116 and 189; and R. Porter and L. Hall, The Facts of Life: The Creation of Sexual Knowledge in Britain 1650–1950 (London, 1995), p. 33. 109 P. Crawford, ‘Sexual knowledge in England 1500–1750’ in R. Porter and M. Teich (eds) Sexual Knowledge, Sexual Science: The History of Attitudes to Sexuality (Cambridge, UK, 1994). 110 A. Askham, 1553, sig. A2r; Anon. [thought to be Basse, Philips and Pond], A Help to Discourse (London, 1682), p. 168; L. Stone, The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500–1800 (Cambridge, UK, 1979), p. 313; D. Cressy, Birth, Marriage, and Death: Ritual, Religion and the Life Cycle in Tudor and Stuart England (Oxford, 1997), p. 17; P. Crawford, ‘Sexual knowledge’, p. 88; and J. Salisbury, The Beast Within: Animals in the Middle Ages (London, 1994), p. 146. 111 R. Neve, 1666, sig. B5r; and D. Woodward, 1693, sig. B8v. 112 A. Hopton, 1613, sig. C4r; J. Woodhouse, 1644, sig. B2v; W. Heathcott, 1665, sig. B2v; R. Saunders, 1682, sig. A6r; R. Anselment, ‘Seventeenth-century pox: the medical and literary realities of venereal disease’, The Seventeenth Century, 4 (1989), pp. 190–193; and I. Archer, The Pursuit of Stability: Social Relations in Elizabethan London (Cambridge, UK, 1991), p. 207. 113 D. Woodward, 1694, sig. C7v. 114 W. Vaughn, Directions for Health, pp. 229–230. 115 W. Charleton, Natural history of the passions (London, 1674), sig. A3v; T. Langley 1648,

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Structures of practice and knowledge sig. BB4v; R. Gardner, 1698, sig. C1r; and R. Allestree, The Government of the Tongue (Oxford, 1675), p. A1r. 116 N. Culpeper, Galen’s Art, p. 132; and C. Rawcliffe, Medicine and Society, p. 10. 117 T. Paynell, Regimen, p. 1; H. King, The Disease of Virgins: Green Sickness, Cholorosis and the Problems of Puberty (London, 2004), p. 36; and H. Coley, 1685, sig. B7r. 118 J. Duffin, Lovers and Livers: Disease Concepts in History (London, 2005), pp. 41 and 54–61. 119 Dove, 1678, sig. C2v; and H. Coley, 1682, sig. C2v. 120 W. Lilly, 1661, sig. B3v. 121 S.K. Dolby, Self-Help Books: Why Americans Keep Reading Them (Champaign, IL, 2005), pp. xi and 14. 122 J. Pechey, A Plain Introduction, p. 59. 123 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1991), pp. 103 and 17.

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Chapter 8

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‘A putting to and a taking away’: non-commercial remedial medicine

Hyppocrates defineth Physicke to be a putting to, and a taking away of such things as are wanting, or abounding in mans [sic] body: The former hereof, standeth in dieting of the body, the other in disburdening the same of corrupt and superfluous humours.1

C

hapter Seven examined the concept of preventative medicine and the ways in which a healthy state could be maintained by following a health regimen based on the Galenic non-naturals. Although many of these suggestions involved lifestyle changes which would, in theory, be achievable for a large number of readers, much of the advice may have been either difficult or impossible to carry out, for a variety of reasons. Firstly, for example, for a great number of people, monetary considerations would have outweighed the potential benefits of purchasing costly food or drink. Secondly, social or cultural constraints may have dictated certain types of behaviour, particularly in terms of exercise or in sexual ‘evacuation’. In addition, many people may simply have chosen to ignore the elements that appeared boring or unpleasant, such as limiting or regulating ‘venus sport’, while it would also have been difficult, if not impossible, to keep one’s emotions in check all the time. Instead, it seems likely that individuals would pick and choose which facets they would follow, in order to suit their own lifestyles. However, it was clear that no matter how hard one tried to follow a good health regime, that health could only be retained ‘through the blessing of God’ and would, therefore, inevitably fail.2 As discussed in Chapter One, those who fell ill had a huge range of medical practitioners and options to choose from. This chapter will focus on the various types of therapeutic material found in almanacs, best divided into two main categories, namely ‘a putting to’ or ‘a taking away’ of excess humours. Whether there was a need to lessen certain humours, or perhaps to increase them, depended on a range of factors, including the nature of the disease, the constitution of the patient, and the movements of the celestial bodies.

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Structures of practice and knowledge The first type of remedial medicine involved the introduction of substances meant to be retained in order to ‘comforte . . . the chiefe officiall Members of the Body of Man’. These were thought to be particularly effective when an illness was caused by a humour being ‘any less . . . than it ought to be’, and could be administered in different ways, depending on whether there was a need to cool, heat, moisten or dry the offending humours.3 The second form of therapeutic treatment focused on ‘taking away’ things from the body, through blood, urine, faeces, mucus or sweat. While the most auspicious method depended on the nature of the illness and the constitution of the patient, ‘chyrurgical’ operations such as bloodletting were probably the most common. There were also a number of other treatments, ranging from blistering to various forms of expelling the excess humours through almost every orifice of the body. Many of these depended on the ingestion of organic and inorganic substances, which, during the first one hundred years of this study centred on what might be called ‘non-commercial’ remedies. The foundation of these potions are often referred to as ‘kitchen physick’, because many of the ingredients could either be grown, gathered or produced in a domestic setting. Such items were often supplemented with additional, mainly imported ingredients, which could be purchased from apothecaries, at the market or from other types of merchants. Although it seems likely that the great bulk of prepared remedies were produced domestically for much of this period, apothecaries and other medical practitioners also made remedies for those unable, or unwilling, to do so themselves. By the second half of the seventeenth century, however, ‘made to order’ medicines were increasingly overtaken by new ‘commercial’ remedies. These were pre-packaged, branded proprietary medicines manufactured in bulk to a standard recipe. The development and evolution of these products, which will be discussed in greater detail in the following chapter, marked a major departure from the traditional way in which remedies had been prescribed, prepared and administered. ‘A PUTTING TO’: MEDICAL INGESTION AND RETENTION This first form of therapeutic medicine involved a range of substances that were meant to be absorbed and retained in the body. As with preventative medicine, the most important component in any therapeutic regime was ‘dietetical’.4 There were a variety of ‘medicinal diets’ that could be prescribed to help restore the patient’s humoral imbalance. The most suitable type depended on a range of considerations, including the nature of the illness and of the patient, the time of the year, the weather and the region where the person lived. However, as Ken Albala has rightly pointed out, the complexity of the factors involved made choosing the correct plan a ‘confusing and hazardous

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Remedial medicine enterprise’.5 It is also clear that many people would have been put off the entire exercise – either because they could not afford it or because it was simply too confusing or time-consuming. It is likely that, as in the twenty-first century, the majority of patients would simply have followed a broader diet plan instead of attempting to deal with the minutiae of a personalized scheme. There were three major types of therapeutic diets, ‘thinning’ or ‘sparing’, ‘liberall or full’ and ‘a meane diet betwixt both’. According to Galen, the first was considered suitable for most people suffering from chronic diseases. The theory was that certain foods had the ability to ‘cut’ or ‘thin’ the humours, and these included onions, garlic and leeks – foods that are still lauded today for their expectorant qualities.6 De Subtilliante Diaeta also recommended that patients eat fish, ‘small mountain birds’ and drink thin white wine, while abstaining from sweet black wines, milk and fruit.7 The concept of a ‘sparing’ diet fits in well with the ubiquitous idea of moderation in food, as in all things. Almanac writers regularly reminded their readers of the dangers of ‘surfeits’, although the remedies that they provided suggest that the advice was just as often ignored. Ken Albala has suggested that this discrepancy mirrors the conflict between healthy eating and common fashion. For those who could afford them, the vast quantities of food and drink at courtly banquets often resulted in ‘obscene gluttony’. Even more ‘ordinary’ meals might include seemingly healthy foods that could be dangerous when mixed together.8 In 1633, James Hart condemned the common tendency of people, especially of ‘our vulgar women’ for ‘the sicke be crammed with all manner of food’. According to Hart, ‘almost all diseases have their originall and beginning from gluttony and abundance of humors’, and therefore were better treated either with a thinning diet or one between the two extremes.9 This also seems to have been the opinion of many almanac writers, who advised readers to eat foods of a ‘temperately warm and moist nature’ sparingly in order to treat most ‘moderate illnesses’. Examples of these can be found in a contemporary recipe, which listed chicken, perch, egg yolks, grains, ground almonds and sugar as suitable therapeutic foods.10 In most cases, however, patients would have been likely to use a mixture of these diets in order to best suit their complexion and the disease that they were suffering from.11 The general idea was to consume foods that had the opposite qualities to their own humours, in order to bring them back into balance. While a person might be naturally hot and dry or cold and moist, various illnesses could cause the balance to shift in a variety of ways. Not surprisingly, food that originated as living animals also had varying humoral qualities. Lamb, pork and sturgeon were hot in the ‘first degree’, while hare, roebuck and turkey were hot to the ‘second degree’. The ‘third degree’ included vegetables such as onions, scallions and leeks, while garlic was hot to the ‘fourth

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Structures of practice and knowledge degree’, and was therefore particularly useful for treating an excess of ‘watry Flegme’.12 Patients suffering from an excess of choler, for example, were advised to consume new cheese and cucumbers in order to ‘allay heat’. ‘Lettice with Vinegar’ or ‘Sparagus’ were also highly recommended foods to moisten and cool the body, accompanied by ‘wine mingled with water’ or ‘small beer’ to drink.13 Patients with cold, moist phlegmatic constitutions and illnesses were advised to eat ‘hot and dry foods’. On the other hand, a ‘cholerick’ complexion was seen as naturally hot and dry. This paralleled the ‘fiery, contentious cholerick constellations’.14 Dove’s almanacs described such people as generally being lean and short, having rough, hot skin and being very hairy. Their disorders would therefore be exacerbated by hot foods such as leeks or raw onions.15 The ‘moderate drinking of small beer’ was recommended, because it ‘moisteneth the Body which is dried by that of his Complexion and relieves radical nature’.16 There were also different types of ‘cooling’ foods that a patient could consume. For example, readers who suffered from ‘suddain heats’ or ‘overboyling of humours’ were advised to eat ‘cool herbs’ such as ‘Lettice with Vinegar’ or ‘Sparagus.17 Although mentioned less frequently than vegetables, some almanac writers recommended the curative powers of fruit. Of course, this was not a generic category, as there were many different types with highly varying natures. By the seventeenth century, a variety of fruits were being grown in England, often under glass. Many of these were either candied or otherwise preserved to use in cooking, along with different types of imported dried fruits. While Peter Earle suggested that there was a ‘medical prejudice’ against raw fruit, not all almanac writers agreed.18 Some warned readers who cared about their health to avoid or ‘beware of naughty fruits’.19 Others, however, clearly believed that ripe fruit could be ‘good and wholesome’ when eaten in moderation.20 Fruit could also play a role in therapeutic treatments. For example, the cold and watery consistency of many varieties helped to reduce fevers and rehydrate the body.21 Some types of fruits could be used for the opposite effect. ‘New apples’, or a combination of apples and pears taken with wine or salt, could reduce swelling. The same two fruits mixed with ‘comfits’ (sweets) could be taken to dispel ‘windinesse’. Orange or citron peel or seed were effective against cold diseases, as they would ‘heat the stomach’, while a syrup of ‘best figges’ soaked in ‘good Aqua vitae’ was useful for treating cold diseases of the lungs.22 Although some authors argued that the ancient Greeks had ‘reduced all cure to the Order of Diet’, this was clearly not a universal belief amongst almanac writers.23 While most agreed that diet was the cornerstone of any therapeutic regime, it was generally recommended that the correct type of diet

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Remedial medicine should be supplemented with remedial nostrums. The majority of almanac writers suggested that readers use Galenic remedies which assumed a strong relationship between the symbolic properties of herbs, and their empirical effects.24 One of the main principles, called the ‘Doctrine of Signatures’, was based on the idea that all plants offered either visual or other clues as to their medicinal qualities. It therefore followed, for example, that yellow flowers could be used to treat jaundice. Similarly, herbs that grew on stones, such as parsley-piert, were thought to dissolve kidney stones.25 This also carried over to similarities between different types of animal matter. This meant that, in theory, the lung of a fox could be used to treat lung disease in man.26 Closely linked to the Doctrine of Signatures were the principles of ‘sympathy’ and ‘antipathy’. The first rested on the idea that diseases caused by one planet could be cured by herbs ‘astrally’ linked to that planet, while the second recommended using those linked to the planet opposite to the one causing the disease.27 Keith Thomas has commented that ‘scientific opinion’ was increasingly negative towards the idea of ‘sympathy’ during the later seventeenth century.28 However, as in many other areas, most almanac writers did not even acknowledge what was happening in the sphere of the ‘educated elite’. Instead, almanacs continued to base much medical advice on these traditional ideas throughout the second half of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Very few almanac writers even touched upon the model developed by Paracelsus, whom John Henry has referred to as one of the ‘earliest subscribers of ontological medicine’. Paracelsian medicine rested on the belief that God had endowed all animate and non-animate things, including diseases, with their own divine spark or ‘archeus’. In order to treat someone who had been ‘attacked’ by disease, it was necessary to determine which drug had an archeus paralleling that of the patient’s illness. Unlike traditional Galenic remedies, Paracelsian remedies relied on the elements of salt, sulphur and mercury. Both John Henry and Andrew Wear have suggested that it was these chemical ingredients, rather than Paracelsian theory itself, that were popularized – a theory which is supported by a range of primary source material.29 Samuel Pepys’s diaries, for example, included remedies based on a mixture of Galenic and Paracelsian ingredients. The diaries mention remedial treatments, such as ale mixed with horseradish to treat the kidney or bladder stone, or adding butter to treat a cold, as well as chemically based remedies such as the soporific ‘mithrydate’, and ‘venice treacle’ [theriac] which induced therapeutic sweating.30 Both of these medicines were based on opium, which had been widely used since the Middle Ages to treat sleeping problems, pain and to improve moods. The Pharmacopoeia Londinensis, first published in 1618, included a number of medicines based on opium, such as theriac, which came from the Latin word for antidote and was later corrupted to ‘treacle’, mithridite, mecoium and diacodium.31 Although Nicholas Culpeper translated this into

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Structures of practice and knowledge English, he only included one ‘chymical’ remedy of ‘essences of minerals’ for treating the ‘supression of the Menses’.32 The majority of almanac writers, however, appeared to agree with James Baston’s sentiments that while ‘chymical’ remedies were ‘commonly prepared and used’ they were ‘most divellish and dangerous medicines’.33 With the exception of Culpeper’s single reference, the only other three almanac authors who promoted chemical medicines within their non-commercial texts were James Baston, Henry Crawford and William Salmon. While Baston did not include medical recipes in his almanac, his 1659 edition sneered at ‘Galens simpsing Physicians’, claiming that ‘I do detest them and hold them to be most divellish and dangerous’. He firmly stated that ‘I am for Chymical Physick . . . especially all those made of Mercury or Quick Silver and Antimony’.34 These sentiments were mirrored by Henry Crawford, who railed against ‘poor, ill compounded and prepared Galenical Medicaments’ and advised his readers to put their trust in ‘pure Chymical Essence(s) or Tincture(s)’.35 The strongest supporter, and only almanac author to include large numbers of Paracelsian ingredients in his medical recipes was William Salmon, whose recipes will be discussed later in this chapter. There were two main types of medical recipes which focused on nonchemical ingredients in almanacs. These consisted either of ‘simples’, containing a single ingredient, or more complex ‘compound’ remedies composed of many types of (mainly) organic materials.36 In technical terms, each simple was thought to have two dominant qualities – the ‘active’ and the passive. The former was broken down into either hot or cold, and the latter into either dry or wet, with the strength of the simple being further quantified on a scale from temperate (neutral) to the fourth degree. Mathematical skills would certainly have been needed to calculate the correct dosage of a compound drug, given the increasing number of variables. John Henry has illustrated this problem with the example of a medicine containing sandalwood and honey. Since sandalwood was considered cold and wet in the second degree, a dram could only be ‘neutralized’ by two ounces, rather than a single dram of honey that was hot and dry in the second degree.37 The majority of almanac readers, however, were not mathematicians interested in the finer intricacies of calculating dosages. As with the other types of medical information provided by almanacs, therapeutic remedies were presented in a straightforward, easy-to-understand and easy-to-follow format. In this case, it meant that simples were recommended more frequently than more complicated mixtures. Given the popularity of remedies based on simples, it is not surprising to find that almanac writers included them in far greater numbers than recipes. If readers wished to have additional information, there were a number of printed works about simples. The first edition of the London Pharmacopoeia,

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Remedial medicine which was published in May 1618 for the Society of Apothecaries, contained 680 simples, increasing in the second edition of December 1618 to 1,190. There were two main motivating factors for the production of this work, which was written in Latin. The first was to help standardize remedies prepared and dispensed by apothecaries, and the second was for physicians to be able to dictate the types of medicines that the apothecaries made for patients.38 In 1649 Nicholas Culpeper took this a step forward by translating the pharmacopoeia into English in order to enable the public to have access to this information.39 While many members of the medical profession were undoubtedly unhappy to have their ‘secrets’ translated, it seems likely that some of the general public were surprised to see what they consisted of. Although there were a number of unusual and expensive imported ingredients, many more of the listings included relatively common and inexpensive herbs or various organic materials which were also recommended in almanacs. These included familiar herbs such as ‘Peniryall, or Pudding grass’ (i.e. pennyroyal) which could be used as a stimulant and was ‘good against choler and the gout’.40 Pressed ‘Woodbine or Honysuckle’ could be used as a simple in an early form of birth control: Some write that the juice of the leaves drunk of a man by the space of 37 days together will make that he shall never beget any more children.41

However, due to space restrictions, few almanacs contained detailed advice about the nature or virtues of the herbs they recommended. This exclusion may also have been linked to the fact that readers would have been familiar with most of the organic items mentioned in the almanacs. John Swan’s detailed descriptions of the qualities, virtues and purposes of thirty different herbs were the main exception to this rule. Some plants, such as basil, were relatively exotic, while others, such as the walnut-tree, were familiar sights. However, as Swan noted, his purpose was to provide his readers with ‘both pleasant and profitable’ knowledge. Since these entries were only a small part of a much larger collection of simples found in his encyclopaedic Speculum mundi, or, A glasse representing the face of the world (London, 1633), they may also have been included as promotional materials. First printed in 1633, this highly popular book was repeatedly reprinted over the course of the seventeenth century. The work provided a description of how God made the earth in seven days, with the third day focusing on ‘the sprouting, springing and fructification of the earth’. This resulted in over one hundred herbs, trees and spices, the medicinal properties of which he lists over a total of forty-one pages.42 Information about different types of plants was also widely available in the large numbers of ‘herbals’ printed in the sixteenth- and seventeenth-centuries. The best-known was probably John Garard’s The herbal or Generall historie of

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Structures of practice and knowledge plants (London, 1597) which first appeared in Latin in 1596, and in English a year later. As a ‘Master in Chirurgerie’, Gerard stressed the importance of plants as providing both food and medicine to humankind. In the 1633 version, which was enlarged by the apothecary Thomas Johnson, the preface expanded on this by adding that plants ‘bestowed almost all food, clothing and medicine upon man’.43 John Parkinson’s herbal, the Theatrum Botanicum, first appeared in print in 1640, and claimed to contain not only listings of traditional herbs, but ‘many hundreds of new, rare and strange Plants from all parts of the world’.44 This was considered to be the most complete classification until Tay’s herbal of 1686, although it was the almanac writer Nicholas Culpeper who produced what has become the best-known British herbal of all time. As with all early modern herbals, his book not only contained descriptions of the various plants and their astral links, but also advice on cultivation and harvesting, as well as comprehensive explanations of their medicinal uses.45 Many almanacs contained recipes for preparing medicines based on herbal and other organic ingredients such as animal excrement. Gabriel Blunt claimed that freshly produced sheep dung soaked in beer or ale would cure ‘yellow jaundies, which is desperate and almost past cure’. Fresh horse dung mixed with white wine was said to cure the ‘Kings-Evil’ [sic] and ‘gravel’ (small kidney or bladder stones). ‘Hard and dryed’ faecal matter from cats could be combined with vinegar to make a paste to remove superfluous hair. Such materials were also used in remedies for animals. Hens’ dung soaked in ‘old urine’ (presumably human) was considered to be an effective treatment for sick cattle.46 More exotic, imported ingredients also became more common during the course of the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, including sugar and tobacco from the Caribbean and North America; pepper and saltpetre from India; and wine, oil and fruit from Southern Europe. The popularity of these ingredients is illustrated in the statistics for imported goods, which show that the total value of such items grew from approximately £600 for 1567, to more than double that by 1609. By the early 1630s, this figure had risen to £15,000 per annum, and to around £60,000 by 1669.47 Despite the debate over whether some of the more unusual foreign medicinal ingredients were suitable for treating Europeans, their trade continued to grow in the later part of the seventeenth century. In addition, because they were such highly profitable commodities, there was a corresponding trade in adulterated or counterfeited versions.48 However, while some exotic ingredients were probably too expensive for many households, a number of almanac writers clearly felt that many of their own readers could afford them. In most cases, this appears to be unrelated to the economic or social status of the target audience. John Rudston’s almanacs, for example, included advice for surgeons, who presumably had enough money to purchase the recommended therapeutic spices. However, exactly

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Remedial medicine the same mixtures of spices were recommended by William Dade, whose almanacs were addressed to ‘country farmers’.49 Other authors left the question of cost up to their readers, by listing a wide range of therapeutic ingredients for common ailments. For example, John Woodhouse states that heart problems can be treated with expensive ingredients such as saffron, cloves, mace or nutmeg, but also with the low-cost leaves of borage or rosemary plants, as well as ‘marygold flowers’. This suggests that Woodhouse presumed that his readers could choose whichever items would best fit their budget.50 While many almanac writers included instructions about ‘simples’, relatively few provided longer recipes for what might now be called ‘prescriptions’ in almanacs. These were almost non-existent during the second part of the sixteenth and early decades of the seventeenth century, with the first significant numbers of recipes appearing only in the 1640s. As the chart in Figure 8.1 illustrates, the numbers also fluctuated during the course of the seventeenth century. Other possible explanations for the scarcity of medical recipes may involve the space constraints placed on authors. It could also have been that the Company of Stationers felt that ‘receipts’ were a subject more suitable for household manuals. As the foreword in one of William Salmon’s vernacular medical books illustrated, he disagreed with such thinking: It may probably be demanded, How I being Physician, should be induced to write a book of Cookery? But such as ask this Question, know little of the Art of Physick, much less of its Constituent Parts.51

95

–9

9

–9 4 16

90 16

16

85

–8

–8

9

4

79 16

80

5–

16 7

–7 4

9

70 16

65 –6

16

16

60

–6 4

–5 9

4

55 16

50

–5

–4 16

45 16

40

–4

9

4

18% 16% 14% 12% 10% 8% 6% 4% 2% 0%

16

Percentage of almanacs providing recipes

True to his word, during the 1690s Salmon included medical recipes in all of his almanacs However, the longest-running, albeit sometimes sporadic, series of recipes were found in almanacs attributed to Pond, and focused on fairly common organic ingredients.52 First appearing in 1655, his recipes for treating ‘ordinary diseases’ included a mixture of garden herbs and vegetables, such as

Figure 8.1 Almanacs with recipes

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Structures of practice and knowledge the ‘white beet’ or ‘bean flowers’.53 In 1661, Pond’s almanac began to carry twelve recipes for: Gout, Boyls, Numbness, &c., A medicine for womens [sic] breasts, Chilblains or Kibes, Tooth-ach, the Itch, Deafness, Worms, sore Mouth or Throat, Pin and web in the Eye and Ague.54

Perhaps for reasons of economy, the same text was reproduced every year until 1669, at which point it disappeared. Presumably, Pond’s readers tired of this seemingly endless advice, because in 1670 these recipes were replaced with monthly poems loosely related to medical matters. This format abruptly changed again the following year, suggesting that it had proved no more popular than what it had followed. In 1671 and 1672, eight recipes appeared that were almost identical to those printed during the 1660s, including treatments for gout, ‘boyls’, ‘many pains of which some people do often complain, for [wounds or swelling on] women’s breasts, worms, chilblains, the itch and fevers’.55 It appears that this arrangement was not successful either, because after this year, Pond’s almanacs ceased to including any type of medical recipes. The largest major collection of medical recipes appeared in Gabriel Blunt’s almanac of 1657. At first glance, it is not clear why Blunt included fifty-seven recipes, as his previous edition (and only other known surviving almanac) contained none at all. The physical space for so many remedies appears to have been provided by the omission of the previous years’ ‘Brief Directions for those that would send their Letters to any parts of England, Scotland or Ireland’, which listed times and places for posting mail.56 The fact that this section disappeared, to be replaced by medical recipes, suggests that perhaps the first almanac was not very successful, and attempts were being made to improve its popularity. Alternatively, the inclusion of a number of remedies ‘against the Pestilence’ or ‘Plague’ suggests that Blunt was addressing fears of new outbreaks of the severe epidemics of plague that had struck London less than a decade before.57 Blunt’s other remedies focused on more common ailments, including sore eyes, coughs, ‘collick’ and constipation. It may be that the author was simply addressing a general fear about what was, together with war and famine, one of the ‘three arrows of God’.58 On the other hand, since it has proved impossible to find any supporting information about Blunt, it may well be that these almanacs were produced by hack writers who were simply told to produce medical recipes. The second-largest collection of medical remedies can be found in Sarah Jinner’s almanac in 1658. These focused on women’s ailments, with thirteen out of thirty-eight recipes for menstrual disorders. Jinner also offered advice on potions to increase ‘fruitfulness’, ‘procure easie deliverie in Women’ and ease health problems following birth.59 The edition for the following year

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Remedial medicine contained a total of forty-four recipes, none of which had appeared in the previous edition. Illnesses peculiar to women were once again a major focus, with new instructions for dealing with the monthly ‘terms’ and childbirth; increasing ‘fruitfulness’ in men or women; and treating ruptures or hernias.60 In her final almanac, Jinner dramatically reduced the amount of medical advice. Of the eleven recipes, six were for cosmetic preparations, while another contained instructions on making invisible ink for writing ‘letters of secrets’. The remainder referred to common afflictions such as teething problems in children; colds; and digestive disorders.61 During the next twenty years, recipes appear somewhat sporadically in a range of different almanacs, with the next major collections belonging to R. Johnson and William Salmon, beginning in the 1680s. Although it has not been possible to obtain much background information, Johnson, who claimed to be ‘a well willer to all useful science’, appeared to have a good familiarity with current, popular medical practices. While some authors provided fairly rudimentary advice, Johnson offered comprehensive information on treating a range of disorders. Each month of the year focused on one part of the body and the type of disorders that it was subject to, including the head, eyes, joints, teeth, stomach, heart, liver, spleen, lungs, belly, back and ‘reins’ (loins), and general wounds.62 Interestingly, Johnson also included a number of references to the vernacular medical books which he had consulted. While most are presented in a highly abbreviated form, it has been possible to identify some of his sources. For example, he mentions that readers could find a more complete explanation of a remedy for head-ache and another remedy for optical problems on pages 186 and 120, in what is referred to simply as ‘Sm. Ph.’. This appears to have been a book called A Compleat Practice of Physick by John Smith, which lists similar remedies for head-aches and painful eyes on the noted pages. Furthermore, it seems likely that this author was probably the same John Smith who included medical advice in his almanacs written during the 1650s.63 The way in which Johnson referred to Smith’s book suggests that he expected readers to understand what the abbreviation stood for, which meant that it would have been a fairly well-known title. William Salmon was the second author who, in the last decades of the seventeenth century, included large numbers of recipes in his almanacs. Salmon included an interesting mixture of remedies, which he seldom repeated. His first edition for 1684 was dedicated to the ‘Common people’, and contained information that would help them get through what promised to be ‘a Sickly year’, including ‘many plain Directions fit for the capacity of the vulgar’ on making ‘medicaments’ at home. Salmon provided this advice in a monthly format, with each featuring the most common illnesses. For example, in January contained information on how to treat scurvy with two different

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Structures of practice and knowledge recipes, one suitable for those of a ‘hot’ or ‘cold’ constitution. Patients falling into the first category were warned ‘by no means [to] meddle with scurvy grass, or any hot Antiscorbutick’, which would simply ‘add but fuel to fire’. The best remedy for these patients consisted of a ‘cooling syrup’ containing plantain, lemon juice and sugar, while scurvy grass was recommended for ‘cold’ constitutions. Interestingly, the following months contained a mixture of remedial advice, in the form of both recipes and recommendations of Salmon’s proprietary medicines.64 Although Salmon’s next almanac did not appear until 1691, it has not been possible to ascertain why this was so.65 This edition also contained a mixture of medical recipes and advertisements for his proprietary medicines, on a monthly or seasonal basis. Salmon chose to begin this advice with a ‘preservative against the plague’, followed by six remedies if the first potion failed. All seven of these recipes included a wide range of ingredients, many of which were imported, such as Jamaica pepper, cloves, mace, nutmegs, ginger and saffron, which were to be ‘digest[ed]’ in wine. Several also contained highly corrosive chemicals such as ‘uslackt Lime’ and ‘black Soap’ for applying directly to the buboes, so that ‘all the malignity may come forth’. Although most almanac writers concentrated on organic ingredients, Salmon advocated using the best of both of ‘the old’ or ‘Galenical’ physick and ‘the new’ or ‘Chymical Theory and Practice’ in his almanacs, and books such as Synopsis medicinae, or, A Compendium of astrological Galenical, & chymical physick philosophically deduced from the principles of Hermes and Hippocrates showed that he had a keen interest in Paracelsian remedies, as did his translation of the Pharmacopoeia Londinensis, or the New London Dispensatory (London, 1685) which included ‘all the Chymical Preparations now in Use’.66 There does not seem to be a clear pattern in the distribution of Galenic versus Paracelsian remedies, although the latter become increasingly common in Salmon’s almanacs. In 1694 Salmon recommended laudanum for ‘any Ach or Pain coming of Cold’, Venice Turpentine and powdered bay-berries to dissolve all sizes of kidney stones, and a mixture of herbs and spices steeped in wine or brandy to treat ‘fainting or swooning fits’.67 The following year, he provided instructions on how to make the ‘Salt of Mars’ by combining Oil of Vitriol or Sulphur with Spirit of Wine and leaving it to dry either in the oven or outside in the sun, a mixture which, according to him, was ‘one of the best Remedies against Melancholy in the World’.68 Salmon also offered advice on preparing other ‘chymical’ mixtures, including ‘treacle water for the plague’ and ‘essence of poppies’ or a mercurial-based treatment ‘to cure Piles that are broken’; while healing ‘the dry belly ache’ required green tobacco raised from Virginia seed, and bay berries.69 Such recipes became increasingly overshadowed, however, by recommendations for Salmon’s proprietary medicines, which will be discussed in Chapter Nine.

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Remedial medicine ‘A TAKING AWAY’: THE EVACUATION OF EXCESS HUMOURS As Richard Allestree explained, this consisted of ‘disburdening’ the body of ‘corrupt and superfluous’ matter.70 Such reasoning was seen to parallel the way in which the body regularly rids itself of unwanted substances. The most noticeable ones were urine and faeces, as well as the processes of nose-bleeds or menstruation. It was also clear that the body had a number of other ways of regularly expelling unwanted fluids through vomiting, sneezing, coughing or blowing the nose. While purging was an important component in preventative health-care, it was equally or even more so for remedial care. As a book written for children explained: Purging Physick, taken to heat or cool, Worketh by Vomit, Urine, Sweat or Stool: But if it worketh not, then we do fear, The danger’s great, the Person’s Death is near.71

Although the failure of a treatment did not necessarily signify such a fate, it might have meant that another method needed to be tried. In addition to the procedures that Bunyan mentioned, evacuation could also be carried out ‘through the Belly . . . by Spittle, by the Palate, [and] by the Nostrils’.72 As Thomas Buckminster reminded his readers, the type of purging method and the medicines that were most appropriate could only be determined after the following points were considered: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

The humor which aboundeth The way best to avoyde it The strength of the person The nature of the Sicknes The force & nature of the Medicine73

One of the most common methods used for purging was bloodletting, or phlebotomy, which has already been discussed in Chapter Seven. However, letting blood in someone who was ill was a different matter from carrying out the procedure on a healthy person. The state of the stars and planets was the first consideration, as ‘a Physitian cannot safely give Phisick, that is ignorant in the knowledge of this most Heavenly and Sublime Science [astrology]’.74 However, in general, spring and ‘harvest’ were considered to be the best time for letting blood, although ‘if neede do enforce it’ the process could be done in the summer or winter. The phases of the moon also played an important role, with the most auspicious time changing over the course of a person’s life. For example, it was considered dangerous to bleed either the very young or the elderly. This was because the four stages of life were linked to the four quarters of the year. Aries, Taurus, Gemini were appropriated to the Spring Quarter

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Structures of practice and knowledge and youth. Cancer, Leo and Virgo were linked to the Summer Quarter, which represented manhood.75 Many almanacs provided instructions on how this affected treatments: Let young people blood from the Change to the First Quarter. Bleed the middle aged from the First Quarter to the Full. Elder age bleed from the Full to the last Quarter. Old age bleed from the last Quarter to the full.76

A person’s complexion also played a major role in deciding when to let blood, as did their gender.77 As Helen King as pointed out, if a woman stopped menstruating, then the excess blood needed to be surgically removed as quickly as possible.78 Many almanacs provided a great deal of information on ways of removing excess humours from other bodily orifices. Inducing ‘artificial’ sweat, for example, was probably related to the virtues associated with the ‘natural’ perspiration lost through physical exertion or fevers which cleansed the body. The two main therapeutic methods involved either the use of ‘sudorificks’, which would ‘evacuate the whole body by sweating’, or through what was referred to as ‘bathing’.79 Both would remove impurities by forcing them through the pores, which could then be wiped or washed away. Patients taking sudorificks were advised to remain tucked up under layers of blankets to encourage copious perspiration.80 Bathing, on the other hand, could take place either in a ‘Naturall bath’ in a spring or spa or an ‘Artificiall bath’ based on what are now called saunas or steam rooms – a concept which can be traced back to the ancient Romans ‘vapporary’.81 An anonymous description from 1600 of a ‘new kinde’ of bath, described an enclosed cubicle containing a ‘cleane fire’ in one side, which could both heat and dry the air inside the bath. This apparatus could be placed in one’s bedchamber. The second stage would be to boil a ‘sweet perfume’ on the fire, to produce a ‘moyst vapourse heate’. Depending on the nature of the illness, it could be followed either by burning perfume to produce a ‘drye vaporous heate’ or sprinkling ‘water, milke, oyle or any other liquor’ into the bath, which would vaporize in the heat.82 There were also two main types of early modern public ‘hot houses’ which would produce either dry or moist heat. The first type was thought to be better for treating diseases in the head and ears, as it ‘cures the Stone, dissolves congealed humours and ferments in bloud, and cleaneth the body of Morphew, Scabs and Itch, French pox and so on’.83 Steam baths, on the other hand, provided ‘hot and moist vapour’, which was believed to be more effective for treating syphilis and dropsy.84 Potential bathers were advised that both were to be:

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Remedial medicine Performed in the evening, not in the morning, for in the cold of the day, the Spirits retire inward, and then sickly persons will be the less subject to faint, and when the body hath good store of nourishment within it, the heat is employed about the Concoction, and cannot therefore be attracted to the extreme parts so easily.85

The second type of therapeutic bathing was called ‘waterish’ and referred to the immersion of either part or the entire body of the patient in water. This was often considered to be bathing ‘for profit’ rather than ‘for pleasure’, and could be used to treat either the entire patient or specific parts of his or her body.’ Thomas Langley believed that ‘bathing the hands’ was good for the brain, while ‘taking the waters’ at a mineral spring could heal the entire body. The later could consist either of immersion in the water, or through drinking it to promote vomiting or bowel movements.86 Another method that was thought to be effective for treating pain was to direct a jet of water against the body in order to force the water through the skin to dilute the offending humours.87 Helmontian theory held that the water had healing properties because of the minerals and salts that it acquired as it percolated through rocks. As these virtues differed according to location, spas became known for the benefits of their particular waters, although users were warned that ‘Euerie medicinall water doth not cure euery infirmitie, nor everie man is to use euerie bathe’.88 During the seventeenth century, the best-known spas were at Bath and Tunbridge Wells, although Scarborough, Harrogate and Buxton also catered for the ill.89 Although most of these waters were effective purging agents, Tunbridge water, with its ‘sulphureous particles’ was thought to be particularly effective for clearing obstructions in the kidneys and bladder, as well as treating scurvy, gout or dropsie. Daniel Woodward suggested that it could also be useful to supplement other purging medicines by drinking ‘either Tunbridge, Epsom, Islington, or other Waters’.90 Wiltshire also boasted ‘several Springs of the Nature and Virtue of Tunbridge-Water, some stronger, some weaker.’ Ralph Josselin voiced his hope in July 1675 that ‘god in mercy be my phisitian, the waters are his prepared phisicke’ on a visit to Tunbridge Wells. They were also recommended for those ‘that are troubled with Aches, or the Gout’ and even healing broken bones. Either was considered to be equally effective for clarifying the blood by ‘melt [ing] the matter and turn [ing] it into Vapours.’91 Almanac writers also recommended other types of purging, such as ‘cleansing’ the head through the use of a gargarisme [gargle] or through ‘neesing’ [sneezing], while vomiting was particularly effective when ‘the Distemper lyeth above the stomach’. Somewhat paradoxically, vomiting was also recommended for cleansing the stomach ‘of all ill Humours, or any other matter which offends it’, including an ‘abundance of raw, undigested Flegm’ or fevers

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Structures of practice and knowledge resulting from choler and melancholy.92 William Salmon recommended it for easing everything from a surfeit of food or drink, to ‘chilled inward parts’, itching or ‘pricking of the blood’.93According to John Vaux, the most auspicious time for inducing vomiting was when the moon was in Taurus, Virgo or Sagittarius.94 Swallow, however, did not totally agree with this advice. He believed that times when the moon was in Aries, Taurus or Capricorn were more appropriate.95 It was also important to keep moderation in mind, as vomiting too often was ‘hurtfull for the Teeth’.96 The anonymous owner who kept a diary in his almanac of 1645 reported taking pills which successfully resulted in ‘four vomits’ to treat pains in the head and neck.97 Much of the advice on purging included the use of wine, generally as an agent for steeping or dissolving herbs into. ‘Physical wines’ could be used to cause vomiting, promote sneezing or for gargling. One popular recipe included ‘half a spoonful of Stone-crop’ (a cold herb under the dominion of the moon) soaked in wine.98 While the upper part of the body could be cleansed by vomits, the lower part was best treated with ‘clysters’ or enemas. During the sixteenth century, they were generally administered using a dried pig’s bladder to hold the solution, which was inserted into the anus with a greased tube. By the early seventeenth century, however, it became far more common to use a syringe.99 Nicholas Culpeper also pointed out that ‘the belly’ could be ‘loosened by Physicks taken at the Mouth . . . or else by Suppositories’.100 On the most basic level, these treatments could be used to ‘disburden’ the bowels of ‘corrupt humours’.101 They were also good to calm ‘tormenting Fits of the Stone or Gravel’.102 Two almanac authors also included recipes for specific treatments. The earliest referred to ‘a clyster for the Whites, through heat or running of the Reins’ (i.e. venereal diseases).103 The most auspicious time of the year for these treatments was when the moon was in Aries, Libra or Scorpio, when ‘our bodies may be and are prone to be overburdened with suddain heats, or replenished with the overboyling of humours.’104 As might be imagined, there were a large number of ways in which to purge offending humours, although many only received passing notice in almanacs. Presumably this was because they were considered so commonplace that it was not necessary to mention them. For example, the head could be ‘cleansed’ using a gargarisme [gargle].105 The best time of the year to do this either with a gargarismes or with pills was in September.106 The common ‘sneeze’ was mainly referred to as a ‘neese’ or ‘neeze’ in almanacs. Since matter was obviously expelled during the process, artificial ways to induce it were developed. Although no recipes were given, a number of almanacs provided the appropriate timing. In general, such sneezing should be carried out when the Moon was in Cancer, Leo or Virgo.107

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Remedial medicine CONCLUSION Although almanacs stressed the importance of having a healthy lifestyle and trying to prevent one’s body from being ‘attacked’ by disease, it was clearly recognized that illness would, and did, often occur. This chapter has examined the two main types of non-commercial, therapeutic advice that entailed ‘a putting to, and a taking away of such things as are wanting, or abounding in mans [sic] body.’108 The first referred to either the ingestion, or topical application, of remedies prepared at home. Compared with the second method of removing substances from the body, it seems that such advice was relatively benign. The ingredients in the remedies that almanac writers were recommending may not have cured the patient, but they were unlikely to prove fatal. On the other hand, ‘taking away’ substances from the body carried greater potential dangers. This was particularly true in the case of bleeding, which may explain why writers provided so many warnings. It might also explain why they shied away from instructing readers how to draw blood. The same reasoning could be applied to explain why they also omitted discussions of other potentially dangerous purges. Although such treatments were meant to rid the body of dangerous substances, they could also ‘stirre the humours so violently by their nauseousnesse, that their operation is a sicknesse of it self all the while’.109 While advice on therapeutic medicine was readily available both through the oral and the print culture, almanacs provided one of the most accessible and easily understandable sources of advice. Depending on the author, this might include recipes or instructions on procedures that could be carried out by the patient, with the exception of potentially dangerous surgical treatments such as cautery or phlebotomy. For the first hundred years of this study, the bulk of the advice concentrated on what might be called ‘non-commercial’ advice, as the majority of remedies, or at least ingredients, were easily available either domestically or within the medical marketplace. The majority of this information was based on traditional Galenic beliefs, with almost no evidence of the Paracelsian or alternative theories that were circulating in the wider community. This absence supports the views propounded in previous chapters that almanacs provided readers with ideas that they were already familiar with, rather than trying to promote newfangled or radical ideas. As mentioned in the introduction to this chapter, the two main types of noncommercial, therapeutic advice consisted of a ‘putting to, and a taking away, of such things as are wanting, or abounding in mans [sic] body’. The cornerstone of the former rested on the ‘dieting of the body’, with the correct type depending on the nature of the illness and the constitution of the patient. As with other types of medical information, almanacs provided practical advice, rather than theoretical explanations about various types of diets. This included

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Structures of practice and knowledge information about the qualities and natures of different types of food and drink. Suggestions were also given of the illnesses for which they would be an appropriate treatment. Most almanacs suggested that a good diet should be supplemented with medicines meant to be retained within the body, in order to correct the humoral imbalance. These could be taken either in the form of ‘simples’, which contained only one ingredient, or in more complex recipes. In general, the remedies described in almanacs focus almost exclusively on organic ingredients, with very little evidence of Paracelsian or ‘chymical’ ingredients. Although the methods of correcting imbalances through a ‘putting to’ sounded relatively benign, this is not the case with a ‘taking away’. The most dangerous treatment, which was not considered to be something that could be done at home, was phlebotomy. Most other methods of purging, with the exception of going to the baths or taking the waters, could be carried out at home. Many authors provided instructions on how to induce vomiting, increase the flow of urine, and cleanse the bowels; while others instructed readers on provoking sweat using sudoforicks, or through bathing. The type of remedial advice offered in almanacs showed very few changes during the course of 150 years. As with other types of medical information, most authors promoted an orthodox system of Galenic ingredients and theories. Although there were a handful of writers who appeared to support Paracelsian ideas, few had the courage to actively promote such ideas in these publications. However, as Chapter Nine will show, ‘chymical’ ingredients did play an important role in the growing number of proprietary drugs that were advertised in increasing numbers during the second part of the seventeenth century. NOTES 111 R. Allestree, 1625, sig. C4v. 112 G. Burton, 1621, sig. B8r. 113 R. Allestree, 1641–43, sig. C5r; and J. White, 1651, sig. C2r; D. LeClerc, The History of Physick, or an Account of the Rise and Progress of the Art (London, 1699), p. 195; and T. Cocke, Kitchin-Physick: or, Advice to the Poor, By Way of Dialogue (London, 1676), p. 9. 114 H.J. Cook, ‘Good advice and little medicine: the professional advice of early modern English physicians’, Journal of British Studies, 33 (January, 1994), pp. 14–17. 115 K. Albala, Food in Early Modern Europe (Westport, CT, 2003), p. 216. 116 E. Mindell, Earl Mindell’s Herb Bible (New York, 1992), pp. 138–139. 117 R. Allestree, 1620, sig. C45; J. Gadbury, 1697, sig. A6r; M. Grant, Galen on Food and Diet (London, 2000), p. 11; K. Albala, Eating Right in the Renaissance (Berkeley, CA, 2002), p. 30; J. Hart, Klinike, or The Diet of the Diseased (London, 1633), p. 164; and J. Wilkins, ‘The contribution of Galen, De Subtilliante Diaeta (on the thinning diet)’ in V. Nutton (ed.) The Unknown Galen (London, 2002), pp. 47–55.

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Remedial medicine 118 K. Albala, Eating Right, pp. 251–260. 119 J. Hart, Klinike, pp. 163 and 168. 110 J. Booker, 1661, sig. A6r; and T. Scully, ‘The sickdish in early French recipe collections’ in S. Campbell, S. Hall and D. Klausner (eds) Health, Disease and Healing in Medieval Culture (Toronto, Canada, 1992), p. 137. 111 J. O’Hara-May, ‘Food or medicines?’, Transactions of the British Society for the History of Pharmacy, 1 (1971), p. 65. 112 J.C. Drummond and A. Wilbraham, The Englishman’s Food: Five Centuries of English Diet (London, 1958), p. 123; and J. Evans, 1629, sig. B8r. 113 J. Evans, 1629, sig. B8r; J. Coulton, 1654, B2v; and Dove, 1661, sig. B3r. 114 D. Woodward, sig. C5r. 115 Swan, 1667, sig. C7r. 116 Dove, 1683, 1686, sig. C3r–v. 117 Idem. 118 P. Earle, The Making of the English Middle Class: Business, Society and Family Life in London 1660–1730 (London, 1989), pp. 174–175. 119 J. Booker, 1659, sig. B6r; and Bird, 1661, sig. B4v. 120 F. Beridge, 1654, sig. B4v; and N. Culpeper, 1680, sig. C1v. 121 K. Albala, Eating Right, p. 66. 122 E. Pond, 1655, sig. B4v. 123 H.C. Agrippa, The Vanity of Arts and Sciences (London, 1694), pp. 305–306. 124 R. Porter, The Greatest Benefit to Mankind: A Medical History of Humanity from Antiquity to the Present (London, 1997), p. 134. 125 Raphael, Raphael’s Medical Astrology: The Effects of the Planets and Signs Upon the Human Body (London, 1937), p. 68; and R. Mabey, Flora Britannica Book of Wild Herbs (London, 1998), p. 105. 126 D. Guthrie, A History of Medicine (London, 1960), p. 160. 127 E.G. Wheelwright, The Physick Garden (London, 1934), p. 147. 128 K. Thomas, Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England 1500–1800 (London, 1983), p. 84. 129 J. Henry, ‘Doctors and healers: popular culture and the medical profession’ in S. Pumfrey, P.L. Rossi and M. Slawinski (eds) Science, Culture and Popular Belief in Renaissance Europe (Manchester, 1991), pp. 191–221; A.G. Debus, ‘Chemists, physicians and changing perspectives on the scientific revolution’, ISIS, 89, No. 1 (March 1998), 66–91; and A. Wear, Knowledge and Practice in English Medicine 1550–1680 (Cambridge, UK, 2000), p. 39. 130 S. Pepys, The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Vol. V, p. 118, and VIII, eds R. Latham and W. Matthews (London, 1971), p. 213. 31 W.O. Schalick III, ‘To market, to market: the theory and practice of opiates in the Middle Ages’ in M.L. Meldrum (ed.) Opiods and Pain Relief: A Historical Perspective (Seattle, 2003), pp. 5–20; A. Sala, Opiologia: or, A treatise concerning the nature, properties, true preparation and safe use and administration of opium, trans. T. Bretnor (London, 1618),

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Structures of practice and knowledge sig. A4v; and B. Hodgson, In the Arms of Morpheus: The Tragic History of Laudanum, Morphine, and Patent Medicines (Buffalo, NY, 2001), pp. 18, 24. 132 N. Culpeper, 1655, p. 11. 133 J. Baston, 1659, sig. B3v. 134 Ibid., sig. B3r. 135 H. Crawford, 1676, sig. C5v. 136 M.J. Dobson, Contours of Death and Disease in Early Modern England: The Spectrum of Death, Disease and Medical Care (Cambridge, UK, 1997), p. 265. 137 A. Bregman, ‘Alligation [sic] alternate and the composition of medicines: arithmetic and medicine in early modern England’, Medical History, 49 (2005), 293–320; and J. Henry, ‘Doctors and healers’, pp. 191–221. 138 J. Sanderson, ‘Medical secrets and the book trade: ownership of the copy to the College of Physicians’ Pharmacoepia [sic] (1618–50), in P. Isaac and B. McKay (eds) The Human Face of the Book Trade: Print Culture and Its Creators (Winchester, 1999), pp. 64–80; M. Pelling and C. Webster, ‘Medical practitioners’, p. 172 in C. Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979) p. 172; C.H. LaWall, Four Thousand Years of Pharmacy (London, 1927), p. 270; D. Bellamy and A. Pfister, World Medicine: Plants, Patients and People (Oxford, 1992), p. 126; M.P. Earles, The London Pharmacopoeia Perfected (Durham, UK, 1985), p. 5; and C. Wall and H.C. Cameron, A History of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries of London, (London, 1963), p. 13. 139 D. Nagy, Popular Medicine in Seventeenth-Century England (Bowling Green, KY, 1988), pp. 25–26. 140 Swallow [no initial], 1662, sig. C1v. 141 Swan [no initial], 1667, sig. C7r. 142 J. Swan, Speculum mundi, or, A glasse representing the face of the world (London, 1633), pp. 236–277. 143 J. Gerard, The herbal or Generall historie of plants (London, 1597), sig. A2r; and J. Gerard, The herbal or Generall historie of plants, ed. Th. Johnson (London, 1633), sig. A2v. 144 J. Parkinson, Theatrum Botanicum: the Theatre of Plants or, an Herball of Large Extent (London, 1640). 145 C.B. Atkinson and J.B. Atkinson, ‘Anne Wheathill’s A Handfull of Holesome (though Homelie) Hearbs (1584): the first English gentlewoman’s prayer book’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 27 (autumn, 1996), 659–672. 146 G. Blunt, 1657, sig. B7r; W. Salmon, 1699, sig. B7r. S. Jinner, 1660, sig. B2r–v; W. Dade, 1683, sig. B3r; and Pond, 1694, sig. C4r. 147 A. Wear, ‘The early modern debate about foreign drugs: localism versus universalism in medicine’, The Lancet, 354 (1999), 149–151; P. Hunting, A History of the Society of Apothecaries (London, 1998), p. 29; R.S. Roberts, ‘The early history of the import of drugs into Britain’ in F.N.L. Poynter (ed.) The Evolution of Pharmacy in Britain (London, 1965), pp. 165–185; and R. Davis, The Rise of the English Shipping Industry (London, 1962), p. 186. 148 A. Wear, ‘Early modern Europe, 1500–1700’ in L. Conrad, M. Neve, V. Nutton, R. Porter and A. Wear (eds) The Western Medical Tradition 800 BC to AD 1800 (Cambridge, UK, 1996), pp. 215–262.

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Remedial medicine 149 J. Rudston, 1610, sig. C4v; and Dade, 1692, sig. A8v. 150 J. Woodhouse, 1649, sig. B3v. 151 W. Salmon, Salmon’s Family Dictionary, or Household Companion (London, 1702), sig. A3r. 152 The original author Edward Pond appears to have been a real person, but later editions were probably produced by hack writers. 153 Pond, 1655, sig. C2r. 154 Idem, 1661–69, sig. C1r–2v. 155 Idem, 1671–72, sig. C5r–v. 156 G. Blunt, 1656, sig. B7r–C4r. 157 A.J. Bollett, Plagues and Poxes: The Impact of Human History on Epidemic Disease (New York, 2004), pp. 22–23. 158 W. Naphy and A. Spicer, The Black Death: A History of Plagues 1345–1730 (Stroud, 2001); and A. Wear, Knowledge and Practice, p. 276. 159 S. Jinner, 1658, sig. B4v–C8v. 160 Idem, 1659, sig. B1v. 161 Idem, 1660, sig. B2r–v. 162 R. Johnson, 1683, sig. A5r–B8r. 163 J. Smith, A Compleat Practice of Physick (London, 1656), pp. 186 and 120. During the 1670s, almanacs attributed to ‘John Smith’, who also referred to himself as a ‘philomathist’, began to appear again, although these did not contain medical information. Bernard Capp has suggested that this might have referred to the clock-maker and instrument maker by the same name, Astrology, p. 332. 164 W. Salmon, 1684, sig. A2r, A4r, C1r and C3r. 165 It may be that Salmon chose to concentrate solely on publishing books such as Pharmacopoeia Londinensis. Or, the New London Dispensatory (London, 1678), Systema Medicinale, A Compleat System of Physick Theorical and Practical (London, 1686), and Parateremata or, select physical and chyrurgical observations (London, 1687) during this period. 166 W. Salmon, Synopsis medicinae (London, 1671); and W. Salmon, Pharmacopoeia Londinensis, sig.A1r. 167 Idem, 1694, sig. A6r, B1r and B6r. 168 Idem, 1695, sig. A8r. 169 Idem, 1696, sig. A7r and 1697, sig.A7r. 170 R. Allestree, 1640, sig. C5r. 171 J. Bunyan, A book for boys and girls (London, 1686), p. 86. 172 Nicholas Culpeper, Medicaments for the Poor or Physick for the Common People (London, 1670), p. 2. 173 T. Buckminster 1590, sig. C3r. 174 J. Westley, 1669, sig. B2r. 175 Swallow, 1653, sig. B4v.

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Structures of practice and knowledge 176 T. Langley, 1642, sig. B2r. 177 See, for example, T. Buckminster, 1589, sig. B2r; J. Vaux, 1634, sig. B7r; W. Dade, 1658, sig. A1v; and J. Bucknall, 1676, sig. C2v. 178 H. King, The Disease of Virgins: Green Sickness, Cholorosis and The Problems of Puberty (London, 2004), p. 23. 179 Nicholas Culpeper, The Expert Doctor Dispensatory (London, 1657), p. 375. 180 W. Dade, 1641, sig. C3v. 181 N. Culpeper, The Expert Doctor, p. 197. 182 Anon., A Description of a new kinde of Artificall Bathes (London, 1600), p. 1. 183 R. Hooker, 1668, sig. C4r. 184 T. Langley, 1643, sig. B2r. 185 R. Hooker, 1668, sig. C4r. 186 N. Culpeper, The Expert Doctor, pp. 197–199; R. Neve, 1667, sig. B5r; R. Langley, 1647, sig. B3r; and D. Woodward, 1688, sig. C7r. 187 R. Rolls, ‘Bark, blisters and the bath: some problems of pain relief in former times’, Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine, 75 (October 1982), pp. 812–819. 188 E. Jorden, A discourse of naturall bathes and mineral waters (London, 1633), p. 6; N.G. Coley, ‘Cures without care. Chymical physicians and mineral waters in seventeenthcentury English medicine’, Medical History, 23 (1979), pp. 198–199; and W. Baley, A briefe discourse of certain bathes or medicinall waters in the Countie of Warwicke (London, 1587), sig. A3v. 189 P. Borsay, The English Urban Renaissance: Culture and Society in the Provincial Town 1660–1770 (Oxford, 1989), p. 32. 190 J. Tanner, 1697, sig. C8r; and D. Woodward, 1697, sig. C7v. 191 C.F. Mullett, ‘Public baths and health in England, sixteenth to eighteenth century’, Supplement to the Bulletin of the History of Medicine (Baltimore, 1946), p. 24; W. Lilly, 1684, sig. F8r; R. Josselin, The Diary of Ralph Josselin 1616–1683, ed. A. Macfarlane (London, 1976), p. 586; J. Woodhouse, 1698, sig. B3r; and Nicholas Culpeper, Medicaments for the Poor, p. 15. 192 W. Heathcott, 1665, sig. B4v; T. Trigge, 1678, sig. B8v; W. Salmon, 1694, sig. B4r; and R. Saunders, 1682, sig. A6v. 193 W. Salmon, 1684, sig. C1v. 194 J. Vaux, 1659, sig. B2v. 195 Swallow, 1642, sig. A4v. 196 E. Pond, 1697, sig. C4r. 197 J. Booker, 1645, blank page for March. 198 G. Blunt, 1657, sig. B6v; and Nicholas Culpeper, Complete Herbal, p. 249. 199 C. Rawcliffe, Medicine and Society in Later Medieval England (Stroud, 1995), p. 61. 100 N. Culpeper, Medicaments for the Poor, p. 2. 101 Nicholas Culpeper, Complete Herbal, p. 574. 102 J. Whalley, Directions for the use of Whalley’s Pills and Elixir (Dublin, c.1710), p. 22.

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Remedial medicine 103 S. Jinner, 1659, sig. B4v. 104 Idem; J. Booker, 1659, sig. A8v; and R. Saunders, 1667, sig. C8r–v. 105 W. Salmon, The Family Dictionary: or Household Companion (London, 1705), p. 102. 106 W. Heathcott, 1665, sig. B4v. 107 For example, see W. Dade, 1661, sig. A2r; or J. Tanner, 1676, sig. C8v. 108 R. Allestree, 1640, sig. C5r. 109 W. Rumsey, Organon salutis. An instrument to cleanse the stomach (London, 1659), sig. B2r.

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Chapter 9

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Nostrums for sale: advertising and almanacs

Dr. See’s Universal Cathartique Pill, suited to all tempers, cleansing all parts of the body, and working upon all superfluous humours, being fit to be taken at any time, and for any chronique Disease by any person; is to be sold by Tho. Fairfax, under St. Edmonds [sic] Church in Lumbard-Street and William Flindel in Westminster-Hall.1

T

his advertisement for Dr See’s pills represents just one of dozens of different branded medicines that played a major role in the growing commercialization of medicine in early modern England. These included pills, powders and cordial drinks, which claimed to treat a variety of disorders and, in some cases, prevent them in the first place. While Chapter Eight discussed the different types of therapeutic treatments and remedies based on ‘kitchin physick’ and items that could be obtained easily from around the home, the garden or the market, this chapter will examine the new breed of seventeenthcentury commercialized drugs. These represent a radical new form of medical intervention, with a variety of products pre-prepared to a standard recipe, wrapped in distinctive packaging, labelled with a ‘brand name’ and distributed on a nationwide basis.2 Until fairly recently, the study of early modern advertising has focused almost exclusively on ‘printed serials’, which later became known as newspapers.3 The main reason for this is probably that so many early modern newspapers have survived. While handbills or broadsheets were probably the most popular and frequent carriers of advertisements, most had an extremely short life span – a trait shared by other types of ephemeral literature, such as chapbooks or pamphlets.4 Almanacs, on the other hand, have survived in large numbers, and are an excellent source of information on early modern advertising. In fact, they have three unique advantages over other advertising vehicles. Firstly, almanacs, which were printed in their hundreds of thousands every year, were the first and longest-running form of publication to carry advertisements. Secondly, they had a longer life span than handbills or newspapers, as

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Advertising and almanacs they would remain in use for an entire year. This meant that individual advertisements might be seen a number of times by the same reader, a feature which is an important tool in creating both demand and brand awareness for commercialized medicines. Finally, the distribution of almanacs meant that their advertisements had the potential to reach a local, regional, national and even international audience. The major focus of this chapter will be on advertisements for pre-prepared, pre-packaged, branded drugs. However, the other types of related medical and non-medical products and services will also be examined. In order to provide a context for this discussion, the chapter will begin by looking at the relationship between the growth of medical consumerism and early modern advertising. This will be followed by a section on the advertising in almanacs from the sixteenth through to the end of the seventeenth century, which will look at the major categories of books, proprietary drugs and medical services. ‘MEDICAL MATERIALISM’ AND ADVERTISING The concept of an eighteenth-century ‘consumer revolution’ was introduced by Neil McKendrick in 1982. This phrase has been subject to a great deal of debate since that time, mainly because of the use of the word ‘revolution’, which suggests a dramatic burst of activity rather than something that takes place over a period of time.5 However, academics do generally agree that there was a growing demand for consumer items such as ‘luxury’ or ‘semi-luxury’ clothing, decorative furnishings and other imported or domestically produced household goods. The marketing and distribution of these items were aided by advances in inland transport, such as the emergence of a nationwide carrier system and the growth of new sales outlets, including retail shops in provincial towns, which helped to promote shopping as a ‘leisure activity’. In addition, the availability of consumer goods was further expanded by a growing network of pedlars joining the long-established system of markets and fairs.6 Roy Porter has written extensively on the relationship between the growth of the ‘consumer revolution’ and ‘medical materialism’, in which ‘the body is seen as a through-put economy needing generous input and outflow’. Porter was referring to both medical services and products such as proprietary medicines, which were ‘boldly promoted . . . through the spoken and written word’. The new provincial newspapers, in particular, were thought to have played a major role in this growing demand, which resulted in ‘more people consuming more knowledge, alongside drugs and medications’.7 While not debating the undoubtedly important role that eighteenthcentury newspaper advertising played in the growth of ‘medical materialism’, it is important to remember that they were not the first major form of media to carry advertisements. In fact, the earliest ‘newsbooks’ or ‘newsletters’

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Structures of practice and knowledge consisted exclusively of news sandwiched between personal and business letters, and there is some debate as to when advertisements first appeared. Joseph Frank has suggested that they began in 1623 with a description of Charles’s marriage to Henrietta Maria in ‘The continuation of our weekly newes’. Michael Harris disagrees, arguing that an in-house notice of publication in the mid-1620s was the first advertisement, while Joad Raymond thinks that the earliest consisted of books produced by the newspaper’s publishers. Advertisements did not, however, become a regular feature in news-sheets until the 1640s, when it became common for editions to carry one or two advertisements a week for books, lost horses or dogs or runaway servants.8 Over the following two decades, newspaper publishers appear to have placed an increasing value on advertising. In 1657, a specialist publication, The Publick Adviser, was started for the sole purpose of printing advertisements, aimed at ‘all persons that are in any way concerned in matter of Buying and Selling, or in any kind of Imployment, or dealings whatsoever’.9 In the period following the Interregnum, many newspapers began to carry a separate section for advertising, rather then using them to fill gaps in the general text. As the century progressed, newspapers increasingly became used as vehicles for advertisements promoting all manner of services and products.10 However, while such publications appeared in ever larger numbers in London during the seventeenth century, it was some time before the provincial press was founded. This is not to suggest that London newspapers were read only by people dwelling or working in the capital, for, as Jeremy Black has noted, some ‘sought to generate more sales by exploiting the growth in the postal service’.11 It is also likely that many copies would have found their way to provincial readers through friends or acquaintances who either lived in or visited London. In addition, although the advertisements would have been aimed at Londoners, some products may have been available to purchase through the post. However, the first provincial paper, with advertisements for local services and products, only appeared in 1701. The Norwich Post was quickly joined by other regional newspapers in Bristol and Exeter, and by the early 1720s there were over twenty provincial editions being printed every year.12 ADVERTISING IN ALMANACS Although there was a great deal of variety in the services and products promoted during the seventeenth century, advertisements for books were the most common. This is hardly surprising, both in terms of the vast quantities that were published each year and the fact that many of the titles were produced by almanac publishers. There were many types of books advertised in almanacs, although for the purposes of this chapter they will be divided into

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Advertising and almanacs

500 400 300

Drugs Medical books Medical services Books Other

200 100 0

16 16 – 16 20 21 – 16 25 26 – 16 30 31 – 16 35 36 – 16 40 41 – 16 45 46 – 16 50 51 – 16 55 56 – 16 60 61 – 16 65 66 – 16 70 71 – 16 75 76 – 16 80 81 – 16 85 86 – 16 90 91 16 – 96 95 –1 70 0

Count of advertisements

Advertisements in almanacs 600

Figure 9.1 Advertisements in almanacs

non-medical and medical topics. The majority of advertisements are for nonmedical topics, which included history, husbandry, poetry and divinity. Even though popular medical texts appeared in much smaller numbers, as Figure 9.1 illustrates, this was on a fairly regular basis, which strengthens the argument that readers were (or were perceived to be) interested in matters of health and illness. The second-most widely advertised products were commercialized medicines, most of which appear to have become household names by the following century. A range of services made up the third category, some of which were non-medical, and others which were clearly medical or astrological, as well as those that straddled the line between mathematics and astrology. Finally, the fourth category included ‘medical appliances’, such as trusses, spectacles or fake eyeballs. According to Eustace Bosanquet, the first advertisement in an almanac to consist of ‘allusions to books in the preface or dedicatory letter’ appeared in 1581.13 Although it has not been possible to locate the almanac that he was referring to, there are other examples of this sort of advertisement from the following decade. In 1592, Leonard Digges, who was a well-known surveyor, suggested that his readers purchase his two texts on the subject: A boke named Tectonicon briefly shewynge the exacte measurynge and speedy reckengyne all manner land (London), and A geometrical practical treatise named Pantometria divided into three books (London). Judging by the number of advertisements for similar titles, this appears to have been a popular topic amongst almanac readers.14 Interestingly, the most visible and longest-running advertisement in the first decades of the seventeenth century was for a service rather than for books. The first notice in 1626 offered a consultation with an anonymous surveyor:

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Structures of practice and knowledge For whosoever shal desire to purchase or put to Sale, to take in Lease, or let to Farme, to Grant, Assinge, Exchange, or otherwise to Contract or Deale, with or for any Lands, Leases, Rents, Annuities, Mansion Houses, Offices, saleable, or other Estates’.15

What is unique about this is not that a service was being offered for the first time, as both Thomas Bretnor and Daniel Browne had previously notified readers that they were available for lessons in (respectively) ‘arithmeticke, geometry, navigation, astronomy and astrology’ or ‘arithmeticke and geometry’.16 The unusual feature of the former advertisements was that they appeared in a number of different almanacs over a fourteen-year period. Natasha Glaisyer has suggested that early modern advertisements only allow ‘speculation about the periodical’s readers’, as it is impossible to know who the actual audience was. While this may hold true for one-off advertisements, her theory does not seem to apply in this case. If the surveyor did not gain clients through their notices, it seems highly unlikely that they would have continued to use almanacs over the course of a decade. Furthermore, the fact that books on surveying were also being advertised suggests that at least some almanac readers would have been interested in the topic. This concern with surveying was probably linked to the ‘building boom’ in London, a boom which catered for a population that grew from 120,000 in 1550 to 200,000 in 1600 and 375,000 in 1650.17 During the sixteenth century, building work on twenty-three London sites included either new buildings, or structures converted from religious houses that had been confiscated and sold off between 1543 and 1547. Some of the buildings were turned into mansions, while others were razed to the ground in order to build new housing or guild halls.18 This gave rise to many new books on surveying or ‘the measuring of work’, which was a by-product of the widespread use of contract by measure.19 It was also linked to the increase in people offering surveying skills, which required a range of mathematical and technical expertise that could be learned via the large number of books on the subject available in the early seventeenth century. Although advertisements for books continued to appear during the 1630s, there was an almost total absence of advertisements in the following decade. This may have been related firstly to the economic depression in 1641–42, followed by the toll of years of civil war resulting in reduced manufacturing and trade, and compounded by a series of poor crop yields.20 As a result, there would have been few consumer products to advertise and little disposable income available to pay for them. Advertisements began to reappear in larger numbers during the Interregnum. The most heavily promoted items continued to be books – a trend which continued through most of the period covered by this study. Although advertisements for proprietary drugs were almost non-existent

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Advertising and almanacs between 1650 and 1654, notices for ‘medical services and appliances’ also began to appear during this period. These might include medical consultations offered either by the almanac writer, or other healers, as well as for practitioners who could advise on specific illnesses or disabilities or provide medically related products such as spectacles, trusses or glass eyeballs. The greatest number of advertisements for books appeared between 1660 and 1665, followed by mass commercial disruption as the result of the plague of 1665 and the Great Fire of 1666. As Samuel Pepys reported on 26 September 1666: I hear the great loss of books in St. Paul’s churchyard, and at their [Stationers’ Company] hall also – which they value at about 150000 [pounds]; some booksellers being wholly undone.21

In fact, annual book production fell back to pre-Civil War levels between 1666 and 1667, and only began to recover after 1670.22 The evidence in almanacs suggests that as normality returned to the capital, supplies rose to the point where they could once again be advertised. Although the earliest advertisements for books provided information in the form of personal testimonials, such niceties had all but disappeared by the middle of the seventeenth century, and were replaced by short, succinct listings. It may be that this was partly a ploy to cut the space needed for advertisements for books to a minimum. Some titles, such as A Treatise of the Scurvy by E. Maynwaringe (London, 1666), or A Treatise of Consumptions by T. Nedham (London, 1700) did not really require any further explanation.23 On the other hand, perhaps the Stationers’ Company simply wished to provide more room for praising the virtues of the large numbers of patent drugs that began to appear. PROPRIETARY DRUGS AND ALMANACS As previously mentioned, a large number of proprietary medicines that were advertised in seventeenth-century almanacs became so successful that they survived into the next century or even longer. The majority of drugs appear to have been based on Galenic principles, although there are some cases where Paracelsian chemical ingredients were also used. Most worked by ‘disburdening’ the body of ‘corrupt and superfluous’ matter, a familiar procedure to people already used to treatments that would purge the body of ‘naughty and superfluous humours’.24 Although there were many different methods of flushing the system through urine, faeces, blood, vomit, sweat or spittle, the most heavily advertised nostrums acted as diuretics or ‘by Stool’.25 In general, this meant that patients would be required to remain at home for some time until the medicine worked through their system, although some claimed to

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Structures of practice and knowledge begin to work in ‘less than an hour’ and that they would ‘cleane and scour the Body . . . of all foul, gross and vicious Humours’ in the span of three or four hours.26 The longest-surviving nostrum was called Daffy’s Elixir, which was invented around 1660, and thrived until at least the 1920s.27 The 1674 edition of the booklet that accompanied this cordial drink promised that it could cure a host of diseases, ranging from the gout, through to ‘languishing and melancholy, scurvy, dropsy and fits of the Mother’.28 It is somewhat surprising that the elixir only appears in two advertisements in almanacs in 1688 and 1689, and again in two of the handbills found at the British Library.29 Perhaps Daffy’s was so popular by that point that personal recommendations were just as effective as advertising. In any case, the success of Daffy’s Elixir cannot be doubted, because it was still in demand in the 1870s, as the recipe from a popular medical book illustrates: Senna leaves, 5 ounces; Guaiacum shavings, dried Elecampane Root, Aniseeds, Corianders, Caraways, and Liquorice Root, and according to some, red Sanders wood, of each 21⁄2 ounces; stoned Raisins, 8 ounces; Proof Spirit, 6 pounds: macerated for a fortnight and filter[ed].30

There were a range of other ‘brand names’ that were regularly advertised in almanacs, often for decades. Different types of ‘Spirits of Scurvy Grass’ were one of the most heavily advertised products in seventeenth-century almanacs. Many were probably based on recipes that had long been produced at home, either from the English variety, which grew by the sea, or the Dutch, which was said to be ‘frequent in gardens’.31 The most heavily advertised brands included Clarke’s Scurvy Compound, Pordage’s Scurvy Grass and Parker’s Elixir of Scurvy Grass, each of which claimed to be the only ‘true spirit of scurvy grass’.32 The product most frequently advertised in almanacs, however was that made by Robert Bateman, which appeared 151 times between 1680 and 1700. The popularity of Bateman’s Scurvy Grass can be seen through the numerous attempts to counterfeit it. Robert Bateman attempted to protect his invention by sealing the bottles with his ‘Coate of Armes, the Half Moon and Ermins’. He also provided information on where Bateman’s could be purchased. These included twenty-six outlets in London, including inns such as the ‘Kings Armes in the Poultrey’, booksellers in Leadenhall Street, a cheesemonger’s in Clare Market and a haberdasher near Bishopsgate.33 His failure to prevent counterfeits is clear from his scathing attacks on the ‘Whiffling Emperick’ who called himself ‘Sieur de Verantes’, who donned ‘this Outlandish Mask to counterfeit my Spirits’, and on ‘the late pretenders’ who were attempting to cheat Bateman’s loyal customers, impostors including the almanac writer Joseph Blagrave, who was ‘not content to have counterfeited my Spirits of Scurvey-grass, [but] impudently pretends himself the author’.34

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Advertising and almanacs Bateman appeared, however, to be the final winner, as ‘Bateman’s Scurvy Grass’ continued to be marketed for many years after his death, through his ‘sole Executrix’.35 Although it is not known when Bateman died, it is clear that ‘Bateman’ had become a household name by the final decades of the seventeenth century. By 1690, there was no disputing his mortality, as Bateman’s Scurvy Grass was openly: ‘now prepared but at the house he lately dwelt in, in St. Paul’s Lane, London, nor Sold by any but such as have it from thence’.36 It may even be that the Georgian ‘Bateman’s Pectoral Drops’ had evolved from the original Bateman’s, although it might simply have been an effort to capitalize on a well-known brand name.37 Another heavily advertised proprietary medicine was Buckworth’s Lozenges, which appeared in almanacs a total of sixty-four times, between 1656 and 1700. Interestingly, the longer that the product was advertised, the more illnesses it claimed to be able to treat. An advertisement from 1657 promised that ‘Excellent Lozenges, or Pectrals approved of for the cure of all diseases of the Lungs, and a great antidote against the Plague, are made by Mr Edmund Buckworth at his house’.38 Two years later, the claims had grown to include ‘the cure of Consumptions, Coughs, Catharrs, Astma’s, Hoarsnesse and all other Diseases incident to the Lungs, and a soveraign Antidote against the Plague, and all other contagious Diseases, and obstructions of the stomach.’39 For some reason, however, in the year following the great plague of 1665, Buckworth’s Lozenges were not advertised at all, perhaps because they were in fact ineffective when put to the test of an epidemic. Buckworth presumably died sometime before the 1680s, when James Shipton began to manufacture the pills under what became a well-known brand name.40 Buckworth’s continued to enjoy success under Shipton, having gained the stamp of success from the ‘Chief Physicians of the Colledge [Royal College of Physicians]’ by 1697.41 The ongoing popularity of such concoctions suggests that either they were actually effective, or else that their publicity was managing to convince people that they were. Perhaps the high percentage of alcohol or opiates in many products made people forget their troubles.42 In other cases, the placebo effect may have been at work. If people believed that their medications would work, the remedies may actually have done so.43 Of course, proprietary drugs were not the only form of medication available to sick people. Therefore, other variables would have come into play to help justify their purchase. Many products probably sold on the strength of the producer’s reputation, or the testimonials from their satisfied clients. William Sermon was one such doctor, who gained his reputation by treating plague victims in Gloucester in 1666. Sermon was stricken by the disease himself in 1669, and his impressive survival led to his being asked to heal George Monck, Duke of Albermarle. Monck’s subsequent recovery led to the king awarding

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Structures of practice and knowledge Sermon a mandated MD from Cambridge.44 In 1671, Sermon, now ‘Doctor of Physick and one of his Majesties Phisicians in Ordinary’ began to advertise that although Monck was no longer living, Sermon’s potion had saved him, as well as ‘many hundreds beside’.45 By purchasing these drugs, readers were obtaining a medicine that in theory should always contain the same unadulterated ingredients in identical amounts. The two main ways in which purchasers could be sure of obtaining the real thing were through a mixture of package design, and distribution points. As modern marketing methods continue to demonstrate, the presentation of a product can add to its perceived value. Many almanac writers followed Bateman’s example by using their seal for decoration, and to show that the product had not been tampered with. Such methods were intended ‘to prevent the Designs of some Pretenders, who sell about the City their Counterfeit ware, to the disparagement of the said Gentleman, and the Great abuse of the people’.46 However, as William Salmon angrily noted, there was no guarantee that products would not be reproduced: Whereas one Hollier Publishes and pretends to sell Salmon’s Family Pills, he assumes my Name, Effigies and Seal, doing so without my Privilege, Allowance, Order or Consent (to my great Prejudice and Damages).47

Many advertisements promised that the new patent drugs were also more economical than older remedies. Although sold in relatively large quantities, it was claimed that a proprietary medication ‘will retain its Vertues several Years’.48 Many nostrums also claimed to be suitable for treating a host of different symptoms. This meant that readers would be prepared for a host of medical emergencies. In 1672, readers were offered the chance to buy ‘pills against all diseases’. These were called ‘Pilu Alnomenes Morbos’, and were sold by the small bottle or in a larger box. The former cost three shillings, and the latter (holding eighty pills) cost six shillings.49 This advertisement does not specify how many pills were to be taken at a time, or how often. However, other patent pills advised readers to ‘use discretion in the Dose, and take as the Body can bear, or Disease require them.’50 Another recommended that they could be administered up to four times daily, down to once every third or fourth day.51 Such diverse statements make it difficult to compare the cost of such remedies with non-proprietary drugs. It is possible that proprietary drugs that were made in large quantities would be cheaper than individually prepared prescriptions. However, home-made medicines would have been more economical than either of these. In many cases, this appeared to have been true even when individual ingredients had to be purchased. For example, according to Gideon Harvey’s, The Family-Physician and the House-Apothecary, ‘Aqua Epidemica, or the London Plague-Water’ was sold by apothecaries for between

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Advertising and almanacs 3s 6d and 4s 6d a pint. If made at home, the total cost would have come to 7d a pint.52 Of course, special prescriptions prepared by an apothecary would have been even more expensive. In the 1670s, the Earl of Bedford’s servants were given drugs prepared by a local apothecary. These items also appear rather expensive, at three shillings for just three doses of cordial pills or cordial juleps. A box of stomach pills also cost three shillings, and a box of purging pills was only slightly cheaper at two shillings.53 DISTRIBUTION Keith Thomas has suggested that there were three overlapping spheres of commercial activity in early modern England. The first involved what he referred to as small-scale dealing or even ‘quasi-commercial’ trading between inhabitants of specific neighbourhoods or areas. This was followed by rural–urban or inter-urban trading focusing on food and other raw materials. The third sphere involved the relationship between market towns and the surrounding areas and the distribution of food, raw materials, manufactured goods and luxury items.54 This model is supported by the advertisements in almanacs, which represent local, provincial and even national trading networks. Prospective purchasers were offered a large variety of options, ranging from visiting a London shop, to ordering drugs through the post or visiting a local retailer.55 The proprietary drugs advertised in almanacs all appear to have been produced in London, generally from the manufacturer’s home. Some drugs appear to have been produced on a very small scale, as they were only available from the producer’s home.56 As production levels increased, the products would be made available via a wider chain of distribution. For example, ‘Welden’s Balsamick Spirit’ could be purchased either at Welden’s lodgings in ‘LambartStreet in Goodman’s Fields’ or at Mr R. Collin’s house ‘at the Bell in St. Joan’sCourt, in Clerkenwell Parish’.57 Potential profits would clearly increase if sufficient quantities could be produced and distributed on a national basis. In his early advertising, Edmund Buckworth noted that his lozenges were only available at his house ‘in the great Piazza in Convent-garden’ and ‘for more convenience to those that live remote in the City’ from ‘Mr Richard Lownds, a Bookseller, at the White Lyon in St Pauls Churchyard, near the little North door’.58 As Buckworth became more successful, his proprietary drugs became available from a range of other ‘temporary’ or ‘permanent’ retail outlets. The term ‘temporary’ outlet includes a range of travelling salespeople such as ‘hawkers’, ‘pedlars’ or ‘petti-chapmen’, who offered ‘small Wares and commodities’ advertised either ‘by crying it in Cities and Market Towns or by offering them from door to door all about the Countrey’.59 Such people also often visited fairs and markets (the most traditional forum for purchasing consumer

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Structures of practice and knowledge goods), which became important distribution points for nostrums.60 Many almanacs provided notices of the dates of other fairs, both to help ensure that potential customers and travelling salespeople would not appear at a venue either ‘too soone’ or ‘when it is doone’. 61 Some editions even informed readers about the availability of proprietary drugs, such as the advertisement from 1688 that promised that Buckworth’s Lozenges would be available at four fairs at Weldon, Northamptonshire, on the first Wednesday in February, May, August and September.62 Markets, on the other hand, were a weekly occurrence, which required regular visits by both sellers and buyers of animals, produce and other goods, including proprietary medicines. Until fairly recently, it was widely accepted that the nationwide distribution of consumer goods was an eighteenth-century phenomenon linked to improvements in road conditions; more navigable rivers; the construction of canals; and the emergence of a nationwide carrier system. Nancy Cox and others, however, have argued that it was ‘fixed’ shops in provincial towns and villages that had the greatest impact on early modern consumer growth, and have illustrated that early modern population growth was linked to the earlier ‘intensification of internal trade of all kinds’.63 By the early seventeenth century, the linkage of all towns on the main highways to the branch services meant that there were regular services (daily, weekly, and every two and three weeks) for goods, passengers and letters between London and a wide range of provincial towns, including Wakefield, Preston, Halifax, Chester, Reading, Oxford, Cambridge, Salisbury, Leicester and Exeter. By 1637, over 200 towns had at least a weekly service to and from London. Small packages containing proprietary medicines would have been easy and fairly cheap to transport to the growing numbers of retail shops found in both large and small market-towns, most of which began to stock a range of wares by the middle of the century.64 One contemporary writer even claimed that by the end of the seventeenth century every village of ten or more houses had at least one shop which often carried ‘as many substantial Commodities as any do that live in Cities and Market Towns’.65 Advertisements in almanacs show that the stock of many of these provincial shops would have included proprietary drugs. Woodward’s Pills, for example, could be purchased from grocers in two different towns, a coach-harness maker, a girt web maker, a baker and a nurse.66 The same held true for Russell’s Spirit of Scurvy Grass, found at ‘his House at the Blew Posts against Grays-Inn, Holborn, and in most great market Towns’, while John Piercy’s lozenges for the cure of ‘Consumptions, Coughs, Catarrhs, Astmaes, Tiffick, Colds old and new’ were sold in Exeter, Norwich, Yarmouth, Worcester, Bristol, Oxford, Bury St Edmunds and Lincoln.67 Many of these same great provincial cities were stocked with ‘Stoughton’s Elixir Magnum’, whose creator boasted that his medicine was also ‘much enquired after and approved of beyond sea, especially in our

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Advertising and almanacs plantations abroad’. Stoughton also assured readers that he had sufficient stock to supply: Any Captain or Seaman, Bookseller, stationer, shop keeper, coffee-man and any keeper of a Publick House, wants any quantities to dispose of, or sell again, they may be Furnished (with good Allowance) by Letter or otherwise.68

Although Peter Isaac has suggested that the book trade was ‘perhaps the most important distribution network for proprietary medicines in the late seventeenth century, the evidence in almanacs shows that drinking houses were an even more common outlet.69 ‘Drinking houses’, such as alehouses, taverns or inns, were known not only for being centres for business and social activities, but also as retailers for tobacco and pre-packaged nostrums. According to one popular medical book, ‘Taverns, Inns, Ale houses [and] victuallers’ were the best places to purchase tobacco, which could either be taken as snuff, smoked or made into a potion that could help to ‘avoid Rhume, break winde, and keep the body open’.70 ‘The Elixir Proprietatis’, for example, could only be purchased from one of nine London pubs or a single stationer’s shop, while Lancelot Coelson’s suppliers included three pubs and a ‘strong water house’ (selling hard liquor as opposed to only beer, ale and wine) in Wapping, West Smithfield, Spittlefields and the Royal Exchange.71 Dr Turner’s famous Dentifrices, ‘which make the breath sweet, fasten the teeth, making them as white as Ivory, and cure the tooth-ach, are sold by Thomas Tooks at the Lamb at the East end of St. Pauls’, who also offered ‘the best Ink for Records’ and ‘copie-books’. As the craze for coffee swept England in the 1650s and 1660s, an increasing number of coffeehouses opened in the capital and became increasingly popular as social and business venues.72 Coffeehouses were also well represented as vending outlets, including ‘Dukes’ in ‘Salsbury Court near Fleet Street’, as well as all ‘the Chief Coffeehouses’ in London.73 As with other types of drinking houses, they became known as suppliers of other types of consumer goods, such as tea or tobacco.74 Many also carried proprietary medicines, such as Dukes in Salisbury Square near Fleet Street, which carried Elizabeth Snart’s ‘Elixir Proprietatis’.75 The main distributor for John Partridge’s Elixir Stomachicum was a Mr Levingston, who was a fruiterer at the Royal Exchange, although it was also available for ‘the Chief Coffeehouses in and about London’ and three booksellers.76 The fact that so many drinking houses sold proprietary medicine does not, however, negate the important role that the printing industry played in the growth of commercialized medicine. In common with most other types of shops, stationers or booksellers generally carried a range of other products, such as pictures or mathematical instruments. Other stationers, such as Mr Richard Lownds at the White Lyon near the little door of St Paul’s Church,

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Structures of practice and knowledge actively promoted the availability of proprietary drugs at his shop.77 However, almanac advertisements show that such retailers were generally only one out of several possible places to purchase such medicines. Many advertisements also offered to supply medicines through the post. William Salmon, for example, suggested that ‘any one that sends to me for them may have them sent to them, in what part of the Kingdom soever.’78 Provincial customers could also ‘by engaging the Carriers who come from their respective Countreys, or some of their Friends in Town, to come to me for them’. Alternatively, readers could send an order to London, and obtain the drugs via the postal service.79 Some products were also shipped to the Americas, for example, Stephan Freeman’s pox medicine, which was available in ten different London locations, sixteen other British towns, Jamaica, Ireland and America80 The advertisements show that there were a myriad of ways for people to obtain proprietary medicine. None of these remedies, however, was marketed as being suitable for animals as well as humans. The earliest known, ‘fully descriptive printed catalogue of [commercial] animal remedies’ only appeared in 1692, with nostrums produced by Andrew Snape, who had been farrier to Charles II, and a Master of the Company of Farriers from 1674 to 1675.81 The ‘catalogue’ appears to have been a promotional piece, describing the virtues of ‘Purging Pill for Horses: With His Cordial Pouder and Ointments’, along with testimonials and praise for the products.82 The lack of advertisements in almanacs for such products probably relates to the fact that animal medicine and veterinary practitioners have always taken second place to human healthcare, a topic that will be touched upon in the following chapter.83 ADVERTISEMENTS FOR MEDICAL SERVICES AND APPLIANCES As Chapter Six discussed, many almanacs also carried advertisements for medical services, such as medical consultations linked to ‘the astrological judgment and practice of physick’.84 Daniel Woodward offered his readers both a consultation, and if necessary ‘Lodging, Medicines and Attendance in my house, ’till well’.85 One of the most interesting types of medical services was advertised by Christopher Packe, ‘Chymist at the Globe and Furnaces in the Postern, by Moor-gate’. Although very few almanac writers included ‘chymical’ ingredients in their medical recipes, Packe promised to provide a free catalogue of ‘all sorts of chymical preparations . . . able to abide the most curious examens.’ The fact that these advertisements continued for over ten years suggests that Packe was attracting customers with similar views to his own.86 In his translation of ‘The works of the highly experienced and famous chymist, John Rudolph Glauber’, Packe stated that chemical preparations were:

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Advertising and almanacs endow’d with such virtue as have not been (at least in that degree) met with, in the usual Medicines, whether Simple or Compound to be bought in Apothecarys [sic] shops.87

Other advertisements were for more traditional healers with special talents for treating specific diseases. The widow Sarah Matthews, for example, claimed that she could rectify hunched-backs. She was willing to treat any child under sixteen years old. Her method included setting them ‘once a Month in a Mathematical Chair, where they are exactly measured’ and eventually cured.88 Unfortunately, it has proved impossible to find any supporting evidence that this was actually the case. There were also a number of advertisements for what might be called ‘medical appliances’. These included one for false teeth, seventeen for artificial eyeballs and the same number for spectacles. John Wads offered to produce and ‘set in’ authentic-looking artificial teeth. He boasted that they were so ‘exact that they may be eat upon, and not discovered by the nicest Observor’.89 William Boyse claimed that he made a product ‘the like was never seen in England’. His speciality was making artificial eyeballs, which presumably sold well, as his advertisements appeared seventeen times between 1681 and 1698 in almanacs written by William Lilly, Henry Coley, John Partridge and William Turner.90 Help was also available for those who needed the services of a spectaclemaker rather than the attentions of Boyse. The use of spherical lenses, concave for short sight and convex for long sight, was fairly common in the second half of the seventeenth century. Unlike modern spectacles, they were constructed without hinged supports over the ears. Instead, they were meant to grip the nose, or to be made as a pince-nez that gripped by using a strong linking bar.91 John Yarwell promised to make ‘spectacles for most sights and ages.’ He claimed that these eyeglasses were ‘wrought to the greatest Perfection’ and that they had even been ‘approved of by the Royal Society’.92 John Marshall could not make that same claim, although he promised ‘very neat Leather Frames for Spectacles, which are not subject to break as Horn or Tortois Shell’.93 The most widely advertised type of medical appliances, however, were trusses. In an age when hard physical labour was the fate of many, it is probably not surprising that so many people would have suffered from such ‘ruptures’. In 1681 John Reeve boasted that he was so certain of success that payment would only be due two months after the patient was cured.94 In that same year, the widow of Rowland Pippin claimed that she was just as skilled in making trusses as her late son and husband had been.95 This was not an unusual boast, as it was not only common for women to carry on their late husband’s trade, but was in fact obligatory for them to see existing apprentices through their training, or to turn them over to another master.96

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Structures of practice and knowledge Advertisements for R. Collins, however, probably sounded the most promising, as he claimed to have cured a large number of patients – both in ‘Germany and other Countreys’.97 There were also a small number of advertisements for astrologically related products, which should be included in this category. After all, in order to carry out astrological computation it was necessary to have both books and ‘mathematicall instruments’. The earliest advertisement for such tools appeared in 1612, with Arthur Hopton’s offer to make them to order in brass. Ten years later, G. Gilden provided instructions on where his readers could purchase instruments made either in wood or copper. Although almanacs did not list prices for such devices, it is likely that they were fairly expensive, and that buyers would expect to use them for many years. The fact that advertisements for these items continued to appear regularly throughout the century suggests that the number of people interested in carrying out astrological calculations was enough to make the advertisements worthwhile.98 NON-MEDICAL PRODUCTS AND SERVICES The bulk of the non-medical advertisements in almanacs focused on printed books covering a range of topics – from dictionaries to religious diatribes. They generally appeared in fairly large numbers, although the fifty-two (twenty-seven of which were non-medical) in Lilly’s 1682 almanac are undoubtedly the largest collection.99 The advertisements were almost exclusively for non-fiction works, with the largest number being educational or instructional themes. There are also many references to historical works written in English, which were frequently advertised, possibly to supplement the ‘chronology’ (or brief history of the world) found in many almanacs. As discussed in Chapter Four, some topics, such as learning Latin or other foreign languages, were probably meant to target young students, or readers who aspired to upward social mobility. On the other hand, many library lists included dictionaries and grammars, as well as history books. For example, William Paget, fourth Lord Paget of Beaudesert (1572–1628), owned 335 history books, and a number of dictionaries, out of a total of over 1,500 works; while Secretary of State Sir Joseph Williamson (1663–1702) owned 236 dictionaries and grammar books, with histories making up an even bigger proportion of his estimated 6,000 books.100 Almanacs also included a range of advertisements for other products, many of which fell under the title of ‘stationary [sic] supplies’, such as ‘blank acquittances for the Fire-hearth-money’, ‘blank copie-books’ or ‘best black writing ink for Records’.101 The advertisements that give most pause for thought, however, are those which appear in the final years of the seventeenth century for ‘the finest, strongest, glazed or not glazed Gun-powder . . . which by the experience of several persons of Quality and others; hath outdone any other’.102

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Advertising and almanacs CONCLUSION Roy Porter was arguably the first major voice in the study of the growth of proprietary medicines in the early modern period. However, in common with a number of other academic works, his books and articles have tended to focus mainly on eighteenth-century newspaper advertising. In the past decade or so, a number of new studies have appeared which discuss the relationship between advertising and proprietary drugs in eighteenth-century England. Once again, these tend to use similar sources, although an increasing number are utilizing a collection of some 500 medical handbills at the British Library, which contain important information about medical practitioners and medicines.103 Unfortunately, such studies have failed to recognize the importance of the relationship between consumerism and advertising that began in the late sixteenth century.104 The major focus of these advertisements was on books, followed by proprietary medicines and other types of medical services and/or products. Prepackaged, brand drugs were a novel concept for people who had spent centuries either preparing potions at home, or having them made to order. The growing number of advertisements for branded commercial medicines illustrates the gradual erosion of traditional kitchen physick and other types of ‘non-commercial’ medicine, and supports Andrew Wear’s supposition that the greatest changes in medicine between the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries came from commercial rather than scientific developments.105 However, this is not to suggest that domestically produced medicines were ever totally replaced by commercial medicines. But it is important to demonstrate the beginnings of a movement that would result in overflowing eighteenth-century domestic medicine chests – so full that modern versions appear almost austere by comparison.106 It is also interesting to note the absence of advertisements for other types of domestic material culture generally linked to the ‘consumer revolution’, such as curtains, china and clocks, or staples such as food.107 The explanation for this might have more to say about the high cost of advertising than about the actual consumption of such goods. For example, it may not have been cost-effective to advertise ordinary (as opposed to luxury) goods in almanacs. Newspaper advertisements might be seen once or twice, but the long life-span of an individual almanac meant that a particular advertisement might be viewed a number of times over the course of a year. Therefore such advertisements were likely to have been cost-effective for items such as proprietary drugs, which were probably fairly cheap to produce and yet were sold at relatively high prices, but the same may not have held true for more utilitarian products. This chapter has argued that the continuing presence of advertisements for branded medicines implied that these remedies were successful. By

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Structures of practice and knowledge purchasing these products, readers were obtaining a medicine that, in theory, should always have contained the same unadulterated ingredients in identical amounts. The two main ways that consumers could be sure of obtaining the real thing were through package design, and distribution points. As modern marketing methods still demonstrate, the presentation of a product can add to its perceived value, not to mention its placebo effect.108 After all, a high percentage of alcohol or opiates in many products helped people to forget their troubles and, if people believed that their medications would work, then they may actually have done so.109 NOTES 111 G. Gadbury, 1666, sig. C8v. 112 For more information, see L. Hill Curth, ‘Introduction: perspectives on the evolution of the retailing of pharmaceuticals’ in L. Hill Curth (ed.) From Physick to Pharmacology: Five Hundred Years of British Drug Retailing (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 1–12. 113 J. Crellin and J.R. Scott, ‘Lionel Lockyer and his pills’, Proceedings of the XXIII International Congress of the History of Medicine, 2 vols (London, 1972), 1182–1186; P.S. Brown, ‘Medicine advertising in eighteenth-century Bath newspapers’, Medical History, 20 (1976), 152–168; J. Barry, ‘Publicity and the public good: presenting medicine in eighteenth century Bristol’ in W. Bynum and R. Porter (eds) Medical Fringe and Medical Orthodoxy 1750–1850 (Beckenham, Kent, 1987), pp. 29–39; P. Crawford, ‘Printed advertisements for women medical practitioners in London 1670–1710’, Society for the Social History of Medicine Bulletin, 25 (1984), 66–70; B.B. Elliott, A History of English Advertising (London, 1962), p. 24; and E. Lane Furdell, ‘Grub Street commerce : advertisements and politics in the early modern press’, The Historian, 63 (2000), pp. 35–52. 114 M. Harris, ‘Timely notices: the uses of advertising and its relationship to news during the late seventeenth century’ in J. Raymond (ed.) News, Newspapers and Society in Early Modern Britain (London, 1999), p. 142; R. Porter, Health for Sale (1989); R. Porter and D. Porter, ‘The rise of the English drugs industry: the role of Thomas Corbyn’, Medical History, 33 (1989), 277–295; F. Doherty, ‘The anodyne necklace: a quack remedy and its promotion’, Medical History, 34 (1990), 286–293; P. Voss, ‘Books for sale: advertising and patronage in Elizabethan England’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 29 (1998), 733–757; R.B. Walker, ‘Advertising in London newspapers, 1650–1750’, Business History, 15 (1975), p. 113; P. Isaac, ‘Pills and print’ in R. Harris and M. Myers (eds) Medicine, Mortality and the Book Trade (London, 1998), pp. 25–49; L.F. Cody, ‘ “No cure, no money” or the invisible hand of quackery’, Studies in Eighteenth Century Culture, 28 (1999), 103–130; E.L. Furdell, Publishing and Medicine in Early Modern England (2002), especially pp. 134–154; K.P. Siena, Venereal Disease, Hospitals and the Urban Poor: London’s ‘Foul Wards’, 1600–1800 (Rochester, NY, 2004), especially pp. 41–59 and BL 551.A32 and BL C.112.f9. 115 N. McKendrick, ‘The consumer revolution of eighteenth-century England’ in N. McKendrick, J. Brewer and J.H. Plumb (eds) The Birth of a Consumer Society: The Commercialization of Eighteenth Century England (Bloomington, IN, 1982), p. 9; R. Porter, ‘Consumption: disease of the consumer society?’ in J. Brewer and R. Porter (eds) Consumption and the World of Goods (London, 1993), pp. 58–79; and J. DeVries,

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Advertising and almanacs ‘Between purchasing power and the world of goods: understanding the household economy in early modern Europe’ in P. Sharpe (ed.) Women’s Work: The English Experience 1650–1914 (London, 1998), pp. 209–239. 116 D. Davis, A History of Shopping (London, 1966), p. 181; H.-C. Mui and L. Mui, Shops and Shopkeeping in Eighteenth-Century England (London, 1989), p. 12; P. Glanville, ‘The City of London’ in The Cambridge Cultural History, Vol. IV (Cambridge, UK, 1992), p. 169; C.Y. Ferdinand, ‘Selling it to the provinces: news and commerce round eighteenthcentury Salisbury’ in J. Brewer and R. Porter (eds) Consumption (London, 1993), p. 394; L. Fontaine, History of Pedlars in Europe (Durham, NC, 1996), pp. 186–188; M. Berg, ‘New commodities, luxuries and their consumers in eighteenth-century England’ in M. Berg and H. Clifford (eds) Consumers and Luxury: Consumer Culture in Europe 1650–1850 (Manchester, 1999), pp. 63–87; N. Cox, The Complete Tradesman: A Study of Retailing 1550–1820 (Aldershot, 2000), p. 3; and K. Wrightson, Earthly Necessities: Economic Lives in Early Modern Britain 1450–1750 (London, 2002), p. 248. 117 R. Porter, ‘Consumption: disease of the consumer society?’ in J. Brewer and R. Porter (eds) Consumption and the World of Goods (London, 1993), p. 69; J. Brewer and R. Porter, Health for Sale: Quackery in England 1660–1850 (Manchester, 1989), p. 90; and R. Porter, ‘The people’s health in Georgian England’ in T. Harris (ed.) Popular Culture in England c.1500–1800 (London, 1995), pp. 124–135. 118 R. Cust, ‘News and politics in early seventeenth-century England’ in R. Cust and A. Hughes (eds) The English Civil War (London, 1997), p. 234; J. Frank, The Beginnings of the English Newspaper 1620–1660 (Cambridge, UK, 1961), pp. 155 and 172; M. Harris, ‘Timely notices: the uses of advertising and its relationship to news during the late seventeenth century’ in J. Raymond (ed.) News, Newspapers and Society in Early Modern Britain (London, 1999), p. 141; and J. Raymond, ‘The newspaper, public opinion, and the public sphere’ in J. Raymond (ed.) News, Newspapers, and Society in Early Modern Britain (London, 1999), p. 129. 119 The Publick Adviser, 14, 17 August to 24 August 1657, sig. A1r. 110 The London Gazette, Thursday 4 November to Monday 8 November 1675, No. 1040; R.B. Walker, ‘Advertising in London newspapers, 1650–1750’, Business History, XV (1973), p. 113; and J. Sutherland, The Restoration Newspaper and Its Development (Cambridge, UK, 1986), p. 84. 111 J. Black, The English Press 1621–1681 (Stroud, 2001), p. 18. 112 P. Borsay, ‘The culture of improvement’ in P. Longford (ed.) The Eighteenth Century: 1688–1815 (Oxford, 2002), pp. 183–204; and H. Barker, Newspapers, Politics and English Society 1695–1855 (London, 2000), p. 28. 113 E. Bosanquet, ‘English seventeenth-century almanacks’, The Library, Fourth Series, 10 (March, 1930), 361–382; Hopton, 1611, sig. B2r and 1610, sig. B2r. 114 L. Digges, 1592, sig. A2v; R. Westhawe, 1594, sig. B2v; T.A. Hopton, 1610), sig. B2r; Bretnor, 1618, sig. D8v; and J. Booker, 1647, sig. A2r. 115 R. Allestree, 1626–36, sig. C8r; D. Browne, 1627–28, sig. C8v; J. Vaux, 1627, sig. C8v; W. Dade, 1627, 1628, 1630, 1633–38, sig. C8r; J. Evans, 1629, sig. C8v; G. Gilden, 1630–31, sig. C8v; J. Wilson, 1633, sig. C8v; J. Neve, 1638–39, sig. C8v; E. Fallows, 1639, sig. C8v; and J. Booker, 1640. 116 T. Bretnor, 1615, sig. A1v; and D. Browne, 1624, sig. C2v. 117 R. Finlay and B. Shearer, ‘Population growth and suburban expansion’ in L. Beier and

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Structures of practice and knowledge R. Finlay, London 1500–1700: The Making of the Metropolis (London, 1986), pp. 37–59. 118 S. Inwood, A History of London (Basingstoke, 1998), pp. 154–155. 119 E. McKellar, The Birth of Modern London: The Development and Design of the City 1680–1720 (Manchester, 1999), p. 143. 120 B. Manning, The English People and the English Revolution (London, 1991), p. 173; and T. Raylor, ‘Samuel Hartlib and the commonwealth of bees’ in M. Taylor and R.T. Taylor (eds) Culture and Cultivation in Early Modern England: Writing and the Land (Leicester, 1992), p. 94. 121 S. Pepys, The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Vol. VII, eds R.C. Latham and W. Matthews (London, 1983), p. 297. 122 G. Mandelbrote, ‘Workplaces and living spaces: London book trade inventories of the late seventeenth century’ in R. Myers, M. Harris and G. Mandelbrote (eds) The London Book Trade: Topographies of Print in the Metropolis from the Sixteenth Century (London, 2003), pp. 24–25. 123 J. Gadbury, 1668, sig. C7r. 124 R. Allestree, 1640, sig. C5r. 125 H. Nendick, A Book of Directions and Cures done by that Safe and Successful Medicine called Nendick’s Pills (London, c.1677), sig. A1r. 126 J. Whalley, Directions for the Use, p. 1. 127 C.J.S. Thompson, The Quacks, p. 255. 128 A. Daffy, Elixir Salutis: The Choise Drink of Health or, Health-bringing Drink (London, 1674), sig. A1r and pp. 1–6. 129 H. Coley, 1687 and 1688, sig. C5r and BL C112, numbers 170 and 171. 130 A Dispensary Surgeon, The Family Doctor (London, c.1870), pp. 179–180. 131 Nicholas Culpeper, Complete Herbal, pp. 238–239. 132 T. Gallen, 1683, sig. C8v; H. Coley, 1687, sig. C8v; and G. Parker, 1694, sig. E8r. 133 BL C112, advertisement number 54. 134 L. Coelson, 1686, sig. C8r; BL C112 advertisement 83; and C.J.S. Thompson, The Quacks of Old London (London, 1928), p. 176. 135 W. Andrews, 1700, sig. C8v. 136 Fly, 1690, sig. C8r. 137 J. Brewer and R. Porter, Health for Sale, p. 45. 138 J. Booker, 1657, sig. B8v. 139 G. Johnson, 1659, p. 20. 140 H. Coley, 1687, sig. C5v. 141 H. Coley, 1697, sig. C8v. 142 D. Porter and R. Porter, Patient’s Progress: Doctors and Doctoring in Eighteenth-Century England (Oxford, 1989) p. 24. 143 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1971; reprinted 1991), pp. 248–249. 144 H. Cook, The Decline of the Old Medical Regime in Stuart London (London, 1986).

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Advertising and almanacs 145 J. Gadbury, 1671, sig. C8v. 146 M. Crimp, The Market Research Process (London, 1990), p. 4; W. Andrews, 1670, sig. C8v; J. Partridge, 1681, sig. C8v; H. Coley, 1697, sig. C8v; and G. Wharton, 1656, sig. C8r. 147 W. Salmon, 1696, sig. A3v. 148 D. Woodward, 1690, sig. C6v. 149 J. Gadbury, 1672, sig. C8r. 150 D. Woodward, Woodward’s Cordial Pills, Amicus Naturae. An Advertisement of Woodward’s Cordial Pills (London, c.1690), p. 3. 151 J. Whalley, Directions for the use of Whalley’s Pills and Elixir (Dublin, 1710), p. 4. 152 G. Harvey, The Family-Physician and the House-Apothecary (London, 1678), p. 19. 153 G. Thomson, Life in a Noble Household 1641–1700 (London, 1937), pp. 313–314. 154 K. Wrightson, Earthly Necessities: Economic Lives in Early Modern Britain, 1450–1750 (London, 2002), pp. 93–98. 155 L. Hill Curth, ‘The commercialisation of medicine in the popular press: English almanacs 1640–1700’, The Seventeenth Century, 17 (Spring, 2002), pp. 48–69. 156 J. Partridge, 1686, sig. C8r; and S. Rider, 1689, sig. B8r. 157 M. Hobbs, 1693, sig. C8r. 158 J. Johnson, 1659, p. 20. 159 N.H. The compleat tradesman, or, the exact dealers [sic] daily companion (London, 1684), p. 44. 160 M. Spufford, Small Books and Pleasant Histories: Popular Fiction and Its Readership in Seventeenth-Century England (Cambridge, UK, 1981), p. 115; R.A. Houston, Literacy in Early Modern England (London, 1988), p. 172; J.A. Sharpe, Early Modern England: A Social History 1550–1750 (London, 1992), pp. 141–142; J. Tanner, 1678, sig. C8r; T. White, 1685, sig. C8v; and W. Dade, 1685, sig. C8v. 161 Anon., An Answer to the Pretended Reasons of some Drapers, Mercers, Haberdashers, Grocers and Hosier, &c against Pedlars, Hawkers & Petty-Chapmen (London, 1675), sig. A1v; and H. Alleyn, 1607, sig. C8v. 162 W. Andrews, 1688, sig. C8v. 163 N. Cox, The Complete Tradesman: A Study of Retailing 1550–1820 (Aldershot, 2000), p. 59; H.C. Mui and L. Mui, Shops and Shopkeeping in Eighteenth-Century England (Basingstoke, 1989), p. 12; and K. Wrightson, Earthly Necessities, p. 93. 164 E. Kerridge, Trade and Banking in Early Modern England (Manchester, 1988), p. 9; C. Shammas, The Pre-Industrial Consumer in England and America (Oxford, 1990), p. 235; and N. Cox, ‘The distribution of retailing tradesmen in North Shropshire 1660–1750’ in J. Benson and G. Shaw (eds) The Retailing Industry (London, 1999), p. 322. 165 N.H. The compleat tradesman, p. 39. 166 D. Woodward, 1685, sig. C8v. 167 J. Bowker, 1684, sig. C8v; J. Tanner, 1694, sig. C8v; and G. Wharton, 1665, sig. C8v. 168 BL 551.A32, number 60. 169 P. Isaac, ‘Pills and print’, pp. 25–49.

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Structures of practice and knowledge 170 G. Everard, Panacea: or, The Universal medicine, Being a Discovery of the Wonderfull Vertues of Tobacco (London, 1659), sig. A3r; K. Digbie, The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digbie Knight Opened (London, 1669), p. 208; and W. Rumsey, Organon salutis. An instrument to cleanse the stomach (London, 1659), sig. B3v. 171 W. Lilly, 1670, sig. F7v; and L. Coelson, 1680, sig. C8v. 172 Anon., The Character of a Coffeehouse with the symptoms of a town-wit (London, 1673), sig. A2r. 173 W. Lilly, 1670, sig. F7v; L. Coelson, 1680, sig. C8v; J. Gadbury, 1684, sig. A2r; and J. Partridge, 1696, sig. C4v. 174 W.D. Smith, Consumption and the Making of Respectability, 1600–1800 (London, 2002), p. 146. 175 L. Coelson, 1680, sig. C8v; W. Lilly, 1670, sig. F7v; L. Coelson, 1680, sig. C8v; and J. Gadbury, 1684, sig.A2r. 176 J. Partridge, 1696, sig. C8v. 177 A. Johns, The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making (Chicago, 1998); S. Jinner, 1659, sig. C8v; and W. Lilly, 1670, sig. F8r. 178 V. Wing, 1672, sig. C8v; and W. Salmon, 1692, sig. B8r. 179 J. Partridge, 1686, sig. C8r; S. Rider, 1689, sig. B8r; V. Wing, 1672, sig. C8v; W. Salmon, 1692, sig. B8r; N. Comben, ‘Snape’s purging pill for horses – 1692’, The Veterinary Record, 84 (1969), p. 434; and P. Brassley, A. Lambert and P. Saunders, Accounts of the Reverend John Crankanthorp of Fowlmere 1682–1710 (Cambridge, UK, 1988), p. 215. 180 K. Siena, Venereal Disease, Hospitals and the Urban Poor: London’s ‘Foul wards’ 1600–1800 (Rochester, NY, 2004), p. 48. 181 L. Prince, The Farrier and His Craft: The History of the Worshipful Company of Farriers (London, 1980), p. 90; and F. Smith, The Early History of Veterinary Literature and Its British Development, Vol. I (London, 1919), p. 334. 182 N. Comben, ‘Snape’s purging pill’, pp. 434–435. 183 L. Wilkinson, Animals and Disease: An Introduction to the History of Comparative Medicine (Cambridge, UK, 1992), p. 10. 184 R. Saunders, 1678, sig. C8v. 185 D. Woodward, 1698, sig. C8v. 186 See, for example, H. Coley, 1677–79, 1682–85, 1690–91, sig. C8r; and J. Tanner, 1685–87, sig. C8v. 187 J.R. Glauber, The works of the highly experienced and famous chymist John Rudolph Glauber, trans. C. Packe (London, 1689), sig. A4v. 188 H. Coley, 1686, sig. C8r. 189 G. Parker, 1700, sig. A3r. 190 S. Rider, 1696, sig. A2v. 191 S. Pepys, The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Vol. VIII, eds R. Latham and W. Matthews (London, 1974), p. 486; and J. Dreyfus, ‘The invention of spectacles and the advent of printing’, The Library, Sixth Series, 10 (1988), p. 97. 192 G. Parker, 1697, sig. E8r.

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Advertising and almanacs 193 W. Andrews, 1698, sig. C8v. 194 J. Woodhouse, 1679, sig. C8v. 195 R. Saunders, 1681, sig. C8v. 196 P. Earle, ‘The female labour market in London in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries’ in P. Sharpe (ed.) Women’s Work: The English Experience 1650–1914 (London, 1998), p. 131. 197 H. Hills, 1684, sig. B4r; and J. Partridge, 1684, sig. C7v. 198 A. Hopton, 1612, sig. C2v; G. Gilden, 1622, sig. B2r; J. Booker, 1652, sig. C8v; J. Gadbury, 1688, sig. C1r; and F. Perkins, 1694, sig. C8v. 199 W. Lilly, 1682. 100 T.A. Birrell, ‘Reading as pastime: the place of light literature in some gentlemen’s libraries of the seventeenth century’ in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) Property of a Gentleman: The Formation, Organisation and Dispersal of the Private Library 1620–1920 (Winchester, 1991), pp. 113–132. 101 J. Tanner, 1663, sig. C7r; J. Gadbury, 1665, sig. C8v; R. Saunders, 1697, sig. C8r; and J. Gadbury, 1668, sig. C1r. 102 Poor Robin, 1697; R. Saunders, 1697, 1700; W. Andrews, 1700, sig. C8v, T. Fowle, 1700; and Turner, 1700, sig. C8v. 103 P. Isaac, ‘Pills and print’, pp. 25–49; L.F. Cody, ‘ “No cure, no money” or the invisible hand of quackery’, Studies in Eighteenth Century Culture, 28 (1999), pp. 103–130; E.L. Furdell, Publishing and Medicine, especially pp. 134–154; K.P. Siena, Venereal Disease Hospitals and the Urban Poor, especially pp. 41–59; BL 551.A32; and BL C.112.f9. 104 E.F. Bosanquet, ‘English seventeenth-century almanacks’, The Library, Fourth Series, 10 (March, 1930), 361–382; and R. Westhawe, 1594, sig. B3r. 105 A. Wear, ‘Medical practice in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century England: continuity and union’ in R. French and A. Wear (eds) The Medical Revolution of the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1989), p. 319. 106 R. Porter, ‘The patient in England, c.1660–c.1800’ in A. Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society (Cambridge, UK, 1992), pp. 91–118. 107 C. Shammas, The Pre-Industrial Consumer in England and America (Oxford, 1990), pp. 157–194. 108 M. Crimp, The Market Research Process, p. 4. 109 D. Porter and R. Porter, Patient’s Progress, p. 24; and K. Thomas, Religion, pp. 248–249.

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Chapter 10

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‘The care of the brute beast’: almanacs and medicine for animals

God would have you make a distinction or difference betweene him and his creatures, or second causes, especially in matters concerning the government of the world, first the creatures are bound one to further the safety one of another, because God hath so commanded.1

T

his chapter will focus on the history of veterinary medicine, long considered by historians to be the ‘poor relative’ of human medicine. As Roy Porter noted over a decade ago, for many academics the very term ‘medical historian’ is synonymous with someone who studies human medicine.2 This is not to suggest that works on the history of veterinary medicine do not exist. On the contrary, there have been a number of books published on this subject over the last thirty or forty years.3 Unfortunately, most infer that the starting point for study should be the founding of the London Veterinary College in 1791. What might be called the ‘pre-veterinary’ period is either excluded or consists of commonplaces based on the portrayal of animals as being treated by ignorant, one-dimensional and even dangerous quacks.4 Even a superficial reading of early modern texts shows that such conclusions are nonsensical. There were, in fact, a variety of animal healers, offering a system of preventative and remedial medicine based on the same underlying principles as those found in human health-care. The failure to recognize this system is undoubtedly due to the fact that although the great medical discoveries and elite practitioners’ approach of the early twentieth century has been discarded when studying human medicine, it is still often applied to animal health-care.5 In order to provide a context for this discussion, the first section of this chapter will provide an overview of contemporary ‘professional’ and lay veterinary practitioners. As with human medicine, ‘domestic physick’ played a primary role in the care of sick animals. The second section will, therefore, focus on the types of advice and information provided on such matters in the

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Almanacs and medicine for animals husbandry or ‘self-help’ books. Veterinary advice in almanacs will be the focus of the third section, followed by concluding remarks about health-care for animals in early modern England. AN OVERVIEW OF CONTEMPORARY OPTIONS And God said Let us make man in our image, after our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.6

The concept that humans were the central figures and indeed the reason for the existence of the world was at the core of the belief systems of seventeenthcentury England. It was substantiated by numerous biblical references to the fact that animals had been put on earth to satisfy the needs of humankind, whether for labour, food, or scientific experiments.7 Although few would dispute the use of animals for work or food, there were many otherwise strong believers in an anthropocentric system who disagreed with vivisection. This did not have to do with concern for the creature involved, but rather the fear of negative effects on the morality or spirituality of the person carrying out the operation.8 Others, however, supported the Old Testament viewpoint that ‘A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.’9 This was clearly also the sentiment of the early American colonists who passed ‘The Body of Liberties . . . of the Brute Creature’ in 1641, which was the first modern law to protect animals. It included the ruling that ‘no man shall exercise any Tirrany or Crueltie towards any brute creature which are normally kept for mans [sic] use’ and argued that it was ‘lawful to rest or refresh them [cattel] for a competent time, in any open place that is not Corne, meadow, or inclosed for some particular use’.10 Unfortunately, such legislation proved not to be forthcoming in England, even though public unease about animal experimentation had become fairly widespread by the end of the seventeenth century.11 The most common motivation for providing medical care for animals, however, was undoubtedly economic. Gregory King estimated that in 1696 there were four and a half million oxen of all ages living in England and Wales.12 It is not known how accurate this figure was, but it does illustrate the fact that there were vast numbers of animals requiring food, shelter and medical care. Animals were expensive to purchase, as well, with twenty ‘scotch runts’ (i.e. small cattle) costing forty-five pounds at a local fair in 1681. To feed these animals, a husbandman would need at least 50 acres of pasture. It could then take up to four years before they were large enough to be sold for slaughter.13 As one contemporary writer reminded his readers, animals were only a valuable commodity when fit and healthy, and ‘It shall be small profit to the husbandman to give his beast meat, and know not how to help & keep them in health & strength’.14

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Structures of practice and knowledge Early modern medical beliefs and practices for animals were based on the same Galenic–astrological principles used in human medicine, and as a result there were many similarities in the way in which their illnesses were diagnosed and treated. The most noticeable difference was that remedies for animals often called for cheaper components than those for humans. This included, for example, the use of beer or human urine instead of wine as a base for other ingredients, or the replacement of expensive spices with common herbs. It is also possible to see parallels between the make-up of ‘professional’ and lay-healers for humans and animals. These included the range of practitioners who referred to themselves as ‘physicians’ or ‘farriers’, regardless of whether they actually had the legal qualifications to do so. Other types of healers, who played a role similar to self-styled physicians or doctors, might refer to themselves as ‘leeches’ or ‘animal doctors’. However, as with human medicine, domestic physick was probably the most widely practised form of intervention, with large amounts of information widely available in the popular press.

farriers The original meaning of the word ‘farrier’ related to those involved in ‘trade conversant in the working of iron’, and can be traced back to the Latin ‘ferrarius’ or ‘ferrum’ – later shortened in Old French to ‘ferrier’. An alternative explanation, dating from the mid seventeenth century, links the word to Henry de Ferrais, the Master of the Horse to William the Conqueror. What is certain, however, is that by the sixteenth century ‘blacksmith’ was used to refer to those who worked with iron and made horseshoes, while it was farriers who fitted them and provided medical care either exclusively or mainly for horses.15 In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the elite farriers were those who were members of The Company of Farriers, an organization which began life as the Marshalls of the City of London.16 As with other types of professional groups, it began in response to the perceived needs of the public, not to mention the desire of the practitioners themselves. The official version, however, was that the organization was created as a result of the ‘many trespasses and grete damages’ done by ‘folk unwise which holde forges in the said Citie, and theym medill with Cures and which they cannot bring to good ende’.17Although the majority of their earliest records were destroyed by fire in 1666, surviving documents show that the Company of Farriers was an elite institution with only forty-members, including a Master, three wardens and ‘not above twenty, nor under tenne assistants’ in 1674. In common with the College of Physicians, their members legally held a monopoly in London and within a seven-mile radius of the city.18 This law was widely ignored, threatening the respectability, collective security and wealth of London farriers, who felt that their greatest danger came from self-styled or

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Almanacs and medicine for animals ‘foreyn’ farriers. Such men, they argued, regularly destroyed horses for ‘want of due knowledge and skill in the right way of preserving of horses’.19 Although such a claim is impossible to substantiate, it is true that members of the Farriers’ Company were subject to a number of rules and regulations. Its prospective members were not university educated, but were required to undergo an apprenticeship ‘by the space of sevene yeares at the least’ with an experienced farrier.20 There were two main purposes for youngsters to serve an apprenticeship. Firstly, it guaranteed that the youth would achieve at least a certain level of competence in treating animals. Secondly, it helped to control numbers of applicants, thereby preventing an excess of new farriers from entering the market.21 As farriery tended to be a family-based trade, many prospective members, particularly by the Georgian period, served their apprenticeship under the supervision of a relative.22 Edward Snape, for example, was farrier to George III. His ancestor Andrew Snape had been a royal farrier for Charles II, and Snape claimed that his family had served the Crown in that capacity for some 200 years. Robert, Richard and another Andrew Snape were also seventeenthcentury members of the Farriers’ Company.23 However, the majority of apprentices during the seventeenth century did not hail from London, and came from all over the country to learn their chosen trade.24 The young men came from a variety of backgrounds, and only a few had fathers who were rural farriers. James Arneff, for example, was the son of a yeoman from Northumberland. This was also the case with Herbert Yapp from the ‘city and country of Hereford’. Other apprentices had humbler origins. John Horneby was the son of the ‘gardiner’ at Barnard Castle in Durham. Henry Saxby was the son of a labourer from Northampton, and Henry George’s father was a tailor from Bedford.25 As one contemporary author pointed out, farriers had to deal with ‘dumb creatures’, and needed to ‘hammer out’ information by themselves.26 Their duty was to help prevent or cure ‘all Diseases, Griefs and Sorrances incident of Horses, with their Symptoms and Causes’.27 In order to do this, they needed to know: What disease a horse is inclinable. Secondly, what may be the causes of every disease in particular. Thirdly, how and by what wayes and meanes these diseases do grow. Fourthly, the signes how to know and distinguish them. Fifthly and last the meanes and manner how to cure them.28

Although members of the Company of Farriers were at the top of the animal practitioner hierarchy, there were a much larger group of people, both in London and the provinces, who were self-styled farriers. According to one contemporary book, the purpose of these people was to ‘cure & mend al maner [sic] diseases and sorances [sore areas] that horses have’.29 Although, in the

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Structures of practice and knowledge twenty-first century, such ‘unqualified’ practitioners are considered inferior to those with ‘legal’ qualifications, this stigma probably did not hold true in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries when ‘consumers were seeking health, rather than a specific type of medical service’.30 In many cases, the expertise of the farrier or horse-leech would have been a more important consideration than any ‘legal’ qualifications that they might have had. Lise Wilkinson has suggested that self-styled farriers and leeches ‘were for the most part illiterate’, although Joan Lane has found a great deal of evidence on apprentices who could read and write.31 Although Lane was referring to the mid-eighteenth century, there is no obvious reason for why this should not have also held true for the previous century. Ideally, this theory could be tested through the study of surviving business accounts and other records. Unfortunately, it has been impossible to locate such materials, which could mean either that most farriers and leeches were unable to write, or it might simply signify that these materials have not survived over the centuries. The large number of vernacular medical and agricultural books addressed to farriers, however, offer indirect evidence that at least some of them could read.32 For example, Leonard Mascall dedicated his book to farriers and horse-leeches who desired: The knowledge to help soreness and diseases in horses: They must well and perfectly understand of the present disease in the horse before they minister; also to look to him well, how many other griefs are growing on him . . . also the operation of all such herbs and drugs as he doth minister unto them: with what quantity and portion of each thing thereof, and in what time and hour of the day and year is best.33

Although this sort of prescriptive advice does not necessarily translate into action, this quote suggests that the treatments administered by horse-leeches paralleled those offered by members of the Company of Farriers. The same phenomenon was visible in human health-care, whereby ‘professional’ practitioners offered the same types of services as the ‘popular’ healers.34 The difference, presumably, is that the former did not have either the prerequisites or the desire necessary to join the Company of Farriers. Even so, because of the similarities of their work, horse-leeches were more than entitled to refer to themselves as ‘common farriers’.35

leeches The term ‘leech’ was also used by practitioners who treated other types of ‘cattel’, a term that was thought to have originated from the Latin ‘capitale’ (i.e. capital in the sense of property) which evolved into the Middle English and Old Northern French ‘catel’.36 In the early modern period, this was a term that was freely applied to most working animals.37 Dogs were one of the few exceptions

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Almanacs and medicine for animals (regardless of the type of jobs that they carried out), the others included pets, such as singing birds. Working animals were generally further delineated into categories of ‘greater’ or ‘lesser’ cattle. The first type often included ‘the horse, ox, cow, &c’. The latter referred to ‘lesser sort of Beastes, as Sheepe, Swine, and Goates: and of Fowles, Geese, Peacocks, Duckes, Pigions, Hennes, Chickins and other poultrie’, or deer, conies (rabbits) and other ‘smaller creatures’.38 Although lesser cattle were generally only treated at home, there were a range of practitioners who treated larger animals, such as ‘ox-leeches’, ‘cattleleeches’ or the very lowliest ‘cow-leeches’ who might also refer to themselves as a ‘cow-doctor’. Depending on their speciality, they might treat the ‘oxe, bull, cowe, or calfe’, which were ‘beasts naturally of a slow and heavie disposition, yet fit for draught’.39According to contemporary authors, such people were in high demand, and were often asked to travel great distances to see patients.40 Unfortunately, little direct evidence of their daily practices has survived, although there are large numbers of pertinent printed materials about their work. While Leslie Pugh has tried to discredit animal healers as ‘little more than herbalists whose harmless though mainly ineffectual ‘cures’ were drawn from ‘prescription books or collections of medical recipes’, he is actually missing the point that these were extremely important reference sources.41 Such printed works also provide modern readers with insights into the way in which leeches operated. As with any other type of medical practitioner, they could be good or bad at their work. One contemporary complained that: Many men that have sustained great losses by the death and mortality of Cattle: many whereof might have been saved alive, by the skill, and industry of a painful and labourious Oxe-leech. But I see very few that bestow any pains in that noble science.42

On the other hand, the continuing existence of leeches proves that many were perceived to offer effective treatments. Many of these healers worked closely with animals every day, as it was common to combine medicine with other farming tasks. The cow-leech John Clark of Terling, for example, also worked as an agricultural labourer. The accounts of the Reverend John Crankanthorp include a number of payments to another cow-leech, Marmaduke Feaks, for treating both his red and his black cows. As one eighteenth-century writer aptly noted, ‘Experience is the only probable means of success in any individual’.43

lay-healers As with human health-care, it seems likely that a large part of animal health-care was administered within a domestic setting by laypeople. In many cases, layhealers would probably had either comparable – or perhaps even more – experience working with sick animals than did leeches. The knowledge of animal

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Structures of practice and knowledge medicine was also important for the primary caretakers of animals, who would have included husbandmen, farmers, shepherds, herdsmen and other agricultural workers. Since women were often responsible for the care of small animals, they might also tend to their illnesses.44 Furthermore, it seems likely that many laypeople utilized the same types of medical publications as those used by practitioners, in addition to acquiring information orally or through manuscript sources, including recipe or household books or correspondence.45 Although there has been a growing interest in early modern vernacular medical literature, little academic attention has been paid to sixteenth- and seventeenth-century English-language texts, either on veterinary medicine or with a broader coverage of animal husbandry. The most comprehensive study was carried out in the early part of the twentieth century by Sir Frederick Smith. Based on a series of articles published in the Journal of Comparative Pathology and Therapeutics between 1912 and 1918, Smith aimed to ‘trace the history of veterinary literature from the earliest known times down to the middle of the nineteenth century’. In fact, Smith showed the keenest interest in early printed works, claiming that there were some fifty European authors producing such works at the beginning of the sixteenth century – with the greatest number writing about horses.46 Smith claims that the first veterinary title attributed to an English author was Walter de Henley’s The Boke of Husbandrie, which first appeared in print in 1503, although the earliest version was a short, fairly generalized text on farm-related topics. What little advice it contained on animal care was quite elementary, such as that ‘plough bestes’ should be given enough food to allow them to ‘sustene theyr labour’ or that ‘theyr stable be made cleane every day’.47 Later, greatly expanded versions of The Boke of Husbandry attributed to John Fitzherbert contained a wider range of advice on health-care. Despite his apology for not having the space ‘to shew medicines & remedies’ for all ‘diseases and sorances’, the text does address a number of illness in horses, sheep and other cattle.48 A large proportion of such books, however, focused on the care of horses, the elite of working animals since Roman times.49 Many of these titles were linked to Gervase Markham, the most prolific early modern writer on husbandry and veterinary medicine. Markham’s Faithfull Farrier, for example, focused exclusively on horses, although all of his other works also contained a great deal of information about horses. Markhams [sic] Methode, or Epitome (London, 1633), for example, promised remedies for ‘all diseases whatsoever incident to Horses . . . almost 300. All cured with twelve medicines only’. It also offered advice on how to rid cattle of diseases with seven medicines, sheep with six medicines, and dogs with only three medicines.50 Interestingly, while these works continued to sell long after his (unpublicized) death in 1637, editions from the later part of the century continued to state that ‘[I] have now found out the infallible way of curing all diseases in Cattle’.51

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Almanacs and medicine for animals Whether Markham, dead or alive, had any specialist knowledge of animals whatsoever has remained a matter of debate over the centuries. Although he claimed to have been a veterinary practitioner for fifty years, there is no evidence to support this. In 1810 the author of The Treatise of Horses (London, 1810), John Lawrence, wrote that Markham was ‘nothing better than a mere vulgar and illiterate compiler’.52 Lawrence’s comment, however, says more about Victorian attitudes than about the period when Markham produced his works. By contemporary standards, gathering material from other sources and reproducing them in a ‘new’ work was a common and accepted practice. In fact, there was a long tradition for this method, as illustrated by the writer Vegetius, who lived in the fifth century AD. Sometimes called ‘the father of veterinary medicine’, he produced a treatise that was published well into the early modern period. However, even Vegetius drew heavily on contributions made by Apsyrtus and Pelagonius in the tenth-century Hippiatrika.53 Markham’s Master-piece Revived included a list of the authors ‘from whom any thing in this Work is Collected, being the best Farriers’: Xenophon, Rusticus, Vegetius, Pelagorious, Cameraius, Apollonius, Gresson, Grilli, Horatio, Gloria de Caballi, Stevens, Wickerus, La Brove, Martin senior, Albiterio, Vinet, Clifford, Mascal, Markham. These are Private. Martin junior, Webb, Dallidown senior, Dallidown junior, Ashbourn, Stanley, Smith, Dowsing, Day, Barns, Mayfield, Lupan, Goodson, Parfray, White.54

Markham was also known to have copied from the work of the broadly educated squire and writer Thomas Blundeville.55 Blundeville’s first and probably best known book, A new booke containing the arte of rydinge and breakinge greate horses (London 1561) was initially published in 1560. In fact, it was not an original work, but simply a translation of a book written by his contemporary, the Italian gentleman Frederick Grisone, from the famous ‘Naples School’ of hippiatry, or ‘marescalcia’.56 This method of collecting information was rigorously denied by three other English seventeenth-century ‘pre-veterinary’ writers. Thomas Grymes, for example, claimed that he only wrote about ‘what is of my owne experience and practice, and whereof I have had good profile’.57 Thomas De Grey portrayed himself as a knowledgeable gentleman farmer who was interested in breeding horses. His book The Compleat Horse-man and Expert Ferrier claimed to offer ‘a formall Examen of the office of the Ferrier’. A third writer condemned many popular books as being ‘meere Collections out of others, and not their owne practice’. Ironically, all of these writers offered little more than a reworking of the material in Markham’s books.58 Compilers of books did not restrict themselves to information on horses, but extracted medical advice on many different types of ‘cattle’ from other texts. In some cases, the varieties of creatures that would be discussed were listed on the title page. Many other texts, however, do not make this immediately clear.

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Structures of practice and knowledge For example, A.S., The Husbandman, Farmer, and Grasier’s Compleat Instructor (London, 1697) discussed a range of animals, including goats, swine and working dogs, while The Country Farrier offered advice on various types of cattle.59 On the other hand, there were relatively few books that left out the ubiquitous horse and concentrated exclusively on curing diseases in animals such as ‘bulls, oxen, cows and calves’ or sheep.60 As previously mentioned, remedies for sick animals were often found alongside those for humans in vernacular medical books.61 Many of these were aimed at female readers, and included a mixture of food and medicinal recipes, alongside advice on running a household.62 One of the most popular works addressed to women during this period was The Widdowes [sic] Treasure Plentifully Furnished with Sundry Secrets: and Approved Secrets in Physicke and Chirurgery. Although this was attributed to John Partridge, he confessed that he had received the manuscript from an anonymous woman. The published text included a number of remedies for horses, cows, bulls and ‘steeres’ alongside those for humans.63 Despite the fact that many of these manuals included information on treating large animals, such as cattle or horses, few refer to the care of ‘the most observant and affectionate of all Beasts’.64 This is somewhat surprising given the large number of dogs in both town and country, not to mention their extremely close bonds with humans. Mark Jenner has argued that dogs and humans shared many aspects of daily living, including ‘spaces’, food, names and diseases.65 While this is a viable theory in many ways, it seems to apply more to those kept as pets, rather than for the much larger number of working dogs. This may well be linked to the fact that companion dogs played a role very different to their working brethren. During the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the most common breed for pets tended to be ‘spainells gentle’. Also referred to as ‘comforters’, ‘chamber companions’ or ‘pleasant playfellows’, these miniature spaniels played an important role in the physical and mental well-being of their owners. John Caius suggested that these pets could be placed on sore stomachs, or ‘borne in the bosom’ of ill owners, whereby their ‘moderate heat’ would help to soothe and draw out the underlying disease.66 Such intimacy suggests that when ill themselves such little animals would receive the same type of care lavished on the rest of the family.67 ANIMALS AND ALMANACS As with advice on health-care for humans, many almanacs offered various types of information on animals. Due to space restrictions, however, this focused on practical treatments and excluded any discussion of the theory behind them. In some cases, the material in almanacs probably served more

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Almanacs and medicine for animals as a reminder of the correct times of year for carrying out certain procedures than as a primary health guide. However, many editions provided useful preventative or remedial recipes or warnings about forthcoming astral phenomena that might affect the health of animals. As with humans, the former rested on the importance of a proper health regime to keep illness at bay. Therapeutic practices were also similar to those for people, with recipes for medicines that were either meant to be retained within the body or ones that would force excess humours out.

preventative medicine In 1680 Lancelot Coelson warned his readers ‘to be industrious to secure his small cattel in time and to use means to prevent diseases before they come upon them’.68 Such advice rested on the same six non-naturals of air, motion and rest, sleep and waking, diet, evacuation, and the passions, discussed in Chapter Seven. Although these were often presented in separate categories in vernacular medical books, almanac writers tended to group them together. For example, for animals, preventative measures included not over-working them and providing them with sufficient dry shelter, rest, food and drink. As with human health-care, ‘moderation’ was always the keynote, as illness was thought to directly follow excessive consumption of any form of nourishment, as well as too much sleep. Weather forecasts were probably one of the most useful contributions that almanacs made to animal health-care. Interestingly, one writer claimed that animals could, in turn, be used to predict the weather! Sows, for example, were ‘wont to cry and carry themselves in a troubled manner before winds and foule weather’, and oxen licking themselves ‘against the heaire or their hooves behind’ signified rain.69 ‘Foule weather’ or unusual conditions were thought to result in a variety of illnesses, which might vary according to the type of animal. Extremely cold winters, for example, were thought to contribute to ‘malignancy amongst small Cattels’, and excessively wet years would result in widespread sheep-rot. Unusually hot summers, on the other hand, signified droughts, the failure of crops and death of animals.70 One almanac suggested that a beast struck by lightning would immediately be poisoned, although paradoxically, if it were already ill then the lightning would ‘purgeth it of the infection’.71 The weather conditions with the most potential for harm, however, were linked to astral configurations such as comets, ‘great conjunctions’ and eclipses, which, although dangerous to all living creatures, were especially so for working animals.72 It was believed that the shape of a comet often indicated both the type of coming misfortune and the kind of creatures that it would affect. Comets or ‘blazing stars’ made of ‘dry, hot and thick fat matter’ provided warnings of forthcoming high temperatures, drought, sickness, pestilence and

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Structures of practice and knowledge dearth.73 The great plague in London, for example, was later said to have been heralded by a big comet in March 1665, while a smaller comet in 1693 resulted in ‘great detriment and many infirmities to those Cattel most useful for man, as Horses, Oxen, Sheep and Hogs’.74 Conjunctions involving Saturn were particularly worrying in terms of animal health, with the situation worsening when an unfavourable planet was in the fifth house, the house of ‘sicknesse, servants, small cattle &c’.75 William Lilly warned that a conjunction of Saturn in the fifth house could result in: detriment, hinderance, losse, consumption, and destruction of four-footed beasts, both greater and smaller, and especially if those are most useful for man, as the Ox, the Horse, Cow, Asse, the Hog, Sheep, Deer, Conny, &c.76

Although the ‘oppositions of the planets’ in January 1682 threatened to harm the health of all creatures, Henry Coley warned that ‘those Cattel most useful for Mankind, as Horses, Oxen, Sheep, Hogs would suffer most greatly’.77 Thirteen years later, Saturn was again due to affect the health of working animals – this time through a conjunction of Saturn and Mars in Capricorn. Almanacs warned that this would result in ‘much Detriment and Damage to small Cattel, a Rot or Murrain ranging amongst them, even to the Destruction of whole flocks’.78 William Lilly cautioned his readers that a forthcoming eclipse meant that ‘The Country-man will also be very sad upon the unusual misfortunes happening unto him, and unto his flocks of four footed beasts, especially Horses, Oxen and such like of the kinds of the greater Cattle, as also rot of sheep’.79 In 1681, Thomas Fowle prophesied that, while the coming eclipse would destroy animals ‘that are prejudicial to mankind . . . all Creatures fit for the use of man do now increase’.80 Fourteen years later, Fowle warned that the impending eclipse would bring ‘great losses and decay in their Estate, Cattels and Treasure; it portends death to the greater sort of Cattel, as the Ox, Cow, Horse, or such like’. Other types of animals, presumably, would have remained untouched.81 The weather also had major implications on the non-naturals of motion, rest and sleep. The consequences of over-work, particularly in extreme weather conditions, with not enough time to rest, would cause a ‘weakness or poorness of body’, which would eventually result in ‘some disease or the other’.82 It was also considered important for the health of cattle and humans to have a weekly day of rest. Although little could be done to stop individual farmers from working their animals on a Sunday at home, an Act of 1628 forbade drovers, carriers and waggoners from travelling anywhere on the Sabbath.83 Many almanacs addressed the question of proper diet, which was the fourth non-natural. Although the introduction of new crops and methods of preserving animal feed changed during the 150 years of this study, there were some basic guidelines that remained the same. The first was the importance of not

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Almanacs and medicine for animals feeding animals an ‘ill dyet’ – a term that generally referred to damp or otherwise spoiled foodstuffs. Wholesome food for many animals could be found in pastures, which generally contained a mixture of grass and weeds that could be eaten fresh in the summer, or dried for winter use. The increasing number of over-wintered animals meant that larger amounts of these crops would need to be prepared to provide clean, dry food for the colder months, with one husbandman calculating that his 240 sheep would require at least twelve loads of straw and twelve of hay to survive until the springtime. In addition, other new crops suitable for winter feeding, such as turnips, also became more common across the country in the second half of the seventeenth century.84 The fifth non-natural of evacuation was one that appears to have applied equally to humans and animals. Almanac writers provided a variety of recipes for purges to be used periodically on animals, as well as advice on bleeding for preventative purposes. Although there were strict guidelines about the proper timing for bleeding humans, instructions tended to be less specific for animals. William Dade, for example, recommended making an incision on the neck of horses, and drawing blood on the first day of April to make them stay healthy ‘the whole year’. Samuell Ashwell, however, disagreed and thought that ‘it mattereth not when you let them blood’ as long as ‘the signe be not in the heart, nor in the place where the incision is made, nor in the day of the change of the Moone’.85 Sex was another type of activity that fell within the category of evacuation, as well as under the final non-natural of the passions. While there was little that could be done about animals that were unhappy or emotionally out of sorts, it was possible to meddle with their sexual activities. Several almanacs included information on how to manipulate or encourage the mating of sheep to produce either ‘she lambs’ or ‘he lambs’. If the ram could be made to ‘coverth ye Ew [when] the wind blow out of the south’, it would result in female offspring. However, if intercourse took place when ‘it blow out of the north’, they would be male.86 It was suggested that ewes that could be urged to ‘drink [water] more freely’ would conceive sooner than those who did not. Dove repeatedly suggested that the best way to do this was to ‘give them salt to eat’.87 In one sense, the most dramatic and permanent way of controlling sexual activity might also be seen as a form of preventative health-care. This refers to castration, which many believed made for a healthier animal. In addition, it was thought that this made the creatures easier to handle and would produce more nutritious and tasty meat as well.88 A gelded calf, for example, was thought to be stronger and would grow to ‘be the higher, and the longer of body, and the longer horned’ than an untreated one.89 Almanacs did not provide information on carrying out the castration operation itself, which was done by either ligature or cauterizing, but did describe the precautions that the readers needed to take. Readers who wished to learn more could turn to a variety of

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Structures of practice and knowledge husbandry books, although castration was clearly not a procedure that could be undertaken without some experience. The most important concern, however, was choosing a time when the moon was in an aspect favourable to such surgery. In general, readers were recommended to ‘lib and geld’ animals while the moon was in Aries, Sagittarius or Capricorn, with the most auspicious time being during a lunar eclipse, or full moon.90

therapeutic remedies Many almanacs provided at least some rudimentary information on how to deal with sick animals. As with other types of almanacs, there were various ‘occupational’ titles that were meant to appeal to people who worked with animals. Veterinarium Meteorologist Astrology: or, the Farriers [sic] Almanack, for example, was written by Robert Gardner, who claimed to be a ‘Student in Astrology and the compleat Art of Farrying’. Although it has proved impossible to find a surviving copy of his 1697 edition, his preface from the following year states that it had contained ‘an Account of several Famous Medicines to prevent and cure many Diseases in Horses’. Furthermore, the title page of the sole surviving edition of 1698 promised to provide an ‘account of several Famous medicines to Prevent and Cure many of the most Pestilential Diseases in Bullocks, Hogs, Sheep or any sort of Cattle’, based on a combination of the wisdom of ‘many good Authors and my own experience’. Gardner fulfilled this claim, by providing a range of generic recipes for ‘cattle’, as well as specific ones for bullocks, oxen, cows, lambs or hogs.91 Unfortunately, while Gardner also promised to provide an even more ‘detailed discourse’ about horses for the following year, it seems that no copies of this edition have survived. Although there are similarities between the types of illnesses likely to strike both humans and animals, the same cannot be said for recommended treatments. Andrew Wear has suggested that farmers used therapies on animals in ways that mirrored their own treatments, but the evidence in almanacs suggests otherwise.92 Gardner’s recipes, as in other almanacs, show many differences between the remedies for humans and animals. This is not always obvious at first glance, as the format and types of illnesses are generally very similar to those in human recipes. The types of ingredients in recipes, and the way in which they are used, however, sometimes vary greatly. For example, both animals and humans could suffer from ‘surfeits’ of food or drink. In oxen, cows or horses this might result in a ‘Disease lodging for the most part in their head, throats and hinder parts’.93 Although such surfeits could also occur in humans, with similar resulting symptoms, the recommended remedies were not the same. An appropriate remedy for a surfeit in horses was based on ‘strong beer’ mixed with ‘wormwood, celedine and herbraces’, while humans were advised to take Essence of Poppies.94 Both people and animals were prone to being

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Almanacs and medicine for animals bitten or stung by ‘a venomous thing’. The former were advised to make a salve of rue and bacon to apply to the wound.95 According to the sixteenth-century herbalist John Gerard, the use of rue for these purposes dated back to ancient Greece.96 The remedy for animals with such an affliction was rather more unpleasant-sounding, and certainly more odorous. For beasts ‘bitten or venomed’, a salve was to be made of a rotten egg, soot and bay-salt.97 There were a number of herbs that were used differently in remedies for humans and animals. Arsmart, or water pepper, was one such plant. This herb was under the dominion of Mars, and was said to have cooling and drying properties.98 Humans were advised to boil three ounces each of leek juice and of arsmart to make a potion to soothe ‘fluxes of the belly’.99 Arsmart was also considered useful for patients suffering from ‘heat, stoppage or scalding of urine’.100 For animals, however, the herb was recommended as a restorative for tired horses. Readers of Swan’s almanac were advised to rub tired horses with arsmart, and then to lay ‘a good handful or two’ of the herb under the saddle. ‘Savin’ was another herbal ingredient that was used differently for human or animal afflictions. It was first mentioned in an almanac of 1684 as being used for killing worms in oxen, cows or calves. It was later suggested that savin was good for curing horses and sheep, in addition to cows. Swallow disagreed, writing that the remedy should be mixed with honey and butter, and fed only to horses. According to Culpeper, savin was an easily accessible plant that killed worms in humans as well. His Complete Herbal recommended spreading it on a piece of leather and applying it to the navel.101 It is not clear as to why it was used as an internal medication for animals, but externally for people. Other shared afflictions required more drastic measures. The most benignsounding remedy for warts on animals was to apply ‘black water that stands in the root of an hollow Elm-tree’. Another suggestion for dealing with ‘this Disease . . . most incident of young Beasts advised tying eight or ten horsehairs tightly around the wart and leaving them until it fell off. Alternatively, it could be seared off with a hot iron, or it could be eaten away with mercury. Recipes for humans used only slightly less frightening means for removing warts. One such remedy contained verdigris or acetate of copper, to burn away the wart. If the reader preferred something milder, the alternative was to rub the juice of celandine into the skin.102 This remedy is still recommended by present-day herbalists for removing warts and for curing eczema.103 Almanacs also discuss illnesses that were peculiar to animals, such as sheep-rot, which was responsible for large numbers of deaths. Readers were well aware that the disease was likely to occur when ‘sheep are greatly beaten with rain’ and the fields became flooded in the early spring.104 The only almanac that provided a treatment for rot, however, was the aptly named The Shepheards [sic] Almanac of 1675. This recipe was based on a mixture of

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Structures of practice and knowledge powdered nutmeg and tar boiled in strong ale, which was to be fed to the affected animals ‘two spoonfuls at a time, using it several times with two days distance between each time’. Although this title appeared every year until 1679, the author somewhat surprisingly offered no further medical recipes. Instead, he used the pages to provide his ‘beloved Friends, my Country-men and Neighbours’ with basic astrological information, including how to ‘finde the Moons [sic] Rising and Setting’, the ‘hour of the night by the Southing of the Stars’, and how to make ‘prognosticks by the Moon’.105 ‘Blain in the tongue’ was another illness that was peculiar to horses and ‘other cattle’. It was said to be a swelling of ‘a certain Bladder growing above the root of the Tongue’ which could be diagnosed by foaming at the mouth and the animal ‘Gaping and holding forth of his Tongue’.106 Many writers thought that the bladder was actually a swollen sac holding a worm. This concept of the ‘worm under the tongue’ dates back to some Anglo-Saxon texts, which claimed that it led to canine madness.107 Interestingly, although people could get bitten by an animal with this disease and contract many of the symptoms, they would not acquire this swelling. Instead: They shall have in their sleep fearful dreams & sights, & anger without cause . . . it is the venomous spittle of the dogs [sic] heat that doth infect; and if the venom of him that doth bite, is drawn to the like place wherewith he biteth, which is the brain & there it worketh.108

The symptoms of the disease suggest that it was related, along with that of the ‘mad dog’, to what is now called rabies. This is thought to be one of the oldest diseases affecting humans and animals, with the first reference to it appearing as early as 2300 bc.109 The signs of this illness also included gaping and dribbling arising from an excess of black choler in the dog’s body, whose ‘vehement heat overcometh the senses, and maketh him mad’ causing him to ‘bite and snap’ and ‘not play at all’. It was thought that the disease was spread through ‘the venomous spittle of the dogs’ heat’. Although it was possible to find a range of recipes in vernacular medical books, for treating the disease, almanacs do not contain a single remedy for treating mad dogs or – for that matter – humans.110 The sole references to therapeutic treatments can be found within advertisements for ‘balsam de chili’, which claimed to ‘expel and destroy the venom of mad dogs, vipers, and other venomous beasts’.111 Neither this advertisement, nor indeed any other one for proprietary medicine, suggested that it should be administered to sick animals. This might have been because animal health-care was not perceived to be a lucrative portion of the ‘marketing mix’ for almanacs, or that there was a lack of demand for this because readers preferred other sources of information, such as husbandry books. Although very little research has been carried out on the topic, proprietary drugs for animals did exist in the closing years of the seventeenth century.

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Almanacs and medicine for animals Presumably, if there had been sufficient demand for information about such products amongst readers, then these drugs would have received some mention in almanacs. The final disease known to cause great mortality in animals was initially called ‘murrain’ or ‘cattle plague’, which was later changed to become ‘rinderpest’. Murrain was known to be highly contagious, and resulted in almost certain death for infected animals.112 In 1653, Nicholas Culpeper predicted ‘a sweeping pestilence’ that winter, which would be followed by murrain in cattle.113 During the eighteenth century, Western Europe suffered from repeated epizootics of this disease, with the resulting death of some 200,000,000 cattle.114 Clearly, the remedy offered by several seventeenthcentury almanac writers (based on hens’ dung soaked in stale human urine) was not the answer.115 In fact, those who administered the potion were likely to become ill themselves, not with rinderpest but with the related, human form of the disease – measles. One contemporary writer suggested that, as a warning to travellers passing by, the head of a dead animal should be: Put it upon a long Pole, and set it on a Hedge fast bound to a stake by the high-way side, that every man that rideth or goeth by that way, may see and know by that sign, that there is sickness of Cattel in that Township.116

CONCLUSION This chapter has attempted to show that not only did veterinary medicine ‘exist’ before the foundation of the London Veterinary College in 1792, but that it was very similar to early modern human medicine. There were a variety of medical options for animals, many of which could be purchased in the medical marketplace, while others were available by bartering or for free. The hierarchy of animal practitioners began with members of the Company of Farriers, followed by ‘non-professional’ healers, referred to either as ‘horse-leeches’ or simply ‘leeches.’ As with human health-care, it seems likely that in most cases the initial – and sometimes only – medical intervention would be that administered in a domestic setting by lay-healers. Larger animals were probably generally cared for by men, while women looked after the health-care of small animals.117 While such lay-healers undoubtedly garnered medical information from the family and friends, there were also a great number of contemporary publications available that provided information on preventative and remedial practices. As Gervase Markham reminded his readers: Thou shall finde in this [book] my Faithful Farrier, a Shoppe of Skil for thee to view. Let this bee thy Doctor, and thy Druggist. Let this be thy Instructor and Director.118

Such advice could also often be found tucked away in publications that appeared, at first glance, to focus exclusively on human ailments. There were

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Structures of practice and knowledge also a number of almanacs that provided information about animal healthcare, albeit in a more rudimentary form than in clearly delineated ‘medical’ publications. The most common type of information was related to the weather, with forecasts of unseasonable conditions, such as excessive rain (which could result in sheep-rot), or droughts (which would destroy the crops used for feeding animals). Certain astral configurations, particularly those involving Saturn, were thought to cause a variety of illnesses in animals, while comets or eclipses often signified death. Many writers provided suggestions on how to protect animals by following a good health regime based on the non-naturals. The most frequently mentioned points referred to supplying one’s animals with a sound diet, not overworking them, and allowing sufficient time for them to rest. Some authors also included information on gelding animals – a procedure that was thought both to produce calmer, stronger animals and better-tasting meat. When animals eventually fell ill, many of the same authors offered remedial advice based on time-honoured herbal recipes. At first glance, instructions for preparing these remedies follow the same type of format to those for human treatments. However, a closer inspection shows that there were many differences – both within the types of ingredients used and the illnesses that they were meant to treat. In most cases, the remedies for animals consisted of cheaper, more easily accessible items than those for humans. Also, although humans and animals shared many diseases, there were a number that affected only the latter. The failure to properly acknowledge the importance of veterinary history has had, and continues to have, serious ramifications not only for our understanding of the evolution of veterinary medicine, but also for its increasing interdependence with human medicine. This is particularly apparent in the way in which academics continue to ignore the study of pre-institutionalized veterinary medicine in this country. Although there is a great deal of work yet to be done on this topic, the evidence in almanacs shows that, far from being a time when ‘the gross ignorance of the farriers and other quacks’ caused unmentionable suffering to sick animals, most early modern animals would have received medical aid based on centuries of wisdom and experience.119 NOTES 1 R. Allestree, 1618, sig. B1v. 2 R. Porter, ‘Man, animals and medicine at the time of the founding of the Royal Veterinary College’ in A.R. Mitchell (ed.) History of the Healing Professions, Vol. III (London, 1993), p. 19. 3 See E. Cotchin, The Royal Veterinary College: A Bicentenary History (Buckingham, 1990); R. Dunlop and D. Williams, Veterinary Medicine – An Illustrated History (London, 1996); D. Karasszon, A Concise History of Veterinary Medicine, trans. E. Farkas (Budapest, 1988); I. Pattison, The British Veterinary Profession 1791–1948 (London, 1984); L. Pugh, From

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Almanacs and medicine for animals Farriery to Veterinary Medicine 1785–1795 (Cambridge, UK, 1962); F.J. Smithcors, Evolution of the Veterinary Art: A Narrative Account to 1850 (London, 1958); J. Swabe, ‘The Burden of Beasts’: A Historical Sociological Study of Changing Human–Animal Relations and the Rise of the Veterinary Regime (Amsterdam, 1997); and L. Wilkinson, Animals and Disease: An Introduction to the History of Comparative Medicine (Cambridge, UK, 1992). 114 E. Cotchin, The Royal Veterinary College, p. 13; I. Pattison, The British Veterinary Profession, p. 1; L. Pugh, ‘From farriery to veterinary medicine’, Veterinary History, 75 (1974–75), p. 11; R. Dunlop and D. Williams, Veterinary Medicine, p. 266; and D. Karasszon, A Concise History, p. 270. 115 A. Wear, ‘Religious beliefs and medicine in early modern England’ in H. Marland and M. Pelling (eds) The Task of Healing: Medicine, Religion and Gender in England and the Netherlands 1450–1800 (Rotterdam, 1996), p. 145; M. Pelling, ‘Trade or profession? Medical practice in early modern England’ in The Common Lot: Sickness, Medical Occupations and the Urban Poor in Early Modern England (London, 1998), p. 232; D. Karasszon, A Concise History, p. 280; and R. Porter, ‘Civilisation and disease: medical ideology in the Enlightenment’ in J. Black and J. Gregory (eds) Culture, Politics and Society in Britain 1660–1800 (Manchester, 1991), p. 155. 116 Genesis 1:26. 117 A.-H. Maehle, ‘The ethical discourse on animal experimentation, 1650–1900’ in A. Wear, J. Geyer-Kordesch and R. French (eds) Doctors and Ethics: The Earlier Historical Setting of Professional Ethics (Amsterdam, 1993), p. 204. 118 A.-H. Maehle, ‘The ethical discourse’, p. 235. 119 Proverbs 12:10. 110 R. Ryder, Animal Revolution: Changing Attitudes Towards Speciesism (Oxford, 1989), pp. 53–54. 111 K. Thomas, Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England 1500–1800 (Oxford, 1983), pp. 153–154 and 166. 112 C. Whitworth (ed.), The political and commercial works of Charles D’Avenant, Vol. II (London, 1771), p. 219. 113 M. Overton, Agricultural Revolution in England: The Transformation of the Agrarian Economy 1500–1850 (Cambridge, UK, 1996), p. 20. 114 L. Mascall, The Government of Cattel (London, 1662), p. 5. 115 R. Ryder, Animal Revolution: Changing Attitudes Towards Speciesism (Oxford, 1989), pp. 53–54; K. Thomas, Man and the Natural World, pp. 153–154 and 166; F. R. Bell, ‘The days of the farriers’, Veterinary History, 9 (1977), pp. 3–6; J. Howell, Londinopolis: an historical discourse or perlustration of the city of London (London, 1657) p. 45; Anon., A Brief Examination of the Views of the Veterinary College (London, 1795), p. 3; A. Adams, The History of the Worshipful Company of Blacksmiths (London, 1951), p. 34; and L. Prince, The Farrier and His Craft. The History of the Worshipful Company of Farriers (London, 1980), p. 3. 116 This was a corruption of the French ‘mareschal’, which is believed to have been used first in the mid-sixth century to refer to the keeper of the royal stables. A. Hyland, The Medieval Horse (Thrupp, Gloucestershire, 1999), p. 51. 117 Guildhall Library, MS 2890, Ordinance Book, seventeenth century, p. 29. 118 Guildhall Library, MS.5534 Farrier Court Journals, 1674, pp. 1–4; H. Cook, Decline

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Structures of practice and knowledge (London, 1986), p. 20; and L. Prince, The Farrier and His Craft: The History of the Worshipful Company of Farriers (London, 1980), pp. 1–2. 119 Guildhall Library, MS.2890, p. 41; and Guildhall Library, MS.5534, p. 1. 120 Idem, p. 2. 121 J. Lane, ‘The role of apprenticeship in eighteenth-century medical education in England’ in W.F. Bynum and R. Porter (eds) William Hunter and the Eighteenth-Century Medical World (Cambridge, UK, 1985), pp. 57–105. 122 J. Lane, ‘Farriers in Georgian England’ in A.R. Mitchell (ed.) History of the Healing Professions, Vol. III (Cambridge, UK, 1993), pp. 99–117. 123 E. Snape, Snape’s Practical Treatise on Farriery, &c. (London, 1791), sig. A4r; A. Snape, The anatomy of an horse (London, 1683), sig. A3r; and Guildhall Library, MS.5534, p. 2. 124 Relatively little information pertaining to the apprenticeship of farriers is currently available. 125 Guildhall Library, London; MS.5526, Farriers’ Company Apprentice Book, seventeenth century, pp. 1, 65, 63, 64. 126 A. Snape, The Anatomy, sig. B1r. 127 A.S., The Gentleman’s Compleat Jockey: with the Perfect Horseman and Experienced Farrier (London, 1697), sig. A1r. 128 Anon., The English Farrier, or Countrey-mans [sic] Treasure (London, 1631), sig. C2r. 129 W. Merrick, The Classical Farrier (London, 1788), p. iv; and J. Fitzherbert, The Booke of Husbandry (London, 1573), sig. F1v. 130 D. Harley, ‘The good physician and the godly doctor: the exemplary life of John Tylston of Chester (1663–1699)’, The Seventeenth Century, 9 (1994), pp. 93–117. 131 L. Wilkinson, Animals and Disease, p. 10; and J. Lane, ‘Farriers’, p. 100. 132 The existence of such books, however, does not prove that they were read by farriers or leeches. 133 L. Mascall, The Government of Cattel, p. 97. 134 D.E. Nagy, Popular Medicine in Seventeenth-Century England (Bowling Green, KY, 1988), p. 3. 135 S.A. Hall, ‘The state of the art of farriery in 1791’, Veterinary History, 7 (1992), 10–11. 136 I.L. Mason, Evolution of Domesticated Animals (London, 1984), p. 6. 137 W. Poole, The Country Farrier (London, 1652), sig. A1r. 138 C.H., B.C., C.M. (Ingenious Artists), The Perfect Husbandman, or The Art of Husbandry (London, 1657), pp. 211 and 293; and W. Lilly, 1645, p. 27. 139 J. Swabe, The Burden of Beasts, p. 71; and G. Markham, Markhams [sic] Methode, or Epitome (London, 1616), pp. 1–2, 50 and 30. 140 J. Swaine, Every Farmer his own Cattle-Doctor (London, 1786), p. 1. 141 L. Pugh, From Farriery to Veterinary Medicine, p. 3. 142 M. Harward, The Herds-man’s Mate, sig. A3v. 143 K. Wrightson and D. Levine, Poverty and Piety in an English Village, Terling 1525–1700 (London, 1979), p. 23; P. Brassley, A. Lambert and P. Saunders (eds), Accounts of the

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Almanacs and medicine for animals Reverend John Crankanthorp of Fowlmere 1682–1710 (Cambridge, UK, 1988), pp. 178–179 and 214; and E. Snape, Snape’s Practical Treatise, p. 1. 144 R. Trow-Smith, A History of British Livestock Husbandry to 1700 (London, 1957), p. 240; and D. Simonton, A History of European Women’s Work: 1700 to the Present (London, 1998), p. 20. 145 For example, Buckinghamshire Records Office, Book of Receipts – Chequers Mss D138/16/6/1, late seventeenth century. 146 F. Smith, The Early History of Veterinary Literature and Its Development, Vol. I (London, 1919; reprinted 1976), p. 1. 147 W. De Henley, The Boke of Husbandrie (London, 1503), sig. 8v and 9r. 148 J. Fitzherbert, The Boke of Husbandry (London, 1533), sig. F1r. 149 L. Wilkinson, Animals and Disease, p. 10. 150 G. Markham, Markham’s Faithfull Farrier (London, 1638); and G. Markham, Markhams [sic] Methode, sig. A1r and pp. 30, 39 and 57. 151 G. Markham, A Way to Get Wealth (London, 1661), sig. A1r. 152 F. Smithcors, Evolution of the Veterinary Art, p. 193. 153 L. Wilkinson, Animals and Disease, pp. 10–14. 154 G. Markham, Markham’s Master-piece Revived (London, 1681), sig. A3r. 155 R. Dunlop and D. Williams, Veterinary Medicine, p. 266. 156 F. Smith, The Early History, Vol. I, pp. 138–140; and D. Karasszon, A Concise History, pp. 221–226. 157 T. Grymes, The Honest and Plaine-dealing Farrier or a Present Remedy for curing Diseases and Hurts in Horses (London, 1636), sig. A2r. 158 T. De Grey, The Compleat Horse-man and Expert Farrier (London, 1651), p. 61; R. Barrett, The Perfect and Experienced Farrier (London, 1660), sig. A2r; and F. Smith, The Early History, Vol. I, pp. 299, 303 and 321. 159 A.S., The Husbandman, Farmer and Grasier’s Compleat Instructor (London, 1697); and W. Poole, The Country Farrier (London, 1652). 160 M. Harward, The Herds-man’s Mate; J.B., The Epitome of the Art of Husbandry (London, 1670); and J. Claridge, The Shepheard’s Legacy (London, 1670). 161 H.C. Agrippa, The Vanity of Arts and Sciences (London, 1694); L. Coelson, The poor-mans [sic] physician and chyrugion (London, 1656); and W. Lovell, The Dukes [sic] desk newly broken up: Wherein is discovered Divers Rare Recipts of Physick and Surgery (London, 1661). 162 E. Tebeaux, ‘Women and technical writing, 1475–1700’ in L. Hunter and S. Hutton (eds) Women, Science and Medicine 1500–1700 (Thrupp, 1997), pp. 33–40. 163 J. Partridge, The Widdowes [sic] Treasure Plentifully Furnished with Sundry secrets: and Approved secrets in Physicke and Chirurgery (London, 1631), sig. F4r–6v; W. Lovell, The Dukes [sic] Desk Newly Broken Up, sig. A1r; and C. Stevens and J. Liebault, Maison Rustique, Or, The Countrey Farme, trans. Richard Surflet (London, 1616). 164 J. Worldige, Systema agriculturae, the mystery of husbandry (London, 1675), p. 162. 165 M. Jenner, ‘The great dog massacre’ in W. Naphy and P. Roberts (eds) Fear in Early Modern Society (Manchester, 1997), pp. 44–61.

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Structures of practice and knowledge 166 J. Caius, Of English Dogges (London, 1576), p. 21. 167 For more information on dog health-care, see the forthcoming book by L. Hill Curth, The Care of Brute Beasts: a Social and Cultural Study of Veterinary History in Early Modern England (Leiden, 2008). 168 L. Coelson, 1680, sig. C6v. 169 N. Einer, 1626, sig. C2r. 170 M. Nostradamus, 1559, sig. A5r; and R. Saunders, 1674, sig. B1v. 171 L. Coelson, 1680, sig. C8r. 172 R. Saunders, 1667, sig. C3r. 173 J. Vaux, 1666, sig. B6r; H. Coley, 1676, sig. C4r; and W. Andrews, 1697, sig. C6v. 174 A. Geneva, Astrology and the Seventeenth Century Mind: William Lilly and the Language of the Stars (Manchester, 1995), p. 87; W.G. Bell, The Great Plague in London in 1665 (London, 1924), p. 2; and W. Lilly, 1693, sig. B2r. 175 J. Booker, 1642, sig. C2r; and T. Fowle, 1680, sig. B4v. 176 W. Lilly, 1644, p. 12. 177 H. Coley, 1682, sig. C2v. 178 J. Tanner, 1697, sig. C3v. 179 W. Lilly, 1644, p. 12. 180 T. Fowle, 1681, sig. B3r. 181 Idem, 1695, sig. B1r. 182 W. Dade, 1684, sig. B3r. 183 G. Cross, A Social History of Leisure Since 1600 (State College, PA, 1990), p. 29; and M. Reed, The Making of Britain: The Age of Exuberance 1550–1700 (London, 1986), p. 244. 84 G. Markham, A Way to Get Wealth, p. 41; J. Claridge, The Shepheard’s Legacy (London, 1670), p. 27; W. Lilly, 1666, sig. A5r; and W. Bowker, 1677, sig. B2r. 185 J. Booker, 1661, sig. A8r; G. Naworth, 1644, sig. C4r; W. Dade, 1700, sig. B4v; and S. Ashwell, 1641, sig. B6r. 186 G. Markham, 1657, sig. B3r. 187 J. Dove, 1654, 1663, 1669, sig. C4r; and 1657, 1659, 1666, 1667, sig. C6r. 188 K. Thomas, Man and the Natural World, p. 93. 189 J.B., The Epitome of the Art of Husbandry (London, 1670), p. 87. 190 W. Dade, 1654, sig. A2v; 1661, sig. A2r; A. Clifford, 1642, sig. C3r; Swallow, 1646, sig. B8r. 191 R. Gardner, 1698, sig. A1r; A2r; A2v–7v. 192 A. Wear, ‘Making sense of health and the environment in early modern England’ in A. Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society: Historical Essays (Cambridge, UK, 1992), p. 144. 193 W. Lilly, 1659, sig. B2v. 194 W. Dade, 1698, sig. B3v; and W. Salmon, 1691, sig. C2v. 195 G. Blunt, 1657, sig. C4r.

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Almanacs and medicine for animals 196 J. Gerard, Gerard’s Herbal: John Gerard’s Historie of Plants, ed. M. Woodward (Twickenham, 1998), p. 266. 197 R. Gardner, 1698, sig. A3r. 198 Nicholas Culpeper, Complete Herbal and English Physician Enlarged (London, 1653; reprint Ware, 1995), pp. 16–17. 199 R. Johnson, 1683, sig. B6r. 100 W. Salmon, 1696, sig. B6r. 101 W. Swan, 1657, 1659, 1661, 1663 and 1667, sig. C6r; W. Dade, 1684, sig. B3r; E. Pond, 1692, sig. C2r; Swallow, 1695, sig. B5r; and Nicholas Culpeper, Complete Herbal, pp. 234–235. 102 J. Bucknall, 1675, sig. C2v; W. Dade, 1692 and 1694, sig. B1v; and W. Salmon, 1699, sig. B8r. 103 P. Beteryl, The Master Book of Herbalism (Custer, WA, 1984), p. 78. 104 R. Gardner, 1698, sig. A7r; and J. Bucknall, 1675, sig. C5r. 105 R. Gardner, sig. C6r; and J. Bucknall 1678, sig. A4v and C6r. 106 W. Dade, 1694, sig. B2r. 107 H. Carter, ‘The history of rabies’, Veterinary History, 9 (1996), p. 23. 108 L. Mascall, The Government of Cattel, p. 292. 109 J.D. Blaisdell, ‘The deadly bite of ancient animals: written evidence for rabies’, Veterinary History, New Series, 8 (London, 1994), 22–27. 110 M. Harward, The Herds-man’s Mate, p. 112; L. Mascall, The Government of Cattel, pp. 292–295; G. Markham, Countrey Contentments (London, 1615), p. 21; L. Coelson, The poor-mans [sic] physician and chyrurgion (London, 1656), p. 72; and R. Barret, The Perfect and Experienced Farrier, p. 31. 111 W. Salmon, 1696, sig. A2r; and 1698, sig. A3v. 112 C.A. Spinage, Cattle Plague (Dordrecht, 2003), p. 98. 113 N. Culpeper, 1653, sig.B3r. 114 L. Wilkinson, Animals and Disease, pp. 51–64; and C. Huygelen, ‘The immunisation of cattle against rinderpest in eighteenth century Europe’, Medical History, 41 (1997), p. 182. 115 W. Dade, 1683, sig. B3r; Pond, 1692, sig. C4r; and Swallow [no initial], 1695, sig. B6r. 116 W.H. McNeill, Plagues and Peoples (London, 1976), pp. 54–55; and J.B., The Epitome of the Art of Husbandry (London, 1670), pp. 93–94. 117 G. Markham, Countrey Contentments, Book 2: The English Huswife (London, 1615), p. 8. 118 Ibid., Markham’s Faithfull Farrier, sig. A3v–4r. 119 L.P. Pugh, From Farriery to Veterinary Medicine 1785–1795 (Cambridge, UK, 1962), p. xiii.

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Part III

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Conclusion

No New-years-gifts [sic] have Almanacks to give, Saving themselves, to serve you while they live: Twelve solar months abroad they hop and fly, And then like Silk-worms (poor things!) must dye, Thus Individuals are quickly gone, But still the kind continues and runs on.1

A

lmanacs have long suffered from the stereotype of being cheap, insubstantial little booklets with a life span of 365 days and, at the end of their allocated ‘twelve solar months’, many undoubtedly were discarded. As Poor Robin helpfully noted: ‘When an Almanack is out of Date, the Leaves thereof will serve to make your Back-side bright, and are very useful about such privy matters’.2 Paradoxically, as Adam Martindale noted in 1675, the genre had an immortality not shared by humans, although the idea that almanacs would be of interest to an academic audience over 300 years later would certainly have been greeted with disbelief. The idea of a detailed study of a specific type of ephemeral literature would also, until fairly recently, have been surprising to many modern academics. Although there has been a growing interest in the history of print culture, such material has tended to be ignored in favour of works on books, which were often too expensive, or inaccessible, to many potential purchasers. There are now an increasing number of studies on forms of ephemeral literature, which highlight the huge importance of cheap, mass-produced publications in influencing and shaping popular attitudes and behaviour.3 Almanacs, however, have been relatively ignored, despite the solid foundation laid by Bernard Capp’s Astrology and the Popular Press a quarter of a century ago.4 This is particularly surprising and disappointing, given that almanacs were the first true form of English mass media, with hundreds of thousands of copies being printed and distributed to almost the full socio-economic spectrum in all

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Conclusion corners of England every year. Furthermore, as Adam Fox has noted, such cheap publications added greatly to the ‘vernacular repertoire’, which was commonly shared by reading aloud in public spaces.5 Since almanacs were the most lucrative component of the Stationers’ monopoly of the English Stock (a joint-stock company) this meant that every aspect of their production was carefully monitored in order to maximize profits. A large part of their work involved providing a good mixture of titles that would appeal to most, if not all, segments of the population. This resulted in a variety of almanacs filled with material meant to appeal to specific target markets. These included readers in the provinces, urban-dwellers, occupational groups, and those with specific political or religious affiliations. In the later part of the seventeenth century, the Stationers even experimented, although perhaps less successfully, with editions supposedly aimed at women. The unifying feature in all these editions was the astrological content found in their monthly calendars and related commentaries about the movements of the celestial heavens. Most significantly, the next most common trait was that over three-quarters of these editions contained some type of medical information or advice. This content strongly suggests that it was considered to be an important topic by most of the men and women who purchased the 350,000 to 400,000 copies that were being published each year by the middle of the seventeenth century.6 It is hardly surprising that most of the almanacs published during the 150 years of this study have not survived, considering that most were probably discarded, or were recycled at the end of each year. Fortunately, however, as this book has illustrated, enough copies have survived to make it possible to compare and contrast their content over a century and a half (1550–1700). Although this book has focused on their medical content, these existing almanacs contain a vast amount of material waiting to be explored by other types of social and cultural historians. The medical content of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century almanacs can be divided into the two main headings: preventative medicine and remedial medicine, for both ‘man and beast’. Authors regularly reminded their readers of the importance of preventative medicine, arguing that: If we were careful to keep out diseases, we should not be troubled to drive them out: Reason tells us ’tis better to keep out an enemy, then to let him in, and afterwards to beat him out7

Many almanacs provided details on how to maintain a state of good health by following a daily regime based on the Galenic six ‘non-naturals’ of air; motion and rest; sleep and waking; things taken in (food and drink); things excreted; and the passions and emotions.8 While it seems unlikely that most people would have closely adhered to the advice for changing one’s diet or lifestyle, the

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Conclusion almanacs’ emphasis on trying to protect one’s health served two purposes. In the first place, attempting to follow a regime based on the non-naturals probably did result in stronger bodies that were more resistant to disease. Secondly, by attempting to follow a systematic method of preventative health, the mass of the population could begin to address what has been recognized as the rampant feeling of helplessness in the face of disease.9 When an approaching illness was successfully repelled, some people might have felt that this was through their personal efforts. When preventative measures failed and disease struck, readers could once again turn to their almanacs for assistance. Authors provided two main types of advice on counteracting illness. Chapter Eight has discussed what might be called ‘non-commercial’ remedial advice, based on ‘kitchin physick’, or medicines that could be prepared at home in order to restore health either through ‘a putting to’ or ‘a taking away of such things as are wanting, or abounding in mans [sic] body.’10 Although advice on kitchen physick continued to appear in almanacs, it was joined by a growing presence of commercial medical advice. This focused on proprietary products, which were the first ‘branded’ or ‘brandname’ medicines which were heavily advertised and available from a variety of retail outlets.11 The range of products and the regularity of the advertisements in almanacs foreshadowed the consumer ‘revolution’ and medical materialism already well documented in the eighteenth century. The medical beliefs and practices promoted in almanacs pay little attention to any kinds of experiments or discoveries taking place in the wider scientific or medical community, and disregard the quantitative and objective medical system generally attributed to the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.12 The study of the medical content of almanacs printed between 1640 and 1700 has resulted in two major findings. In the first place, it is clear that almanacs played a major role in the dissemination, continuing popularity and longevity of traditional astrological and Galenic beliefs and practices. At the same time, they played an important, early role in the growth of proprietary drugs and medical materialism in Britain. Instead, they continued to promote a system of orthodox medicine based on traditional, astrological–Galenic principles for humans and animals, regardless of the type or sophistication of each title’s target audience. The most noticeable form of change in almanacs was the growth of advertisements for medical services and proprietary medicines, which mirrored the increasing demand for all manner of consumer goods during this period.13 For most people, almanacs were a part of everyday life in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century England. The sale of new editions in late November or December would be eagerly awaited to see what fortunes – or sorrows – the movements of the stars and planets signified for the coming year. Depending on the title, the pristine pages might also contain practical travel or business

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Conclusion information, a little advice on marital issues, or medical advice and information. In many copies, this material would be joined during the year by often copious handwritten notes discussing everything from business matters to the health and illness of the reader, his or her family, and even notable public figures. As one author noted, many almanacs offered relief from everyday problems and concerns, as illustrated by this light-hearted poem: Here you will find great store of pretty knacks, More than is found in common Almanacks; As when ’tis good for men to cut their Corns, In what Sign’s best to wed for fear of horns; When Mackarel and Sprats do come in season, When Women with child may long for green-peasen; When Landlords shold have Rent for Quarter-day, (That is, when Tenants have it for to pay); At what time for to provide Money verily, For Lawyers to have causes go on merily [sic] What time o’th week Women should shift their smocks, And in what Sign is best to geld their cocks, The time when School-boys should play at Scotch-hoppers; Who ’twas invented first Tobacco stoppers, How that a Leg of Veal for Dinner drest, Whether with Bacon or without eats best? Since Ladies have grown alame, you here may know, Cause without leading now they cannot go, When’s best for Poets for to purchase Land, You by this book may also understand, With many other things of use and profit, You in the Reading may take notice of it, And if all this it be not worth a Tester, Lay down the Book; let Tom Fool be your Jester.14

NOTES 1 A. Martindale, 1675, sig. A4r. 2 Poor Robin, 1696, sig. A1v. 3 J. Raymond, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain (Cambridge, UK, 2003); M. Mendle, ‘Preserving the ephemeral: reading, collecting and the pamphlet culture of seventeenth century England’ in J. Andersen and E. Sauer (eds) Books and Readers in Early Modern England: Material Studies (Philadelphia, 2002), pp. 201–216; T. Watt, Cheap Print and Popular Piety 1550–1640 (Cambridge, UK, 1996); and A. Halasz, The Marketplace of Print: Pamphlets and the Public Sphere in Early Modern England (Cambridge, UK, 1997).

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Conclusion 4 B. Capp, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500–1800 (London, 1979). 5 A. Fox, Oral and Literate Culture in England 1500–1700 (Oxford, 2000), p. 413. 6 C. Blagden, The Stationers’ Company: A History 1403–1959 (London, 1960), p. 188. 7 R. Saunders, 1681, sig. A7r. 8 J.J. Bylebyl, ‘Galen on the non-natural causes of variation in the pulse’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 45 (1971), p. 483. 9 K. Thomas, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1991), p. 17. 10 R. Allestree, 1640, sig. C5r. 11 See, for example, G. Wharton, 1661, sig. F8v; or L. Coelson, 1680, sig. C8v. 12 A. Wear, ‘Medical practice in late seventeenth and early eighteenth century England: continuity and union’ in R. French and A. Wear (eds) The Medical Revolution of the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1989), pp. 294–295. 13 L. Weatherill, ‘The meaning of consumer behaviour in late seventeenth and early eighteenth-century England’ in R. Porter and J. Brewer (eds) Consumption and the World of Goods (London, 1993), p. 206. 14 Poor Robin, 1677, sig. A1v

235

Bibliography of surviving almanacs 1550–1700

The following list contains all known, surviving English almanacs, together with the author’s name, date and place of publication. Those that have not been examined, because of inaccessibility, are presented in square brackets (due to the sole copies being held in foreign archives which are not microfilmed, excessive fragility, etc.). Abendano, Isaac, An Almanack 1692–97 [1697], 1698–99, Oxford. Allestree, Richard, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1617–43, 1651, London. Alleyn, Henry, An Almanac and Prognostication 1606–10, 1612, London. Andrews, William, The caelestiall [sic] observator 1655–59, London. ——, Newes from the stars, or an ephemeris 1660–61, 1665–1700, London. ——, De rebus caelestibus [sic], or an Ephemeris 1662–64, London. Anon., Levellers [sic] Almanack 1652, London. Askham, Anthony, An almanack and prognostication 1551–57, 1571 [1558, 1559], London. Ashwell, Samuell, A new almanacke and prognostication 1640–43 [1644], London. Atkinson, Charles, Panterpe: or, a pleasant almanack 1670–74, London. Atlee, Richard, Ephemeris sive almanack, or, a diurnall 1647, London. Axford, John, The merchants [sic] daily companion: or the shop-keepers [sic] speculum [1700], London. Balles, Thomas, A new almanack and prognostication 1631, London. Barham, W., An Almanack 1639, London. Baston, James, Mercurius hermeticus ephemeris: or, an almanack 1657, 1659, London. Beale, William, An Almanack 1631, London. Bedwell, William, Kalendarium Viatorium Generale, The Travellers [sic] Kalender 1614, London. Bell, George, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1622, London. Bellerson, Philip, An Almanack 1624, London. Beridge, Ferdinando, Ephemeris: or, an almanack 1654, London. Bird, T., Speculum Anni. Or a glasse of the year 1661, London. ——, Speculum Anni, 1662, or, an almanack 1662, London. Blagrave, Joseph, Blagrave’s Ephemeris 1659–60, 1665, London. Blount, Thomas, Calendarium catholicum: or an universall almanack 1661–64 [1666], 1686, London. ——, A new almanack after the old fashion 1663, London. Blunt, Gabriel, An Almanack, 1656–57, London.

236

Bibliography of almanacs Bogaert [Bogarde], Arnould, A Prognostication for diuers years, 1553, London. Bomelius, Elis, A New Almanack and Prognostication [1567], London. Booker, John, The Anatomie of the yeare, 1636–37, Cambridge, UK. ——, Almanack et Prognosticon sive speculum anni . . . 1636–43, Cambridge, UK. ——, Mercurius civicus, sive almanack et prognosticon . . . 1644–47, London. ——, Uranoscopia. No Wharton or Naworth: but an Almanack and Prognostication [1648]. ——, Uranoscopia or an Almanack and Prognostication 1649. ——, Uranoscopia Britannica or an Almanack and Prognostication 1650, London. ——, Celestiall Observations 1651–57, London. ——, An Old Almanack after a New Fashion 1658, London. ——, Telescopium Uranicum 1659–67, London. Bourne, William, An almanack and prognostication 1571, [1581], London. Bowker, James, Kalendarium Astronomical, Meteorological, and Chronological 1668–74, London. ——, An Almanack 1675–76, 1678–81, 1683–84, London. ——, A New Almanack 1677, 1682, London. Bowker, John, A new almanack 1631, 1632, London. Bretnor, Ezekiel, A new almanack and prognostication [1609–19] 1629–30, London. Bretnor, Thomas, A new almanack and prognostication 1607, 1609–19, 1625, London. Briscoe, John, An Almanack for the Year [1696], London. Browne, Daniel, A new almanacke and prognostication 1615–31, London. Buckminster, Thomas, A newe almanacke and prognostication 1567–68, 1571, 1582, 1584, 1589–91, 1595, 1598, 1599, London. Bucknall, John, The Shepherds [sic] Almanack 1675–76, London. ——, Calendarium Pastoris: or, the Shepherds [sic] Almanack 1677–78, London. Burton, Gregory, An Almanack or Kallendar 1613, 1614, London. ——, An almanack and prognostication, 1616, London. ——, A newe almanack and prognostication, 1617–19, 1621, London. Burton, W., An Almanack for the Yeare [1652], 1653, 1655, Oxford. Butler, Robert, A New almanacke and prognostication 1629–30, London; 1631–32, Cambridge, UK. Butzlin, Valentine, An almanacke 1552, London. Carre, James, An almanacke 1593, London. Catholic Almanack for the Year 1687, 1687, London. Catholic and Protestant Almanack, 1688, London. Chamberlaine, Joseph, A new almanacke 1627–28; 1631; 1647 [1648], 1649, London. Cherry, Thomas, A New Almanack 1699, London. Chesick, William, A New Almanack 1661, London.

237

Bibliography of almanacs Childrey, Joshua, Syzygiasticon instauratum. Or, an ephemeris 1653, London. The City and Country Chapmans [sic] Almanac, 1685–92, London. Clark, Rodney, A new almanack 1633–34, 1636, Cambridge, UK. Clarke, Eustace, A new almanack 1629 [1628, 1631], Cambridge, UK. Clarke, William, Synopsis anni, or an almanack 1668, Cambridge, UK. Clifford, Abraham, An Almanack and Prognostication 1642, London. Coelson, Lancelot, An Almanack 1671–73, London. ——, Speculum Perspicuum Uranicum: or an Almanack 1674–87, London. Coley, Henry, Hemerologium Astronomicum 1672, London. ——, Nuncius Coelestis 1674–84, London. ——, Nuncius Sydereus; or the Starry Messenger 1685–90, London. ——, Merlini Anglicus Ephemeris Junior: or an Ephemeris 1686–1700, London. Conyers, William, Hemerologium Astronomicum in Annum Aerae Christiane 1664, London. Cookson, William, An Ephemeris 1699–1700, London. Cornelius, George, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1647, London. Coronelli, Vincenzo Marco, The Royal Almanack 1696, London. Coulton, John, Theoria contingenum 1653–55, London. Coxe, Francis, A prognostication 1566, London. Crawford, Henry, Vox Uraniae, or Astrological Predictions 1676–77, London. Crooke, William, An Almanac and Prognostication 1652–53, Oxford. Culpeper, Nicholas, An Ephemeris 1651–56, London. Culpepper, Nathaniel, Culpepper Revived 1680–87 [1688], 1689, 1692–1700 [1693], Cambridge, UK. Dade, John, An Almanacke 1589, 1591–92, [1594, 1595–96, 1598–99], 1600, 1602, 1604–14, 1625, London. Dade, William, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1627–28, 1630, 1633–51, 1653–55, 1657–61, 1664, 1666–67, 1669–73 [1674], 1675–83, London. ——, The Country-Man’s Kalender 1684–90, 1692–96 [1697], 1698–1700, London. Daniel, Humphrey, An Almanacke 1651–52, 1654, 1656, London. Dauncy, Gervase, His President for the Stars 1614, London. ——, A New Reformed Kalender 1615, London. Davis, William, A New Almanack Made in Wiltshire after the old fashion 1687, London. ——, News out of the West from the Stars, or a New Ephemeris 1688, London. ——, A New Ephemeris 1689, London. ——, A Compleat Almanack Made in Wiltshire After the Old Fashion 1692, London. Desmus, Raphael, Merlinus Anonymous 1653, London. Digges, Leonard, An everlasting almanac 1572, [1555], London. ——, A prognostication everlasting 1592, London.

238

Bibliography of almanacs Dove, Jonathan, A new almanacke and prognostication 1627, 1631, 1633–39, Cambridge, UK. ——, An Almanack 1640–41, Cambridge, UK. ——, Speculum Anni 1642–1700, [1644, 1646, 1648], Cambridge, UK. Dreking [Drekin], Philip A New Almanacke 1619, [1620], London. Eaton, Nathaniel, A Treatise on Moneths and Years 1657, London. Einer, N., An almanacke 1620–26, London. Eland, William, Hemerologium Astronomicum 1656, London. ——, A Tutor to Astrology 1657, London. Ellis, John, An almanacke 1608, London. Episcopal Almanac, An Episcopal Almanack 1674, 1676, 1678, London. Evans, John, A New Almanacke and Prognostication 1613 [1625], 1629–31, London. Fallowes, Edward, A New Almanack 1636 [1637], 1639–40, London. Farmer, William, The common almanacke 1587, 1614, Dublin. Fly, An Almanack 1657–1700 [1688, 1693], Cambridge, UK. Foster, William, An Ephemeris 1662, London. Foulweather, Adam, A Wonderfull, Strange and Miraculous Astrologicall Prognosticaion 1591, London. Fowle, Thomas, Speculum Uranicum 1680–1700 [1686, 1688], London. Friend [Friende or Frend], Gabriell, A New Almanacke [1585, 1587], 1589, 1593, London. ——, A double almanacke 1595, London. ——, Gabriel Friende his Prognostication 1596, London. ——, An almanacke 1598–99, London. ——, A new almanacke 1614–19 [1620–23], London. Frost, W., A new almanacke 1627, Cambridge, UK. Gadbury, John, Speculum Astrologicum 1656–57, Oxford. ——, Ephemeris or An Astrological Prediction 1658, Oxford. ——, Ephemeris or A Diary of the Celestial Motions 1659–1700, London. ——, Ephemeris or a Diary Astronomical, Astrological, Meteorological 1692, London. Gadbury, Timothy, The Young Sea-man’s Guide 1659, London. ——,The Young Seamans [sic] or Mariners [sic] Almanack 1660, London. Gallen, Thomas, An Almanack and Prognostication [1639], 1640, 1642, 1643, 1647, 1649, 1654, 1658, 1660–64, 1667–69, 1670, 1671–74 [1652, 1660–61, 1664, 1666–71, 1674–77, 1679, 1680], London. Gallen, William, An Almanack and Prognostication 1689–92 [1686, 1688, 1691, 1694], London. Gardner, Robert, Veterinarium Meteorologist Astrology: or the Farriers [sic] Almanack, 1698, London. Gesner, Jacob, An Almanack 1555, London.

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Bibliography of almanacs Gilbert, Samuel, A Sexennial Almanack 1683, London. Gilden, G., A new almanacke 1616–32, London. Ginnor, Sarah, The Womans [sic] Almanack 1659, London. Goldisborough, John, An Almanack and Prognostication 1662, London. Goldsmith, John, An Almanack [1656], 1663–64 [1665, 1667, 1671–72, 1674–75, 1678–83, 1685–89 [1691], 1692–96 [1697, 1700], London. Gossene, George, A newe almanacke 1571, London. Grammar, Abraham, A new almanacke 1627–28, London. Gray, Walter, An almanack 1588–89, 1591, 1593, 1604, 1605, London. Green, Christopher, A New Perpetual Almanack 1690, [1691], London. Greenwood, Nicholas, Diarium Planetarium 1690, London. Gresham, Edward, An almanack and prognostication 1603, 1604, [1606], 1607, London. Gumdante, Edward, A New Almanacke 1621, London. Halley, E., Ephemeris 1686–88, London. Harflete, Henry, An Ephemeris 1651, London. ——, Coelorum Declaratio 1652–54, 1656, London. Harrison, John, Syderum Secreta [1688] 1689, London. Harvey, John, Leape Yeere. A Compendious Prognostication 1584, London. Hawkins, G., An almanacke 1624 [1625] 1627, London. Healey, Richard, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1655, 1658, London. Heathcott, William, Speculum Anni 1665, London. Herbert, Thomas, Speculum Anni 1651–53, London. Heuring [Heuringius] Simon, An almanack 1551, London. ——, and L. Bogarde, An Almanacke 1571, London. Hewit, Thomas, Annus ab Incarnatione Domini, 1654–55, London. Hewlett, William, A New Almanack 1627, London. Heyman, John, An Almanack 1660, London. Hill, Henry, Hill 1603 [1609], London. Hill, Thomas, A necessary almanack 1560, 1572, London. Hills, Henry, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1684, 1686 [1688], 1689, London. Hobbs, Matthew, An Almanack 1693, 1695–96, London. Holden, Mary, The Womans [sic] Almanack 1688–89, London. Honiwax, J., A new almanacke 1629–30, London. Hooker, Richard, Coelestis Legatus 1668, Cambridge, UK. Hopton, Arthur, An almanack and prognostication 1606–8, 1610–14, London. Howell, Humphrey, Duplus Annus 1656–57, London. Hubrigh, Joachim, An almanacke 1553, 1568, 1569, London. J.A., A New Prognostication 1665, London.

240

Bibliography of almanacs Jackson, Thomas, Speculum Perspicuum Uranicum 1653, 1655, London. Jessey, Henry, A Calculation for this present yeer 1645, London. ——, Scripture Kalendar 1646–49, 1650–55, 1660–61, [1668], 1669, London. Jinner, Sarah, An Almanack or Prognostication 1658–60, 1664, London. Joanes, William, A new almanack 1624, 1626–27, London. Johnson, G., An Account Astrological 1659–60, London. Johnson, John, An almanacke and prognostication 1611, 1613, 1615–18, 1621–22, 1624, 1660, London. Johnson, R. An Almanack 1683, London. Kaye, Richard, An almanack 1608–9, London. Keene, John, A new almanack and prognostication 1612–17, London. Kenningham, William, A newe almanack 1558, 1568, London. Kidman, Thomas, A newe almanack 1631, 1633–35, Cambridge, UK. Kirby, Richard, An Ephemeris 1670, 1681–82, London. ——, A Diurnal Speculum 1684, London. Knight, William, An Almanack 1652, London. Krabtree, Henry, Merlinus Rusticus 1685 [1692], London. Laet, Jasper, Merlinus Rusticus or a Country Almanac 1564, 1612, London. Lakes, Thomas, The Countrey-mans [sic] kalender 1627, Cambridge, UK. Langley, Thomas, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1636–43, 1647–48, London. Lea, Philip, London Almanack for 30 years 1680, London. Leybourne, William, Speculum Anni [1648], 1649, London. ——, An Almanack 1651, London. Lighterfoote, Richard, A prognostication for the yeere of our Lord God 1607, London. Lilly, William, Merlinus Anglicus Junior 1644, London. ——, Anglicus, Peace or no Peace 1645, London. ——, Anglicus: Or an Ephemeris 1646, London. ——, Merlini Anglici Ephemeris 1647–85, London. ——, Merlini Anglicus Junior, or an Ephemeris 1686–1700, London. Livie, J., The Bloody Almanac 1654, [1655] 1659, London. Lord, John, An Almanack and Prognostication 1678, London. Lover of Loyalty, Merlinus Verax 1687, London. Low, Henry, A prognostication 1564, 1569, London. Markham, G., An Almanack 1656–57, London. Martin, H., A Bloody Almanack [1662], London. Martindale, Adam, The Country Almanac [1674], 1675–76 [1677], London. Matthew, William, An Almanacke 1604, 1606, 1607, 1611–13, London. Metcalfe, Francis. Hemerologeion and Annum Secundum 1654, London.

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Bibliography of almanacs Missone, Francois, Merlinus Gallicus [1660], London. Moore, Francis, Kalendarium Ecclesiasticum 1699, London. More, Philip, An Almanack 1573, London. Morton, Robert, An Ephemeris 1662, London. Mounslowe, Alexander, A prognostication 1579, 1581, London. Napier, John, A Bloody Almanack 1643 [1644–45], 1647, 1649 [1651], 1652, 1666, London. Naworth, George, A New Almanack 1641–45 [1647–48], London. Neve, Jeffrey, A new almanacke and prognostication 1604–19 [1620] 1621–25, London. Neve, John, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1627–40; 1641–43, 1646–47 [1648], 1649, 1651–59 [1660], 1661, London. Neve, Robert, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1662–67, 1671, London. ——, Merlinus Verax 1668–72, London. Nightingale, Robert, Mercurius Philastrogus 1653, Cambridge, UK. Nostradamus, Mychael, An Almanacke 1559, 1563–65, 1566–67, London. Nunnes, Thomas, An Almanack 1661–62, 1664–66, London. Nye, Nathaniel, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1642–43, 1645 [1646], London. Osborne, George, A new almanacke 1625–26, 1628, Cambridge, UK. Parker, George, Mercurius Anglicannus 1690–98 [1699], London. ——, A Double Ephemeris 1700, London. Parkhurst, Ferdinando, Almanah, or An Almanack [1648], London. Partridge, Dorothy, The Womans [sic] Almanack 1694, London. Partridge, John, Calendarium Judaicum 1678, London. ——, Ephemeris, Being an Almanack 1679–80, London. ——, Mercurius Coelestis 1681–82, London. ——, Merlinus Redivivus 1683–87, London. ——, Annus Mirabilis 1688, London. ——, Merlinus Liberatus 1692–97, London. ——, Merlinus Anglicanus 1698–1700, London. Partridge, S., Merlinus Redivivus 1687, London. Partridge, Seth, An Almanack and Prognostication 1649, 1651–52, London. Partridge, Seth, A Survey of the Year 1653–55, London. ——, A View of the Year of the Worlds [sic] Creation 1656, London. ——, Synopsis Anni 1657–59 [1660], London. Perkins, Francis, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1655, 1657–60, 1662, 1664, 1666–90, 1690, 1692–96 [1697], 1698–1700, London. Perkins, Samuel, A New Almanack 1625–36, 1638–43, London. Peter, John, The Astral Gazette 1678, London. Phillippes, Henry, An Almanack 1653–58, London.

242

Bibliography of almanacs Phillips, John, Montelion, or the Prophetical Almanack 1660–2, London. Philoprotest, The Protestant Almanack [1668–69], 1680–5, 1690–1700, London. Piers (Pierce) Matthew, A New Almanacke and Prognostication 1634–40, London. Pigot, Francis, Speculum Anni 1654, London. ——, The Countrey-Mans [sic] Kalendar 1655, London. ——, An Almanack 1656–62, London. Pond, Edward, An Almanack 1602–12, 1626–1700 [1645], Cambridge, UK. Pond, Thomas, An Almanack 1648, London. Pool, John, A New Almanacke 1642, London. ——, An Almanack and Prognostication 1655–57, London. Poor Robin, Poor Robin 1664–1700, London. Prince, Vincent, The Constables [sic] Almanac 1660 [1664], London. Ranger, Philip, An almanacke 1615–31, London. Ratcliffe, Thomas, Mercurius Civicus, or the London Almanack 1674, London. Raven, Joseph, Calendarium Londinense [1677], 1678, 1683, [1684] 1686 [1689, 1693, 1699], London. Readman, William, An Almanack and Prognostication 1680, London. Rider, Schardanus, Merlinus, Canbri-Britannicus, or the British Merlin 1654, London. ——, British Merlin 1656, 1658–61, 1663, 1666, 1670, 1673, 1675–76, 1679, 1684, 1686, 1689–96 [1697–1700], London. Rivers, Peregrine, An Almanack 1627–31, 1633–34, 1640, London. Rivers, William, A new almanacke 1628, London. Rogeford, Henry, An Almanack 1560, London. Rose, George, A New Almanack 1656–57, 1659–62, 1664–92 [1693], 1694–96 [1697], 1698–1700, London. Rowley, John, Speculum Perspicuum Uranicum 1651–52 [1655], London. Rudston, John, A new almanacke 1607–13, 1615–20, 1624–28, Cambridge, UK. Russell, John, A Coelestiall Prospect 1660–61, London. Salmon, William, Salmon’s Almanack 1684, London. ——, The London Almanack 1691–1700, London. Saunder, Richard, Apollo Anglicanus [1684–85], 1686–1700, London. Saunders, Richard, Apollo Anglicanus 1654–85, London. Savage, William, A new almanacke 1610, London. Seaman, Henry, Kalendarium Nauticum: the Sea-mans [sic] Almanack 1675–77, London. Securis, John, An almanacke and prognostication 1562, 1566–71, 1573–76, 1579, London. Shakerley, Jeremy, Anni Aerae Salutis Christiane 1651, London. Sheppard, Samuel, Merlinus Anonymus [1653–55], London. Silvester, John, Astrological Observations and Predictions 1681–83, London.

243

Bibliography of almanacs Sliter, Robert, A Celestiall Glass 1652, London. Smith, John, A New Almanack 1631–52, London. ——, Hemerologium Hermeticum: or a Mercurial Calender 1653–56, London. ——, Speculum Anni 1673–35, London. Sofford, Arthur, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1618–41, London. Sparke, Michael, The Money-Monger, Or the User’s Almanack 1650, London. Staynred, Philip, An Almanack [1648], Cambridge, UK. Stephenson, Nicholas, The Royal Almanack 1675–77, London. Streete, Thomas, A Double Ephemeris 1653, London. ——, A Compleat Ephemeris 1682–85, London. Strof, Walter, A New Almanacke 1626, Cambridge, UK. Strutt, Thomas, The Weavers [sic] Almanack [1688], 1690, London. Swallow [no initial], An Almanack 1633–34, 1640–43, 1645–49, 1651–69, 1671–92 [1693], 1694–1700, Cambridge, UK. Swan [no initial], An Ephemeris, or Almanack 1657–59 [1660], 1661–84, Cambridge, UK. Tanner, John, Angelus Britannicus 1657–88, 1694, 1697, London. Taylor, John, An Almanack 1696 [1697], London. Temple, Charles, An Almanack 1656–57, London. Thurston, Samuel, Angelus Anglicanus 1652, London. Trigge, Thomas, Calendarium Astrologicum [1660], 1661–87 [1688], 1689–96 [1697], 1698–1700, London. Turner, Thomas, An Almanack 1633, Cambridge, UK. Turner, William, An Almanack 1687–92 [1693], 1694–1700, London. Upcote, Augustine, A new almanacke 1614–19, London. Vaux, John, A New Almanacke and Prognostication 1627, 1634, 1642–43, 1647 [1648], 1649, 1651, London. ——, Diarium Sive Calendarium 1652–62, 1664–66, 1676, London. Waterman, Andrew, The Sea-mans [sic] Almanack and Prognostication 1655, London. Waters, Francis, A new almanacke 1627, Cambridge, UK. Watson, Robert, A New Almanacke 1598, 1600–2, 1604, London. Wedhouse, J., An Almanacke 1619, London. Westhawe, Robert, An almanacke and prognostication 1594, London. Westley, James, An Ephemeris 1669, London. Whalley, John, Praecognita Astrologia [1688], London. ——, England’s Mercury 1690, London. ——, Mercurius Britannicus 1691 [1692, 1697], London. ——, Mercurius Hibernicus or An Almanack 1693, Dublin. ——, Mr. Whalley’s Observations Upon the Year 1699 [1700], London.

244

Bibliography of almanacs Wharton, George, An Almanack 1645, Oxford. ——, No Merline, nor Mercurie 1647–49, Oxford. ——, Hemeroscopeion: The Loyal Almanack 1651, London. ——, A Meteorologicall Diary 1651, London. ——, Anni Intercalaris 1652–53, London. ——, Ephemeris, or a Diary Astronomicall 1655, London. ——, Hemerologium 1656, London. ——, Calendarium Ecclesiasticum 1657–60, London. ——, Calendarium Carolinum 1661–66, London. Wheeler, Maurice, The Oxford Almanack 1673–74, 1676–1700, Oxford. White, John, A New Almanacke 1613–43, 1646–56 [1657–58], 1659–62, 1664 [1655], 1667 [1668–69, 1671] [1673–74], 1676, London. White, Thomas, A New Almanack 1677–87 [1688–89], 1690–95 [1696–97], 1698–1700, London. White, William, A New Almanack 1652–53, 1657, 1665–66, 1628–72, 1674–75, London. Whiting, James, An Ephemeris 1669, London. Wilkinson, Thomas, A New Almanack and Prognostication 1643, 1657, 1658–59 [1660, 1663], London. Wilson, Jeffrey, A new almanacke 1625, 1633, London. Wing, John, An Almanac and Prognostication 1641, London. ——, Ephemeris or An Almanac 1656, 1669, 1680–94, London. ——, A New Almanack 1695–96, 1697, 1699 [1700], Cambridge, UK. Wing, Vincent, An Almanac and Prognostication 1641–43, 1647–48, London. ——, Speculum Uranicum 1649, London. ——, Ephemeris, An Almanac and Prognostication 1651–55 [1656], 1657–72, London. ——, An Almanack [1680–82, 1684, 1690], 1692 [1693], Cambridge, UK. Winter, Frig, An Almanacke 1633–4, 1638, 1646, London. Woodhouse, John, A New Almanacke and Prognostication 1606, 1610–16, 1619, 1621, 1624–28, 1630–31, 1633–34, 1640–44, 1646–49 [1652], 1653–55, 1657–60, 1662, 1664, 1665–67, 1669–96, [1697], 1698–1700, London. Woodhouse, William, A new almanacke 1602, 1604, 1607–8, London. Woodward, Daniel, Vox Uraniae, 1682–88, London. ——, Ephemeris Absoluta 1689–98, London. Wyberd (Wyberdum) John, An almanacke and prognostication 1636–37, London. W.W., An Episcopal Almanack 1674–78, Cambridge, UK. Yea and Nay, Yea and Nay, 1678–80, London.

245

Additional select bibliography

MANUSCRIPTS Balliol College Library, Oxford MSS 455(7), Medical recipes copied by Nicholas Crouch, seventeenth century.

Bodleian Library, Oxford Alm. 78(2)–(3), diaries in Lilly’s almanacs, 1647–48. Ashm. 72(2), diary in Allestree’s almanac, 1643. ——, 72(7), diary in Booker’s almanac, 1645. ——, 247(19), diary in Vaux’s almanac, 1655. ——, 605(1), diary in Lilly’s almanac, 1671. MS Radcliffe Trust, e30, The gouernayle of helthe (late fifteenth century). Rawl. Alm. 5(1), diary in Allestree’s almanac, 1643. ——, Alm. 5(14), diary in Pond’s almanac, 1641. Alm. 78(2)–(3), diaries in Lilly’s almanacs, 1647–48. Wood. Alm. B(6), diary in Gallen’s almanac, 1683. ——, Alm. F(8), diary in D. Partridge’s almanac, 1694.

British Library Add. MS 4293, ff. 111–126, 128, Correspondence between William Lilly and the Ashmoles 1670–77. Add. MS 4403, ff. 113–119b, Pell Papers, Diary in Samuel Morland’s almanac, 1650. Add. MS 4956, William Courten (al. Charleton), Diary in Saunders’ almanac, 1698. Add. MS 18,721, Sir Robert Markham, Bart. of Sedgebroke, Diary in Gadbury’s almanac, 1681. Add. MS 22,550, Henry Hyde, Second Earl of Clarendon, Diary in Goldsmith’s almanac, 1691. Add. MS 34,170, Isabella, wife of Sir Roger Twysden, Second Bart., Diary, 1647–49, 1651. Add. MS 41,202, Sir Edward Nicholas, Memoranda Books in Gallen’s almanacs 1649–69; and Sir John Nicholas, Memoranda Books in Gallen’s almanac, 1667–1703. Add. MS 54333, Oxenden Manuscripts, II, Henry Oxenden, Diary in Booker’s almanac, 1646. Sloane 2279–80, ff. 1–36, Astrological and mathematical collections belonging to Henry Coley 1665–95.

246

Additional select bibliography Buckinghamshire Records Office Chequer’s Mss: D/138/16/1, Commonplace book of Henry Croke, 1659. ——, D/138/16/2, Receipt Book, 1654. ——, D/138/16/3, Household Book, 1676. D/138/16/16/1, Book of Receipts, seventeenth century. D/W/97/7, Pocket Book of Roger Hill, 1640–42. D/X 581/2, John King of Steeple Claydon, Diary in Rider’s British Merlin, 1687. D/X 775, Diary in copy of Rider’s British Merlin, 1667.

Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington DC MS.A2254, ff. 25–27 and 36r–v, Sarah Sales, Diary in Rider’s British Merlin, 1680.

Guildhall Library, London MS 2890 Blacksmith’s Company book of by-laws (early sixteenth century). MS 5526 Farriers’ Company Apprentice Book (c.1620–1743). MS 5534–4 Farrier Court Journals (1674–1867).

Newberry Library, Chicago Alm.g.1670.1, Diary [in Rider’s almanac] 1670.

New York Academy of Medicine RBS.21.B, Collection of recipes, 1719.

Stationers’ Company Journal Book, f. 21 and f. 157, 1694.

Suffolk Records Office Parish Registers of Sudbury All Saints 1564–1808, Bury St Edmunds Record Office.

PRINTED PRIMARY SOURCES Agrippa, Henry Cornelius, The Vanity of Arts and Sciences (London, 1694). Allen, Charles, Curious Observations in that difficult part of Chirurgery, Relating to the Teeth (Dublin, 1687). Allestree, Richard, The Gentlemans [sic] Calling (London, 1660). ——, A Sermon Preached before the King at White-Hall (London, 1663). ——, The Government of the Tongue (London, 1675). ——, The Art of Contentment (London, 1682). ——, The Ladies [sic] Calling (Oxford, 6th impression, 1693). Almond, Robert, The English Horsman and Complete Farrier (London, 1673). Ambrose, Paré, The Workes (London, 1634).

247

Additional select bibliography Ames, Richard, A Farther Search after Claret (London, 1634). ——, An Elegy On the Death of Dr. Thomas Saffold (London, 1691). Andrews, William, The Astrological Physitian (London, 1656). Anon., A booke of soueraigne appoued [sic] medicines and remedies (London, 1577). ——, The Englishman’s Docter, or the Schole of Salerne (London, 1607). ——, The English Farrier, or, Countrey-mans [sic] Treasure (London, 1631). ——, News out of the West, or the Character of a Mountebank (London, 1637). ——, An Act against Unlicensed and Scandalous Books and Pamphlets (London, 1639). ——, To all printers, booke-sellers, booke-binders, free-men of the Company of Stationers (London, 1645). ——, Excellency of Physick and Chirurgie (London, 1652). ——, A Brief discourse concerning printing and printers (London, 1663). ——, Food and Physick for every Householder, & his Family, During the Time of Plague (London, 1665). ——, Famous and Effectual Medicine to Cure the Plague (London, 1670). ——, The Character of a Coffeehouse with the symptoms of a town-wit (London, 1673). ——, News from the Press: or, the Black Devil Conjured (London, 1673). ——, The Gentleman’s Jockey, and Approved Farrier (London, 1676). ——, An Elegy Upon the Death of Mr. William Lilly, the Astrologer (London, 1681). ——, A Help to Discourse, or, More merriment mixt with Serious Matter (London, 1682). ——, An ordinance ordained, devised, and made by the Master, and Keepers or Wardens and commonality of the mystery or art of Stationers of the City of London (London, 1683). ——, A Catalogue of the Libraries of Two Eminent Persons (London, 1684). ——, The Experienced Jockey, Compleat Horseman, or Gentlemans [sic] Delight (London, 1684). ——, A Catalogue of the Library of Choice Books Latin and English of the Reverend and Learned Dr. Richard Lee (London, 1685). Artherton, Henry, The Christian Physician (London, 1683). A.S., The Gentleman’s Compleat Jockey: with the Perfect Horseman and Experience’d Farrier (London, 1697). Askham, Anthony, A little herbal of the properties of Herbes (London, 1562). Athenian Mercury, The (No. 14, 21 July 1694). Atwell, G., An apology, or, Defence of the divine art of natural astrologie (London, 1660). Axford, J., Philosophical and astrological rare secrets brought to light for the good of mankind (London, 1693). Ball, William, A Briefe Treatise concerning the Regulating of Printing (London, 1651). Barret, Robert, The Perfect and Experienced Farrier (London, 1660). Barrough, Philip, The Method of Physick (London, 1652). Bartholomaeus, Anglicus, Batman uppon Bartholome, his booke De Proprietabus reum, trans. Stephen Batman (London, 1582).

248

Additional select bibliography Baxter, Richard, The Poor Man’s Family Book (London, 1674). Berlu, Joseph Jacob, The Treasury of Drugs Unlock’d or A Full and True Description of all sorts of Drugs, and Chymical Preparations, sold by Druggists (London, 1690). Blagrave, Joseph, The Epitome of the Art of Husbandry (London, 1670). ——, Blagrave’s Astrological Practice of Physick (London, 1672). ——, Blagrave’s supplement or enlargement to Mr. Nich Culpeppers English Physitian (London, 1674). ——, Blagrave’s Introduction to Astrology (London, 1682). Blancard, Stephen, The Physical Dictionary (London, 1693). Bolnest, Edward, Medicina instaurata, or, A brief account of the true grounds and principles of the art of physick (London, 1665). Boorde, Andrew, The pryncples of astronmaye the whiche diligently persrutyd is in maners pronosticacyon to the worldes end (London, 1547). ——, The bruiarie of health (London, 1575). ——, A Compendious Regiment, or Dietarie of Health (London, 1576). Boyle, Robert, Medicinal Experiments: Or, A Collection of Choice and Safe Remedies (London, 1696). Bradwell, Stephen, Physick for the Sicknesse Called the Plague (London, 1636). Brassley, Anthony Lambert and Philip Saunders, Accounts of the Reverend John Crankanthorp of Fowlmere 1682–1710 (Cambridge, UK, 1988). Bromfield, M., A brief discovery of the chief causes, signs and effects of that most reigning disease, the scurvy (London, 1679). Bullard, John, A catalogue of extraordinary Greek and Latin books, published by Stephes, Aldus and other curious authors. Also a choice collection of medicinal and chymical books, being the library of Dr. Andrew Clench (London, 1692). ——, A catalogue of theological, philosophical, historical, philological, medicinal & chymical books in the Greek, Latin, Italian, German and English languages . . . of Dr. Rugely (London, 1697). Bullein, William, A new Boke of Physicke (London, 1559). Bunyan, John, A book for boys and girls (London, 1686). Burton, Robert, The Anatomy of Melancholy (London, 1621). C.H., B.C. and C.M. (Ingenious Artists), The Perfect Husbandman, or The Art of Husbandry (London, 1657). Chamberlayne, John, The Natural history of coffee, thee, chocolate, tobacco in four sections (London, 1682). Charleton, Walter, Natural history of the passions (London, 1674). Charnock, Stephen, A discourse of divine providence (London, 1684). Childrey, Joshua, Indago astrologica: or, a brief and modest enquiry into some principal points of astrology (London, 1652). Claridge, John, The Shepheard’s Legacy (London, 1670). Clifford, Christopher, The schoole of horsemanship (London, 1585).

249

Additional select bibliography Cocke, William, Hygiene, or, A Plain and Practical Discourse Upon the First of the Six NonNaturals (London, 1665). ——, Meteorologia, or, The true way of foreseeing and judging the inclination of the air and alteration of the weather (London, 1671). ——, Kitchin-Physick: or, Advice to the Poor, By Way of Dialogue (London, 1676). Cocker, Edward, The Compleat Writing Master (London, 1670). Coelson, The poor-mans [sic] physician and chyurgion (London, 1656). ——, Lancelot, Philosophia Maturata: an Exact Piece of Philosophy (London, 1668). Cogan, Thomas, The Haven of Health (London, 1612). Colbatch, John, Novum Lumen Chirurgicum, or a New Light of Chirurgery (London, 1685). ——, Four Treatises of Physick and Chirurgery (London, 1698). Coles, William, The Art of Simpling (London, 1657). Coley, Henry, Clavis Astrologiae Elimata: or A Key to the Whole World of Astrologie (London, 1669). College of Physicians, Certain Directions for the Plague (London, 1636). Collop, John, On Noah Big’s vanity of the Craft of Physick (London, 1656). ——, Poesis Rediviva (London, 1656). Company of Stationers, A Transcript of the Registers of the Worshipful Company of Stationers, from 1640–1708 A.D., Vols 1–3 (London, 1914). ——, and William Jackson (ed.) Records of the Court of the Stationers’ Company (London, 1957). Cotta, John, A Short Discoverie of the Unobserved Dangers of Severall Sorts of Ignorant and Inconsiderate Practitioners of Physick (London, 1612). Cox, Nicholas, The gentleman’s recreation: in four parts (London, 1674). Crawshey, John, The Countrymans [sic] Instructor (London, 1636). Crowshey, John, The Good-husbands [sic] Jewel (York, 1661). Culpeper, Nicholas, Opus Astrologicum (London, 1645). ——, A Physical Directory: or a Translation of the Dispensatory made by the College of Physicians of London (London, 1649). ——, Semeiotica Uranica, or an Astrological Judgment of Disease (London, 1651). ——, Catastrophe Magnatum: or, The Fall of Monarchie (London, 1652). ——, The English Physitian, or an Astrolog-Physical [sic] Discussion of the Vulgar Herbs of this Nation (London, 1652). ——, Complete Herbal and English Physician Enlarged (London, 1653; reprint Ware, 1995). ——, Pharmacopoeia Londinensis: or the London Dispensatory (London, 1653). ——, New Method of Physick (London, 1654). ——, The Expert Doctor Dispensatory (London, 1657). ——, Galen’s Art of Physick (London, 1657). ——, Astrological Judgement of Diseases (London, 1665).

250

Additional select bibliography ——, Medicaments for the Poor or Physick for the Common People (London, 1670). ——, Anima Astrologiae: or, a Guide for Astrologers (London, 1676). ——, Culpeper’s School of Physick (London, 1678). Daffy, Anthony, Elixir Salutis: The Choise Drink of Health, or Health-bringing Drink (London, 1674). Dariot, Claude, A briefe and most easie introduction to the astrologicall judgment of the starres (London, 1598). Dawson, Thomas, A Book of Cookery, and the Order of Meates to be Served to the Table (London, 1650). De Grey, Thomas, The Compleat Horse-man and Expert Ferrier (London, 1651). De la Charriere, Joseph, A Treatise of the Operations of Surgery (London, 1712). De Mediolano, Joannes, The Englishmans docter, or, The schoole of Salerne (London, 1607). Digbie, K., The Closet of the Eminently Learned Sir Kenelme Digbie Knight Opened (London, 1669). Digges, Leonard, A prognostication euerlasting of right good effect (London, 1592). Dixon, Roger, Consultum Sanitatis, A Directory to Health, Displayed in Several Choice Medicines (London, 1663). Dubrauius, Ianus, A new book of good husbandry (London, 1599). Dunton, J., A Voyage Round the World (London, 1691). ——, The Life and Errors of John Dunton (London, 1705). Edlyn, R., Observations Astrologicae or an Astrological Discourse (London, 1659). Eland, William, A Tutor to Astrology: Or, Astrology made easie (London, 1657). Elkes, Richard, Approved Medicines of Little Cost, to Preserve Health and Also to Cure Those That are Sick (London, 1652). Elyot, Thomas, The Castel of helth (London, 1539). E.M., Inquiries into the General Catalogue of Diseases Shewing The Errors and Contradictions of that Establishment (London, 1691). E.R., The Experienced Farrier, or, Farring Completed (London, 1678). Everard, Giles, Panacea: or, The Universal Medicine, Being a Discovery of the Wonderful Vertues of Tobacco (London, 1659). Fitzherbert, John, The Boke of Husbandry (London, 1573). Fletcher, Richard, The Character of a True Physician (London, 1676). Fontanus, Nicholas, The Womans [sic] Doctor (London, 1652) Gadbury, John, Philastrogus Knavery Epitomized (London, 1652). ——, Animal Cornatum; or, . . . . A brief method of the grounds of Astrology (London, 1654). ——, Genethlialogia, or The Doctorine of Nativities, and the Doctrine of Horary Questions, Astrologically Handled (London, 1658). ——, The Nativity of the Late King Charles Astrologically and Faithfully Performed (London, 1659). ——, Nuncius Astrologicus (London, 1659).

251

Additional select bibliography Gadbury, John, Natura Prodigiorum: or, A Discourse Touching the Nature of Prodigies (London, 1660). ——, Britain’s Royal Star (London, 1661). ——, Dies Novissimus: or, Dooms-Day Not so Near as Dreaded (London, 1664). ——, London’s Deliverance Predicted (London, 1665). ——, A Brief Relation of the Life and Death of . . . Mr. Vincent Wing (London, 1669). ——, Thesaurus Astrologiae (London, 1674). ——, Astrological Predictions for the Year 1679 (London, 1679). ——, Magna Veritas: or, John Gadbury (Student in Physick and Astrology) not a Papist but a True Protestant (London, 1680). ——, The Works of That Late Most Excellent Philosopher and Astronomer Sir George Wharton Bart (London, 1683). Gale, Thomas, Certaine workes of chirurgerie (London, 1563). Gardiner, Edmund, Phisiciall and approved Medicines (London, 1611). Garencieres, T., A Mite Cast into the Treasury of the Famous City of London (London, 1665). Gayton, Edmund, The Art of Longevity, or, A Dieticall Institution (London, 1659). G.C., A Briefe and Most Easie Introduction to the Astrologicall Judgement of the Starres (London, 1598). Gell, Robert, Stella Nova, A New Starre Leading Wisemen unto Christ (London, 1649). ——, A Sermon Touching Gods Government of the World by Angels (London, 1650). ——, The New Jerusalem (London, 1652). Gerard, John, The herbal or Generall historie of plants (London, 1597). ——, The herbal or Generall historie of plants, ed. T. Johnson (London, 1633). Geree, John, Astrologo-Mastix, or a Discovery of the Vanity and Inquiry of Judiciall Astrology (London, 1646). Gesnder, Konrad, The practise of the new and old phisicke (London, 1599). Gildon, Charles, The Post-boy rob’d of his Mail (London, 1692). Girolamo, Cardano, Cardanus comforte translated into Englishe, trans. T. Churchyarde (London, 1573). Goad, John, Astro-meteorologica, or, Aphorisms and Discourses of the Bodies Coelestial (London, 1686). Goddard, Jonathan, A Discourse Setting for the Unhappy Condition of the Practice of Physick in London (London, 1680). Godfridus, The Knowledge of Thinges Unknowne (London, 1585). Godson, Robert, Astrologia Reformata: A Reformation of the Prognostical Part of Astronomy, Vulgarly Termed Astrology (London, 1697). Goeurot, Jean, The kegiment [sic] of life (London, 1546). Graunt, John, Natural and Political Observations Mentioned in a Following Index and Made Upon the Bills of Mortality (London, 1662).

252

Additional select bibliography Grymes, Thomas, The Honest and Plaine-dealing Farrier or a Present Remedy for Curing Diseases and Hurts in Horses (London, 1636). Hakewill, George, An apologie of the power and providence of God in the government of the world (London, 1627). Hart, James, Klinike, or, The Diet of the Diseased (London, 1633). Harvey, Gideon, The Family-Physician and the House-Apothecary (London, 1678). ——, The Conclave of Physicians (London, 1683). ——, The Art of Curing Diseases by Expectations (London, 1689). Harward, Michael, The Herds-man’s Mate: Or, a Guide for Herds-men (Dublin, 1673). Heydon, Christopher, An astrological discourse (London, 1690). Hopton, Arthur, Speculum topographicum: or, The topographicall glasse (London, 1611). Howell, James, Londonopolis, an historicall discourse or perlustration of the city of London (London, 1657). J.B., gent., A Faire in Spittle Fields, Where All the Knick Knacks of Astrology Are Exposed to Open Sale (London, 1652). J.B., gent., The Epitome of the Art of Husbandry (London, 1670). Jeake, Samuel, An Astrological Diary of the Seventeenth Century, eds Michael Hunter and Annabel Gregory (Oxford, 1988). ——, A Radical’s Books, The Library Catalogue of Samuel Jeake of Rye, 1623–90, eds Michael Hunter, Giles Mandelbrote, Richard Ovenden and Nigel Smith (Cambridge, UK, 1999). J.H., Astronomia Crystallina: or, A New and Clear Way to know and behold all the Heavenly Motions (London, 1670). Josselin, R., The Diary of Ralph Josselin 1616–1683, ed. Alan Macfarlane (London, 1976). Knight, William, Vox stellarum: or, the voyce of the stars (London, 1681). Ladies [sic] Mercury, The (No. 1, 28 February 1693). Lambert, J., The Countrymans [sic] Treasure (London, 1676). Langton, Christopher, A uery brefe treatise, orderly declaring the pri[n]cipal parts of phisick (London, 1547). LeClerc, Daniel, The Compleat Surgeon (London, 1701). ——, The History of Physick, or an Account of the Rise and Progress of the Art, trans. Dr Drake and Dr Baden (London, 1699). ——, A Natural and Medicinal History of Worms Bred in the Bodies of Men and Other Animals, trans. J. Browne (London, 1721). Leminus, Levinus, The Secret Miracles of Nature (London, 1658). ——, A Discourse Touching Generation (London, 1664). Lessius, Leonard, Hygiasticon: or, the right course of preserving Life and Health unto extream old age (Cambridge, UK, 1634). Lilly, William, A Prophecy of the White King and Dreadfull Dead-man Explained (London, 1644). ——, The Starry Messenger, or, an Interpretation of that Strange Apparition of Three Suns (London, 1645).

253

Additional select bibliography Lilly, William, Christian Astrology (London, 1647). ——, Astrologicall Predictions of the Occurrences in England (London, 1648). ——, Monarchy or No Monarchy in England (London, 1651). ——, Annus Tenebrosus (London, 1652). ——, The Last of the Astrologers: Mr William Lilly’s History of his Life and Times, ed. K.M. Briggs (London, 1715; reprinted 1974). Lockyer, Lionel, An advertisement, concerning those most excellent pills called Pilulae radiis solis extractae (London, 1664). Lovell, William, The Dukes [sic] desk newly broken up: Wherein is discovered Divers Rare Recipts [sic] of Physick and Surgery (London, 1661). L.P., The Astrologer’s Bugg-beare (London, 1652). Lydgate, John, The gouernayle of helthe (London, 1490). Makluire, John, The Buckler of bodilie health whereby health may bee defended, and sickesse repelled (Edinburgh, 1630). Markham, Gervase, Cavelrice, Or The English Horseman: Contayning all the Arte of Horsemanship (London, 1607). ——, Countrey Contentments, Book 2: The English Huswife (London, 1615). ——, The English Housewife, ed. Michael Best (London, 1615, reprint London, 1994). ——, Cheape and Good Husbandry (London, 1616). ——, Markham’s Faithfull Farrier (London, 1638). ——, A Way to Get Wealth (London, 1661). ——, Markham’s Master-piece Revived (London, 1681). Mascal, Leonard, The Government of Cattel (London, 1662). Massaria, Alessandro, De Morbis Foemineis, the Womans [sic] Counsellour, trans. R.T. (London, 1657). Matthews, Richard, The Unlearned Alchymist His Antidote (London, 1662). Mayrnwaringe, Edward, Vita sana & longa: the preservation of health and prolongation of life (London, 1669). Meager, Leonard, The mystery of husbandry, or, arable, pasture and woodland improved (London, 1697). Melton, John, Astrologaster, or, The figure-caster (London, 1620). Merrett, Christopher, The Accomplisht Physician (London, 1670). ——, Self-Conviction; or an Enumeration of the Absurdities, Railings, &c. Against the College, and Physicians in General (London, 1670). Montulmo, Antonius De, A right excellent treatise of Astronomie (London, 1554/1555). Moore, Philip, The hope of health (London, 1565). Moxon, Joseph, A Tutor to Astronomy and Geography (London, 1665). N.P., The Vertue and Operation of this Balsame (London, 1615). Nendick, Humphrey, A Book of Directions and Cures Done by that Safe and Successful Medicine called Nendick’s Pills (London, c.1677).

254

Additional select bibliography Newcastle, Marchioness, Philosophical and Physical Opinions (London, 1663). Nostradamus, Michael, An excellent treatise shewing what perilous and contagious infirmities shall insue, trans. L. Philotis (London, 1569). Oglander, John, A Royalist’s Notebook: The Commonplace Book of Sir John Oglander Kt. of Nunwell (London, 1936). Osborn, Dorothy, Letters from Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple 1652–1654, ed. Edward Abbott Parry (London, 1903). Oxiden, The Oxinden Letters 1607–1642, ed. Dorothy Gardiner (London, 1933). Packe, Christopher, The Works of the Highly Experienced and Famous Chymist, John Rudolph Glauber (London, 1689). Palmer, Thomas, The Admirable Secrets of Physick and Chyrurgery (London, 1696). Paré, A., The Workes (London, 1634). Parkinson, John, Theatrum Botanicum: the Theatre of Plants or, an Herball of Large Extent (London, 1640). Partridge, John, The Widdowes Treasure Plentifully Furnished with Sundry secrets: and Approved Secrets in Physicke and Chirurgy (London, 1631). ——, Mene tekel: Being an Astrological Judgment on the Great and Wonderful Year 1688 (London, 1689). ——, Remarkable Predictions of that Great Prophet Michael Nostradomus [sic] (London, 1689). ——, The Treasurie of Commodious Conceits: and Hidden Secrets (London, 1691). ——, Opus Reformatum: or, A Treatise of Astrology (London, 1693). ——, Defectio Geniturarum: Being an Essay toward the Reviving and Proving the True Old Principles of Astrology (London, 1697). Paynell, Thomas, Regimen sanitatis Salernitum (London, 1539). Peacham, Henry, The Complete Gentleman: The Truth of our Times, and The Art of Living in London (London, 1622; reprint Ithaca, New York, 1962). Pechey, J., A General treatise of the diseases of maids, bigbellied women, child-bed women and widows (London, 1696). ——, A Plain Introduction to the Art of Physick (London, 1697). ——, The Compleat Midwife’s Practice Enlarged (London, 1698). Pepys, Samuel, The Diary of Samuel Pepys, eds Robert Latham and William Matthews (London, 1970–83: 11 vols). Physiologus, Philotheos, The Good Housewife made a Doctor (London, n.d.). [Platter, Felix], [the author is given as ‘Anon., but Platter generally accepted to be the author of this work] Delights for Ladies, To adorn their Persons, Tables, Closets and Distillatories (London, 1654). Platter, Felix, Nicholas Culpeper and Abidiah Cole, Platerus Histories and Observations Upon most Diseases offending the Body and Mind (London, 1664). Poole, John, Country Astrology in Three Books (London, 1650). Poole, William, The Country Farrier (London, 1652). Ptolemy, The compost of Ptholomeus, prince of astronomye (London, 1552).

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Additional select bibliography Ramsey, William, Lux Veritatis, or Christian Judicial Astrology Vindicated (London, 1650). ——, Vox Stellarum (London, 1652). ——, Astrologica Restaurata (London, 1653). Raunce, John, Astrologia Accusata Pariter or the Diabolical Art of Judical Astrologie (London, 1650). R.B., The Excellencie of Physick and Chirurgerie (London, 1652). Riolanus, Johannes, A Sure Guide: or The Best and Nearest Way to Physick and Chirurgery, trans. Nicholas Culpeper (London, 1671). Riverius, Lazarus, Nicholas Culpeper and Abidiah Cole, The Practice of Physick (London, 1661). Rondelet, William, The Countrey-mans [sic] apothecary (London, 1649). Ross, Alexander, Arcana Microcosmi, or, The hid Secrets of Man’s Body discovered (London, 1652). Rowze, R., The Queens [sic] Wells (London, 1632). Rumsey, Walter, Organon salutis. Or an instrument to cleanse the stomach (London, 1659). Sadler, John, The Sick Womans [sic] Private Looking-glass (London, 1636). Sala, A., Opiologia, or, A treatise concerning the nature, properties, true preparation and safe use and administration of opium, trans. T. Bretnor (London, 1618). Salmon, William, Synopsis medicinae, or, a Compendium of astrological Galenical, & chymical physick philosophically deduced from the principles of Hermes and Hippocrates (London, 1671). ——, Pharmacopoeia Londinensis: Or, the New London Dispensatory (London, 1678). ——, Parateremata or, Select Physical and Chyrurgical Observations (London, 1687). ——, Medicina Practica: or, Practical Physick (London, 1692). ——, A Rebuke to the Authors of the Blew-Book: call’d The State of Physick in London (London, 1698). ——, The Family Dictionary: or Household Companion (London, 1705). ——, Collectanea Medica (London, 1703). Saunders, Richard, Palmistry, the secrets thereof disclosed (London, 1633). ——, The Astrological Judgement and Practice of Physick (London, 1677). Seal, James, England’s timely warning-piece, or, The wonderfull prophecies of Bishop Usher (London, 1682). Sermon, William, An advertisement (London, 1669). ——, The Ladies [sic] Companion, or the English Midwife (London, 1671). Shirley, John, The Accomplished Ladies [sic] Rich Closet of Rarities (London, 1691). Smith, John, A Compleat Practice of Physick (London, 1656). Snape, Andrew, The anatomy of an horse (London, 1683). Solleysel, S., The Parfait Mareschal or Compleat Farrier, trans. Sir W. Hope (Edinburgh, 1696). Spire, John, The natures, uses, & doses of several approved and experienced medicines (London, 1698).

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Additional select bibliography Stationers’ Company, To the Honourable House of Commons assembled in Parliament: an abstract of the generall grievances of the poor free-men and journey printers oppressed (London, 1621). Stevens, Charles and John Liebault, Maison Rustique, Or, The Countrey Farme, trans. Richard Surflet (London, 1616). Stevenson, Matthew, Observations upon Lillie’s Almanack (London, 1673). Strangehopes, Samuel, A book of knowledge in three parts (London, 1664). Swan, John, Speculum mundi, or, A glasse representing the face of the world (London, 1643). Tanner, John, The Hidden Treasures of the Art of Physick (London, 1659). Taylor, John, A Discovery by Sea, From London to Salisbury (London, 1630). Toll, Thomas, A Female Duel, or The Ladies [sic] Looking-glass (London, 1661). Trigge, Thomas, The fiery trignon revived (London, 1672). Trye, Mary, Medicatrix, or the Woman-physician (London, 1675). Tryon, Thomas, Healths [sic] Grand Preservative: or, the Womens [sic] Best Doctor (London, 1682). ——, The Country-man’s Companion, or A New Method of Ordering Horse & Sheep (London, 1688). ——, The Way to Health, Long Life and Happiness: or, A Discourse of Temperance (London, 1697). Turner, Robert, The Compleat Bone-setter (London, 1656). Turner, W., A new boke of the natures and properties of all wines that are commonly used here in England (London, c.1568). Turner, William, A Compleat History of the Most Remarkable Providences (London, 1697). Tusser, Thomas, Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry (London, 1553). Vaughn, William, Directions for Health, both Naturall and Artificall (London, 1617). V.B., A table of the 12 astrologicall houses of heaven (London, 1654). Venner, Tobias, Via recta ad vitam longam, or, A plain philosophicall demonstration (London, 1638). W.W., Health’s new store-house opened (London, 1661). Webster, John, Academiarum Examen (London, 1654). Westwood, Anthony, De Variolis & Morbilis: of the Small Pox and Measles (London, 1656). Whalley, John, Directions for the use of Whalley’s Pills and Elixir (Dublin, c.1710). Wharton, George, Bellum Hybernicale or Ireland’s Warre Astrologically Demonstrated (London, 1647). Whitaker, Tobias, An elenchus of opinions concerning the cure of the small pox (London, 1661). ——, The Tree of Humane Life, or, The Bloud of the Grape (London, 1638). Willis, Thomas, The London Practice of Physick (London, 1685). Wing, Vincent, Harmonicon coeleste, or, The coelestiall harmony of the visible world (London, 1651). ——, Astronomia instaurata, or, A new compendious restauration of astronomie (London, 1656). ——, Examen Astronomiae Carolinae, or a short Mathematicall Discourse (London, 1665).

257

Additional select bibliography Winter, Salvator, Directions for the use of my Elixir (London, 1664). Wood, Anthony, Wood’s Life and Times: The Life and Times of Anthony Wood, Antiquary of Oxford 1632–1695, ed. Andrew Clark (Oxford, 1891). Woodward, Daniel, Amicus Naturae, An Advertisement of the Virtues of Woodward’s Cordiall Pills, and Elixir Salutis (London, c.1690). Wooley, Hannah, The Gentlewomans [sic] Companion (London, 1675). Worlidge, John, Systema Horti-culturae: or, the Art of Gardening in Three Books (London, 1677).

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Additional select bibliography Birken, William, ‘The dissenting tradition in English medicine in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries’, Medical History, 39 (1995), 197–218. Birrell, T.A., ‘Reading as pastime: the place of light literature in some gentlemen’s libraries of the seventeenth century’ in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) Property of a Gentleman: The formation, organisation and dispersal of the private library 1620–1920 (Winchester, 1991), pp. 113–132. Black, Jeremy, The English Press 1621–1681 (Stroud, 2001). Blagden, Cyprian, ‘The distribution of almanacks in the second half of the seventeenth century’, Studies in Bibliography, 11 (1958), 107–116. ——, The Stationers’ Company – A History, 1403–1959 (London, 1960). ——, ‘Thomas Carnan and the almanack monopoly’, Studies in Bibliography, 14 (1961), 23–34. Blair, Ann, ‘Humanist methods in natural philosophy: the commonplace book’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 53, No. 4 (October–December 1992), 541–551. Blaisdell, John D., ‘Rabies in Shakespeare’s England’, Historia Medicinae Veterinariae, 16 (1991), 1–80. ——, ‘The deadly bite of ancient animals written evidence for rabies’, Veterinary History, New Series, 8 (London, 1994), 22–27. Blake, John B., ‘The Compleat Housewife’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 49 (1975), 30–43. Blanning, T.C.W., The Culture of Power and the Power of Culture: Old Regime Europe 1660–1789 (Cambridge, UK, 2002). Blayney, Peter W.M., The Stationers’ Company before the Charter 1430–1557 (Cambridge, UK, 2003). Bober, Harry, ‘The Zodiacal Miniature of the Très Heures of the Duke of Berry: its sources and meaning’, Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 11 (1948), 1–34. Borsay, Peter, ‘The culture of improvement’ in P. Longford (ed.) The Eighteenth Century: 1688–1815 (Oxford, 2002), pp. 183–204. ——, The English Urban Renaissance: Culture and Society in the Provincial Town, 1660–1770 (Oxford, 1989). Bosanquet, Eustace F., ‘Proceedings: Leonard Digges and his books’, Oxford Bibliographical Society, 4 (1926), 247–253. ——, ‘English seventeenth-century almanacks’, The Library, Fourth Series, 10 (March, 1930), 361–397. ——, ‘Notes on further addenda to English printed almanacks and prognostications to 1600’, The Library, Fourth Series, 18 (1938), 39–66. Bragman, A., ‘Alligation alternate and the composition of medicines: arithmetic and medicine in early modern England’, Medical History, 49 (2005), pp. 293–320. Brailsford, Dennis, Sport and Society: Elizabeth to Anne (London, 1969). Brears, Peter, ‘Decoration of the Tudor and Stuart table’ in C. Anne Wilson (ed.) Food and Society: The Appetite and the Eye (Edinburgh, 1991), pp. 56–97. Briggs, Asa and Peter Burke, A Social History of the Media: From Gutenberg to the Internet (Cambridge, UK, 1992).

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Additional select bibliography Brockbank, William, ‘Sovereign remedies: a critical depreciation of the seventeenth-century London pharmacopoeia’, Medical History, 8 (1964), 1–14. Bruster, Douglas, ‘The structural transformation of print in late Elizabethan England’ in A.F. Marotti and M.D. Bristol (eds) Print, Manuscript and Performance: The Changing Relations of the Media in Early Modern England (Columbus, OH, 2000), pp. 49–80. Bryson, Anna, From Courtesy to Civility: Changing Codes of Conduct in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1998). Burke, Peter, ‘Popular culture in seventeenth-century London’, London Journal, 3 (London, 1977), 143–162. ——, Popular Culture in Early Modern Europe, second edition (Aldershot, 1994). Burke, Victoria, ‘Women and early seventeenth-century manuscript culture: four miscellanies’, The Seventeenth Century, 12, No. 2 (autumn, 1997), 135–150. Burnby, Juanita G.L., ‘Pharmaceutical advertisement in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries’, European Journal of Marketing, 22 (1988), 24–40. ——, ‘The early years of the pharmaceutical industry’ in J. Richmond, J. Stevenson and A. Turton (eds) The Pharmaceutical Industry: A Guide to Historical Records (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 1–13. Burnham, John C., ‘Garrison lecture: how the concept of profession evolved in the work of historians of medicine’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 70 (1996), 1–24. Burnett, John, Liquid Pleasures: A Social History of Drink in Modern Britain (London, 1999). Bylebyl, J.J., ‘Galen on the non-natural causes of variation in the pulse’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 45 (1971), 482–485. ——, ‘Disputation and description in the Renaissance pulse controversy’ in Andrew Wear, Roger French and M. Lonie (eds) The Medical Renaissance of the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1995), pp. 223–245. Bynum, W.F., ‘Medicine at the English Court 1688–1837’ in Vivian Nutton (ed.) Medicine at the Courts of Europe 1500–1837 (London, 1989), pp. 262–89. Camden, C., ‘Elizabethan almanacs and prognostications’, The Library, Fourth Series, 10 (1932), 83–108. Capp, Bernard, Astrology and the Popular Press: English Almanacs 1500–1800 (London, 1979). ——, ‘Popular literature’ in Barry Reay (ed.) Popular Culture in Seventeenth-Century England (London, 1985), 198–232. ——, The World of John Taylor the Water-Poet (Oxford, 1994). ——, ‘Separate domains? Women and authority in early modern England’ in Paul Griffiths, Adam Fox and Steve Hindle (eds) The Experience of Authority in Early Modern England (Cambridge, UK, 1996), pp. 117–145. Carey, Hilary M., Courting Disaster: Astrology at the English Court and University in the Later Middle Ages (London, 1992). Carter, Henry, A History of the Oxford University Press, Vol. I (Oxford, 1975). ——, ‘The history of rabies’, Veterinary History, New Series, 9 (London, 1996), 20–31. Chapman, Allan, ‘Astrological medicine’ in Charles Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Morality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979), pp. 275–300.

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Additional select bibliography Chapman, Allan, Astronomical Instruments and their Uses (Aldershot, 1996). ——, Gods in the Sky: Astronomy from the Ancients to the Renaissance (Basingstoke, 2001). Christensen, C. Paul, ‘The rise of London’s book trade’, in L. Hellinga and J.B. Trapp (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in England, Vol. III (Cambridge, UK, 1999), 128–148. Chartier, Roger, The Order of Books: Readers, Authors, and Libraries in Europe Between the Fourteenth and Eighteenth Centuries (Cambridge, UK 1992). Chartres, J.A., ‘Food consumption and internal trade’ in A.L. Beier and R. Finlay (eds) London 1500–1700: The Making of the Metropolis (London, 1986), pp. 191–199. ——, Internal Trade in England 1500–1700 (London, 1977). Cipolla, Carlo M., Miasmas and Disease: Public Health and the Environment in the Pre-industrial Age, trans. E. Potter (New Haven, CT, 1992). Clark, George, A History of the Royal College of Physicians of London, Vol. I (London, 1964). Clark, J.C.D., English Society 1660–1832: Religion, Ideology and Politics During the Ancient Regime (Cambridge, UK, 2000). Clark, Stuart, ‘Demons and disease: the disenchantment of the sick (1500–1700)’ in Marijke Gijswijt-Hofstra, Hilary Marland and Hans De Wardt (eds) Illness and Healing Alternatives in Western Europe (London, 1997), pp. 38–57. ——, Thinking with Demons: The Idea of Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe (Oxford, 1997). Cody, L.F., ‘ “No cure, no money” or the invisible hand of quackery’, Studies in Eighteenth Century Culture, 28 (1999), 103–130. Cohen, E.H. and J.S. Ross, ‘The commonplace book of Edmond Halley’, Notes and Records of the Royal Society of London, Vol. 40, No. 1 (1985), pp. 1–40. Comben, Norman, ‘Snape’s purging pill for horses – 1692’, The Veterinary Record, 84 (1969), 434–435. Company of Stationers, A Transcript of the Registers of the Worshipful Company of Stationers from 1640–1708 AD (London, 1914). Cook, Harold J., ‘Good advice and little medicine: the professional authority of early modern English physicians’, Journal of British Studies, 33 (January 1994), 1–31. ——, The Decline of the Old Medical Regime in Stuart London (London, 1986). Cook, Judith, Dr. Simon Forman: A Most Notorious Physician (London, 2001). Corbett, Margery and Ronald Lightbown, The Comely Frontispiece: The Emblematic Title-Page in England 1550–1660 (London, 1979). Corbin, Alain, The Foul and The Fragrant: Odour and the Social Imagination (London, 1986, reprint 1996). Cotchin, Ernest, The Royal Veterinary College: A Bicentenary History (Buckingham, 1990). Courtwright, D.T., Forces of Habit: Drugs and the Making of the Modern World (London, 2001). Cox, Nancy, The Complete Tradesman: a Study of Retailing, 1550–1820 (Aldershot, 2000). Crawford, Patricia, ‘Printed advertisements for women medical practitioners in London, 1670–1710’, Society for the Social History of Medicine Bulletin, 35 (1984), 66–70. ——, ‘Women’s published writings, 1600–1700’ in Mary Prior (ed.) Women in English Society, 1500–1800 (London, 1985), pp. 211–282.

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Additional select bibliography ——, ‘Sexual knowledge in England, 1500–1750’ in Roy Porter and Miklaus Teich (eds) Sexual Knowledge, Sexual Science. The History of Attitudes to Sexuality (Cambridge, UK, 1994), 82–106. Crellin, J. and J.R. Scott, ‘Lionel Lockyer and his pills’, Proceedings of the XXIII International Congress of the History of Medicine, 2 vols (London, 1972), 1182–1186. Cressy, David, Literacy and the Social Order: Reading and Writing in Tudor and Stuart England (Cambridge, UK, 1980). ——, Birth, Marriage, and Death: Ritual, Religion and the Life Cycle in Tudor and Stuart England (Oxford, 1997). Cross, Gary, A Social History of Leisure Since 1600 (State College, Pennsylvania, 1990). Crowl, Thomas E., ‘Bloodletting in veterinary medicine’, Veterinary Heritage, 19 (1996), 15–21. Crowley, John, ‘The sensibility of comfort’, American Historical Review, 104, No. 3 (June 1999), 749–782. Curry, Patrick, ‘Saving astrology in Restoration England: “Whig” and “Tory” Reforms’ in Patrick Curry (ed.) Astrology, Science and Society (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 1987), pp. 245–260. ——, Prophecy and Power: Astrology in Early Modern England (Princeton, NJ, 1989). ——, ‘Astrology in early modern England: the making of a vulgar knowledge’ in Stephen Pumfrey, Paolo L. Rossi and Maurice Slawinski (eds) Science, Culture, and Popular Belief in Renaissance Europe (Manchester, 1991), pp. 274–291. Curth, Louise Hill, ‘English almanacs and animal health care in the seventeenth century’, Society and Animals, 8 (2000), 71–86. ——, ‘The care of the brute beast: animals and the seventeenth-century medical marketplace’, Social History of Medicine, 15 (2002), 375–392. ——, ‘The commercialisation of medicine in the popular press: English almanacs 1640–1700’, The Seventeenth Century, 17 (Spring, 2002), 48–69. ——, ‘Almanacs as medical mediators’ in C. Usborne and W. de Blecourt (eds) Mediating Medicine: Cultural Approaches to Illness and Treatment in Early Modern and Modern England (Routledge, 2003), pp. 56–70. ——, ‘Animals, almanacs and astrology: seventeenth century animal health care in England’, Veterinary History, 12 (November 2003), 33–54. ——, Louise Hill, ‘Lessons from the past: preventative medicine in early modern England’, Medical Humanities, 29 (2003), 16–20. ——, ‘The medicinal value of wine in early modern England’, The Social History of Alcohol and Drugs, 18 (2003), 35–50. ——, ‘Astrological medicine and the popular press in early modern England’, Cosmos and Culture, 9, No. 1 (Spring/Summer 2005), 73–94. ——, The medical content of English almanacs’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 60, No. 1 (July 2005), 255–282. ——, ‘Introduction: perspectives on the evolution of the retailing of pharmaceuticals’ in L. Hill Curth (ed.) From Physick to Pharmacology: Five Hundred Years of British Drug Retailing (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 1–12.

263

Additional select bibliography Curth, Louise Hill, ‘Medical advertising in the popular press: almanacs and the growth of proprietary medicines’ in L. Hill Curth (ed.) From Physick to Pharmacology: Five Hundred Years of British Drug Retailing (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 29–48. ——, ‘A Remedy for his Beast: animal health care in early modern Europe’, Intersections: Representations of Animals, Yearbook for Early Modern Studies, 6 (2007). ——, The Care of Brute Beasts: A Social and Cultural Study of Veterinary History in Early Modern England (Leiden, 2008). ——, and T. Cassidy, ‘Medical constructions of wine and beer in early modern England’ in A. Smyth (ed.) A Pleasing Sinne: Drink and Conviviality in 17th Century England (Cambridge, UK, 2004), pp. 143–159. Cust, Richard, ‘News and politics in early seventeenth-century England’ in Richard Cust and Ann Hughes (eds) The English Civil War (London, 1997), pp. 233–260. Dannenfeldt, Karl H., ‘Sleep: theory and practice in the late Renaissance’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 41 (1986), 415–441. Davenport-Hines, Richard, The Pursuit of Oblivion: A Social History of Drugs (London, 2002). Dear, Peter, Revolutionizing the Sciences: European Knowledge and Its Ambitions 1500–1700 (Basingstoke, 2001). De Blecourt, Willem and Cornelie Usborne, ‘Preface: situating “alternative medicine” in the modern period’, Medical History, 43 (1999), 283–285. Demaitre, Luke, ‘The art and science of prognostication in early university medicine’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 77, No. 4 (2003), 765–788. Dobson, Mary J., Contours of Death and Disease in Early Modern England: The Spectrum of Death, Disease and Medical Care (Cambridge, UK, 1997). Doherty, F., ‘The anodyne necklace: a quack remedy and its promotion’, Medical History, 34 (1990), 268–293. Dreyfus, John, ‘The invention of spectacles and the advent of printing’, The Library, Sixth Series, 10 (1988), 93–106. Drummond, J.C. and Anne Wilbraham, The Englishman’s Food: Five Centuries of English Diet (London, 1958). Duffin, Jacalyn, Lovers and Livers: Disease Concepts in History (London, 2005). Dunlop, Robert and David Williams, Veterinary Medicine – An Illustrated History (Chicago, 1996). Dunn, Richard, Astrology in Harriot’s Time, The Durham Thomas Harriot Seminar, Occasional Paper, 14 (Durham, UK, 1995). Eales, Jacqueline, Women in Early Modern England 1500–1700 (London, 1998). Earle, Peter, The Making of the English Middle Class: Business, Society and Family Life in London 1660–1730 (London, 1989). ——, A City Full of People: Men and Women of London 1650–1750 (London, 1994). Edwards, Peter, The Horse Trade of Tudor and Stuart England (Cambridge, UK, 1988). Eisenstein, Elizabeth, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change: Communications and Cultural Transformation in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK, 1979). ——, The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK, 1983).

264

Additional select bibliography Eshleman, Michael K., ‘Diet during pregnancy in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries’, Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, 30 (1975), 22–39. Evenden, Doreen, ‘Gender differences in the licensing and practice of female and male surgeons in early modern England’, Medical History, 42 (1998), 194–216. ——, The Midwives of Seventeenth-century London (Cambridge, UK, 2000). Ezell, Margaret J.M., Social Authorship and the Advent of Print (Baltimore, MA, 1999). Febvre, Lucien and Henri-Jean Martin, The Coming of the Book: the Impact of Printing 1450–1800, trans. David Gerard (London, 1976). Fissell, Mary E., Patients, Power, and the Poor in Eighteenth-Century Bristol (Cambridge, UK, 1991). ——, ‘Readers, texts, and contexts: vernacular medical works in early modern England’ in Roy Porter (ed.) The Popularization of Medicine 1650–1850 (London, 1992). Fletcher, Anthony, Gender, Sex and Subordination in England 1500–1800 (New Haven CT, 1995). Fontaine, Laurence, History of Pedlars in Europe (Durham, NC, 1996). Ford, Wyn, ‘The problems of literacy in early modern England’, History, 78 (1993), 22–37. Fox, Adam, ‘Custom, memory and the authority of writing’ in Paul Griffiths, Adam Fox and Steve Hindle (eds) The Experience of Authority in Early Modern England (New York, 1996), pp. 89–116. ——, Oral and Literate Culture in England 1500–1700 (Oxford, 2000). French, Roger, ‘Astrology in medical practice’ in L. Garcia-Ballester, R. French, J. Arrizablaga and A. Cunningham (eds) Practical Medicine from Salerno to the Black Death (Cambridge, UK, 1999), pp. 30–59. ——, ‘Foretelling the future: Arabic astrology and English medicine in the late twelfth century’, ISIS, 87 (September 1996), 453–480. ——, Medicine Before Science: The Business of Medicine from the Middle Ages to the Enlightenment (Cambridge, UK, 2003). Friedman, Jerome, Miracles and the Pulp Press During the English Revolution: The Battle of the Frogs and Fairford’s Flies (London, 1993). Furdell, Elizabeth Lane, ‘Grub Street commerce: advertisements and politics in the early modern press’, The Historian, 63 (2000), 35–52. ——, The Royal Doctors 1485–1714: Medical Personnel at the Tudor and Stuart Courts (Rochester, NY, 2001). ——, Publishing and Medicine in Early Modern England (Rochester, NY, 2002). Garin, Eugenio, Astrology in the Renaissance – The Zodiac of Life, trans. Carolyn Jackson and June Allen (London, 1983). Gauquelin, Michel, Astrology and Science (London, 1969). Geneva, Ann, Astrology and the Seventeenth Century Mind: William Lilly and the Language of the Stars (Manchester, 1995). Genuth, Sara Schechner, Comets, Popular Culture, and the Birth of Modern Cosmology (Princeton, NJ, 1997). Gentilcore, David, ‘Was there a “popular medicine” in early modern Europe?’, Folklore, 115 (2004), 151–166.

265

Additional select bibliography Gibson, Jonathan, ‘Significant space in manuscript letters’, The Seventeenth Century, 12 (1997), 1–12. Gibson, Rev. T. Ellison (ed.), A Cavalier’s Note Book (London, 1880). Gil-Sotres, Pedro, ‘The regimens of health’, in M.D. Grmek (ed.) Western Medical Thought From Antiquity to the Middle Ages (Cambridge, MA, 1998), pp. 291–318. Gowing, Laura, Common Bodies: Women, Touch and Power in Seventeenth-Century England (New Haven, CT, 2003). Grafton, Anthony, ‘Starry messengers: recent work in the history of Western astrology’, Perspectives on Science, 8, No. 1 (2000), 70–83. ——, Cardano’s Cosmos: The Worlds and Works of a Renaissance Astrologer (Cambridge, MA, 1999) Grant, Mark, Galen on Food and Diet (London, 2000). Green, Ian, Print and Protestantism in Early Modern England (Oxford, 2000). Green, Monica H., ‘From “Diseases of Women” to “Secrets of Women”: the transformation of gynaecological literature in the later Middle Ages’, Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 30 (2000), 5–39. Guthrie, Douglas, A History of Medicine (London, 1960). Guy, William, The Age of Agony (Chicago, 1986). Halasz, Alexandra, ‘Pamphlet surplus: John Taylor and subscription publication’ in A.F. Marotti and M.D. Bristol (eds) Print, Manuscript and Performance: the Changing Relations of the Media in Early Modern England (Columbus, OH, 2000). ——, The Marketplace of Print: Pamphlets and the Public Sphere in Early Modern England (Cambridge, UK, 1997). Harding, Vanessa, ‘Early modern London 1550–1700’, The London Journal, 20 (1995), 34–45. Hargreaves, Anne, ‘Some later seventeenth-century book-trade activities’, Quadrat, 6 (1997), 3–6. Harley, David, ‘Rhetoric and the social construction of sickness and healing’, Social History of Medicine, 3 (1999), 407–436. Harris, Michael, ‘Timely notices: the uses of advertising and its relationship to news during the late seventeenth century’ in J. Raymond (ed.) News, Newspapers and Society in Early Modern Britain (London, 1999), pp. 141–156. Harrison, Mark, ‘From medical astrology to medical astronomy: sol-lunar and planetary theories of disease in British medicine c. 1700–1850’, The British Journal for the History of Science, 33 (2000), 25–48. ——, Disease and the Modern World 1500 to the Present Day (Cambridge, UK, 2004). Hartley, Dorothy, Food in England (London, 1954). Hawkes, G., Sex and Pleasure in Western Culture (Cambridge, UK, 2004). Hellinga, L. and J.B. Trapp (eds), The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. III 1400–1557 (Cambridge, UK, 1999). Henry, John, ‘The matter of souls: medical theory and theology in seventeenth-century England’ in Roger French and Andrew Wear (eds) The Medical Revolution of the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1989), pp. 48–112.

266

Additional select bibliography Hetet, John, ‘The wardens’ accounts of the Stationers’ Company 1663–1679’ in R. Myers and M. Harris (eds) Economics of the British Book Trade 1605–1939 (Cambridge, UK, 1985), 32–59. Hinds, Peter, ‘Roger L’Estrange, the Rye House Plot and the regulation of political discourse in late-seventeenth century London’, The Library, Seventh Series, 3, No. 2 (March 2002), 3–31. Hobby, Elaine, ‘Vertue of Necessity’: English Women’s Writing 1649–88 (London, 1988). ——, ‘A woman’s best setting out is silence: the writings of Hannah Wolley’ in Gerald MacLean (ed.) Culture and Society in the Stuart Restoration: Literature, Drama, History (Cambridge, UK, 1995), pp. 179–193. ——, ‘Gender, science and midwifery: Jane Sharp: The Midwives Book (1671)’ in C. Jowitta and D. Watt (eds) The Arts of Seventeenth Century Science (Aldershot, 2002), pp. 146–159. Hobhouse, Edmund, ‘The library of a physician circa 1700’, The Library, 10 (London, 1929), 313–326. Hodgson, Barbara, In the Arms of Morpheus: The Tragic History of Laudanum, Morphine, and Patent Medicines (Buffalo, NY, 2001), pp. 18, 24 Holloway, S.F., ‘The regulation of the supply of drugs in Britain before 1868’ in R. Porter and M. Teich (eds) Drugs and Narcotics in History (Cambridge, UK, 1995), 77–96. Holmstedt, B. and G. Liljestrand, Readings in Pharmacology (London, 1963). Horrocks, T.A., ‘Rules, remedies and regimens: health advice in early American almanacs’ in C. Rosenberg (ed.) Right Living: An Anglo-American Tradition of Self-Help Medicine and Hygiene (Baltimore, MA, 2003), pp. 112–146. Hoskin, Michael, The History of Astronomy: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford, 2003). Houlbrooke, Ralph A., Death, Religion, and the Family in England, 1480–1750 (Oxford, 1998). Huisman, Frank, ‘Shaping the medical market: on the construction of quackery and folk medicine in Dutch historiography’, Medical History, 43 (1999), 359–375. Hunter, Lynette, Women and domestic medicine: lady experimenters, 1570–1620’ in Lynette Hunter and Sarah Hutton (eds) Women, Science and Medicine 1500–1700 (Thrupp, Gloucestershire, 1997), pp. 89–107. ——, ‘Books for daily life: household, husbandry, behaviour’ in J. Barnard and D.F. McKenzie (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book, Vol. IV, 1557–1695 (Cambridge, UK, 2002), pp. 514–532. Hunter, Michael, Science and Society in Restoration England (Cambridge, UK, 1981). Hunter, Michael, ‘Science and astrology in seventeenth-century England: an unpublished polemic by John Flamsteed’ in Patrick Curry (ed.) Astrology, Science and Society (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 1987), pp. 261–282. Hunting, Penelope, A History of the Society of Apothecaries (London, 1998). Ingram, Martin, Church Courts, Sex and Marriage in England 1570–1640 (Cambridge, UK, 1987). ——, ‘From Reformation to toleration: religious culture in England 1540–1690’ in T. Harris (ed.) Popular Culture in England c.1500–1850 (London, 1995), pp. 98–123. Isaac, Peter, ‘Charles Eliot and Spilsbury’s Antiscorbutic Drops’ in P. Isaac and B. McKay (eds) The Reach of Print: Making, Selling and Using Books (Winchester, 1998), pp. 157–174.

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Additional select bibliography Isaac, Peter, ‘Pills and print’ in Robin Harris and Michael Myers (eds) Medicine, Mortality and the Book Trade (Folkestone, 1998), 25–49. Jackson, William (ed.), Records of the Court of the Stationers’ Company (London, 1957). Jankovic, Vladimir, Reading the Skies: a Cultural History of English Weather, 1650–1820 (Manchester, 2000). Jardine, Lisa, Worldly Goods: A New History of the Renaissance (London, 1996). Jewell, Helen M., Education in Early Modern England (Basingstoke, 1998). Johns, Adrian, The Nature of the Book: Print and Knowledge in the Making (Chicago, 1998). Johnson, Gerald D., ‘The stationers versus the drapers: control of the press in the late sixteenth century’, The Library, Sixth Series, 10, No. 1 (March 1988), 1–17. Jones, C., ‘The great chain of buying: medical advertisement, the bourgeois public sphere and the origins of the French Revolution’, The American Historical Review, 101 (February 1996), 13–40. Jones, Peter Murray, ‘Book ownership and the lay culture of medicine in Tudor Cambridge’ in H. Marland and M. Pelling (eds) Medicine, Religion and Gender in England and the Netherlands 1450–1800 (Amsterdam, 1996), pp. 49–67. ——, ‘Medicine and science’ in Lotte Hellinga and J.B. Trapp (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. 3, 1450–1557 (Cambridge, UK, 1999), pp. 433–449. Karasszon, Denis, A Concise History of Veterinary Medicine, trans. E. Farkas (Budapest, 1988). Kassell, Lauren, ‘How to read Simon Forman’s Casebooks: medicine, astrology and gender in Elizabethan London’, Social History of Medicine, 12 (1999), 3–18. ——, ‘The economy of magic in early modern England’ in M. Pelling and S. Mandelbrote (eds) The Practice of Reform in Health, Medicine and Science 1500–2000 (Aldershot, 2005), pp. 43–57. Kelly, John T., Practical Astronomy during the Seventeenth Century: Almanac-Makers in America and England (London, 1991). King, Helen, The Disease of Virgins: Green Sickness, Cholorosis and the Problems of Puberty (London, 2004). King, John, ‘The book trade under Edward VI and Mary I’ in L. Hellinga and J.B. Trapp (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book, Vol. III (Cambridge, UK, 1999), pp. 164–175. King, Steven and Alan Weaver, ‘Lives in many hands: the medical landscape in Lancashire, 1700–1820’, Medical History, 44 (2000), 173–200. Kington, Eugene R., Reading in Tudor England (Pittsburgh, PA, 1996). Lane, Joan, ‘The role of apprenticeship in eighteenth-century medical education in England’ in W.F. Bynum and Roy Porter (eds) William Hunter and the Eighteenth Century Medical World (Cambridge, UK, 1985), pp. 57–105. ——, ‘Farriers in Georgian England’ in A.R. Mitchell (ed.) History of the Healing Professions, Vol. III (Cambridge, UK, 1993), pp. 99–117. ——, Apprenticeship in England 1600–1914 (London, 1996). ——, John Hall and His Patients. The Medical Practice of Shakespeare’s Son-In-Law (Stratfordupon-Avon, 1996).

268

Additional select bibliography Larner, Christina, ‘Healing in pre-industrial Britain’ in Mike Saks (ed.) Alternative Medicine in Britain (Oxford, 1992), pp. 25–34. Leigh, R.A., ‘The Stationers’ Company’s Records’, The Library, 6 (London, 1926), 348–357. Levy, Fritz, ‘The decorum of news’ in J. Raymond (ed.) News, Newspapers and Society in Early Modern Britain (London, 1999), pp. 12–38. Lewis, Walter H. and Memory Elvin-Lewis, Medical Botany: Plants Affecting Man’s Health (New York, 1977). Lindemann, Mary, Medicine and Society in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, UK, 1999). Lindenbaum, Peter, ‘Authors and publishers in the late seventeenth century: New evidence on their relations’, The Library, Sixth Series, 3 (1995), 250–269. Longrigg, James, Greek Rational Medicine: Philosophy and Medicine From Alcmaeon to the Alexandrians (London, 1993). ——, Greek Medicine From the Heroic to the Hellenistic Age: A Source Book (New York, 1998). Maclean, Ian, Logic, Signs and Nature in the Renaissance: The Case of Learned Medicine (Cambridge, UK, 2002). MacDonald, Michael, Mystical Bedlam: Madness, Anxiety and Healing in Seventeenth-Century England (Cambridge, UK, 1985). ——, ‘Madness, suicide and the computer’ in Roy Porter and Andrew Wear (eds) Problems and Methods in the History of Medicine (London, 1987), pp. 207–229. ——, ‘The career of astrological medicine in England’ in O.P. Grell and Andrew Cunningham (eds) Religio Medici – Medicine and Religion in Seventeenth-Century England (Aldershot, 1996), pp. 62–90. McDowell, Paula, The Women of Grub Street: Press, Politics and Gender in the London Literary Marketplace 1678–1730 (Oxford, 1998). Macfarlane, Alan, The Family Life of Ralph Josselin: A Seventeenth-Century Clergyman: An Essay in Historical Anthropology (Cambridge, UK, 1970). McKitterick, Rosamund, ‘Books and sciences before print’ in R. McKitterick (ed.) Books and the Sciences in History (Cambridge, UK, 2001), 13–24. Maehle, Andreas-Holger and Ulrich Tröhler, ‘The ethical discourse on animal experimentation, 1650–1900’ in Andrew Wear, Johanna Geyer-Kordesch and Roger French (eds) Doctors and Ethics: The Earlier Historical Setting of Professional Ethics (Amsterdam, 1993), pp. 203–251. Mandelbrote, Giles, ‘Workplaces and living spaces: London book trade inventories of the late seventeenth century’ in R. Myers, M. Harris and G. Mandelbrote (eds) The London Book Trade: Topographies of Print in the Metropolis From the Sixteenth Century (London, 2003), pp. 21–44. Maple, Eric, ‘The great age of quackery’ in Mike Saks (ed.) Alternative Medicine in England (Oxford, 1992), pp. 55–61. Martin, A. Lynn, Alcohol, Sex and Gender in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe (Basingstoke, 2001). Mendle, M. ‘De facto freedom, de facto authority: press and Parliament 1640–1643’, The Historical Journal, 38, No. 2 (June 1995), 307–322. Mendelson, Sara Heller, The Mental World of Stuart Women (London, 1987).

269

Additional select bibliography Mendelson, Sara Heller and Patricia Crawford, ‘Stuart women’s diaries and occasional memoirs’ in Mary Prior (ed.) Women in English Society 1500–1800 (London, 1991), pp. 181–210. ——, Women in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1998). Mui, Hoh-Cheung and Lorna H. Mui, Shops and Shopkeeping in Eighteenth-Century England (London, 1989). Nagy, Doreen Evenden, Popular Medicine in Seventeenth-Century England (Bowling Green, KY, 1988). Naphy, William and Andrew Spicer, The Black Death: A History of Plagues 1345–1730 (Stroud, 2001). Newman, William R. and Anthony Grafton, ‘Introduction: the problematic status of astrology and alchemy in premodern Europe’ in W.R. Newman and A. Grafton (eds) Secrets of Nature: Astrology and Alchemy in Early Modern Europe (Cambridge, MA, 2001), pp. 1–38. Nicolson, Marjorie, ‘English almanacs and the new astronomy’, Annals of Science, 4 (1939), 1–33. Niebyl, P.H., ‘The non-naturals’, British History of Medicine, 45 (Baltimore, MA, 1971), 486–92. North, John, The Fontana History of Astronomy and Cosmology (London, 1994). Nummedal, Tara and Paula Findlen, ‘Words of Nature: scientific books in the seventeenth century’ in A. Hunter (ed.) Thornton and Tully’s Scientific Books, Libraries and Collectors, Fourth Edition (Aldershot, 2000), pp. 164–216. Nutton, Vivian, ‘The drug trade in antiquity’, Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine, 78 (1985), 138–145. ——, ‘Beyond the Hippocratic Oath’ in Andrew Wear, Johanna Geyer-Kordesch and Roger French (eds) Doctors and Ethics: The Earlier Historical Setting of Professional Ethics (Amsterdam, 1993), pp. 10–37. ——, Ancient Medicine (London, 2004). O’Boyle, Cornelius, Medieval Prognosis and Astrology: A Working Edition of the Aggregationes de Crisi et Creticis Diebus (Cambridge, UK, 1991). Ong, W.J., Orality and Literacy: The Technologizing of the Word (London, 2002). Palmer, Richard, In Bad Odour: Smell and Its Significance in Medicine from Antiquity to the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1993), 61–68. Parker, Derek, Familiar to All: William Lilly and Astrology in the Seventeenth Century (London, 1975). ——, and Julia Parker, A History of Astrology (London, 1983). Pattie, Thomas, ‘Greek astrology’ in Annabella Kitson (ed.) History and Astrology: Clio and Urania Confer (London, 1989), pp. 15–25. Pearson, David, ‘The libraries of English bishops, 1600–1640’, The Library, Sixth Series, 14 (1992), 220–231. ——, ‘English centrepiece bookbindings 1560–1640’, The Library, Sixth Series, 16 (1994), 6–16.

270

Additional select bibliography Pelling, Margaret, ‘Appearance and reality: barber-surgeons, the body and disease’ in A. Beier and Roger Finlay (eds) The Making of the Metropolis: London 1500–1700 (London, 1986), pp. 82–105. ——, The Common Lot: Sickness, Medical Occupations and the Urban Poor in Early Modern England (London, 1998). ——, and F. White, Medical Conflicts in Early Modern London: Patronage, Physicians and Irregular Practitioners 1550–1640 (Oxford, 2003). Pennell, Sara, ‘Consumption and consumerism in early modern England’, The Historical Journal, 42, No. 2 (1999), 549–564. Perkins, Wendy, Midwifery and Medicine in Early Modern France: Louise Bourgeois (Exeter, 1996). Pollard, G., ‘The Company of Stationers before 1557’, The Library, Fourth Series, 18 (1938), p. 20. Porter, Dorothy and Roy Porter, Patient’s Progress: Doctors and Doctoring in Eighteenth-Century England (Oxford, 1989). Porter, Roy, ‘I think ye both quacks’: the controversy between Dr Theodore Myersbach and Dr John Coakley Lettsom’ in W.F. Bynum and Roy Porter (eds) Medical Fringe and Medical Orthodoxy 1750–1850 (Beckenham, Kent, 1987), pp. 56–78. ——, Health for Sale: Quackery in England 1660–1850 (Manchester, 1989). ——, ‘The patient in England, c.1660–c.1800’ in Andrew Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society: Historical Essays (Cambridge, UK, 1992), pp. 91–118. ——, ‘Man, animals and medicine at the time of the founding of the Royal Veterinary College’ in A.R. Mitchell (ed.) History of the Healing Professions, Vol. III (London, 1993), 19–30. ——, The Greatest Benefit to Mankind: A Medical History of Humanity from Antiquity to the Present (London, 1997). —— and Dorothy Porter, In Sickness and In Health: The British Experience 1650–1850 (London, 1988). ——, and Dorothy Porter, ‘The rise of the English drugs industry: the role of Thomas Corbyn’, Medical History, 33 (1989), 277–295. Porter, Stephen, The Great Fire of London (Stroud, 1996). Prince, Leslie B., The Farrier and His Craft. The History of the Worshipful Company of Farriers (London, 1980). Pugh, Leslie P., From Farriery to Veterinary Medicine 1785–1795 (Cambridge, UK, 1962). ——, ‘From farriery to veterinary medicine’, Veterinary History, 4 (1974–75), 10–16. Raach, John H., A Directory of English Country Physicians (London, 1962). Raven, James, ‘The book trades’ in I. Rivers (ed.) Books and Their Readers in EighteenthCentury England: New Essays (London, 2001), pp. 1–34. Raven, J., H. Small and N. Tadmor, ‘Introduction: the practice and representation of reading in England’ in J. Raven, H. Small and N. Tadmor (eds) The Practice and Representation of Reading in England (Cambridge, UK, 1999), p. 5. Rawcliffe, Carole, Medicine and Society in Later Medieval England (Stroud, 1995).

271

Additional select bibliography Raymond, Joad, Making the News: An Anthology of the Newsbooks of Revolutionary England 1641–1660 (Moreton-in-Marsh, 1993). ——, Pamphlets and Pamphleteering in Early Modern Britain (Cambridge, UK, 2003). ——, ‘The newspaper, public opinion and the public sphere in the seventeenth century’ in J. Raymond (ed.) News, Newspapers and Society in Early Modern Britain (London, 1999), pp. 109–141. Reay, Barry, Popular Cultures in England 1550–1750 (London, 1998). Rogers, Pat, Grub Street: Studies in a Subculture (London, 1972). Rolls, R., ‘Bark, blisters and the bath: some problems of pain relief in former times’, Journal of the Royal Society of Medicine, 75 (October 1982), pp. 812–819. Roos, Anna Marie, ‘Luminaries in medicine: Richard Mead, James Gibbs, and solar and lunar effects on the human body in early modern England’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 74 (2000), 433–457. Ruckebusch, Y., ‘A historical profile of veterinary pharmacology and therapeutics’, Historia Medicinae Veterinariae, 20 (1995), 49–80. Rusche, Harry, ‘Merlini Anglici: astrology and propaganda from 1644 to 1651’, English Historical Review, 80 (1965), 322–333. Salisbury, Joyce E., The Beast Within: Animals in the Middle Ages (London, 1994). Schalick, W.O., ‘To market, to market: the theory and practice of opiates in the Middle Ages’ in M.L. Meldrum (ed.) Opiods and Pain Relief: A Historical Perspective (Seattle, 2003), pp. 5–20. Schwabe, Calvin W., Veterinary Medicine and Human Health (Baltimore, MA, 1984). Scully, Terence, ‘The sickdish in early French recipe collections’ in S. Campbell, B. Hall and D. Klausner (eds) Health, Disease and Healing in Medieval Culture (Toronto, Canada, 1992), pp. 132–140. Sharpe, Kevin, Criticism and Compliment: The Politics of Literature in the England of Charles I (Cambridge, UK, 1987). ——, Reading Revolutions: The Politics of Reading in Early Modern England (New Haven, CT, 2000). Siena, Kevin P., Venereal Disease, Hospitals and the Urban Poor: London’s ‘Foul Wards’, 1600–1800 (Rochester, NY, 2004). Simon, Andre, History of the Wine Trade in England, Vol. III (London, 1909). Simons, R.C., ‘ABC’s, almanacs, ballads, chapbooks, popular piety and textbooks’ in J. Barnard and D.F. McKenzie (eds) The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain, Vol. IV (Cambridge, UK, 2002). Siraisi, Nancy G., ‘Some current trends in the study of Renaissance medicine’, Renaissance Quarterly, 37 (1984), 585–600. ——, ‘The Fielding H. Garrison lecture: medicine and the Renaissance world of learning’, Bulletin of the History of Medicine, 18, No. 1 (2004), 1–36. Slack, Paul, ‘Mirrors of health and treasures of poor men: the uses of the vernacular medical literature of Tudor England’ in Charles Webster (ed.) Health, Medicine and Mortality in the Sixteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1979), pp. 237–274. ——, The Impact of Plague in Tudor and Stuart England (London, 1985).

272

Additional select bibliography ——, Poverty and Policy in Tudor and Stuart England (London, 1988). Sloan, A.W., English Medicine in the Seventeenth Century (Durham, UK, 1996). Smith, Ginnie, ‘Prescribing the rules of health: self-help and advice in the late eighteenth century’ in Roy Porter (ed.) Patients and Practitioners: Lay Perceptions of Medicine in Preindustrial Society (Cambridge, UK, 1985), pp. 249–282. Smith, Sir Frederick, The Early History of Veterinary Literature and Its British Development, Vol. I (London, 1919; reprinted 1976). ——, The Early History of Veterinary Literature, Vol. II (London, 1924). Smithcors, F.J., Evolution of the Veterinary Art: A Narrative Account to 1850 (London, 1958). ——, The American Veterinary Profession (Ames, IA, 1963). ——, ‘Some early veterinary therapies’, Veterinary Heritage, 18 (1995), 48–52. Smoller, Lauren, History, Prophecy and the Stars: The Christian Astrology of Pierre D’Alilly 1350–1420 (Princeton, NJ, 1994). Snodgrass, Mary Ellen, Signs of the Zodiac: A Reference Guide to Historical, Mythological, and Cultural Associations (London, 1997). Sommerville, C. John, The News Revolution in England: Cultural Dynamics of Daily Information (Oxford, 1996). Spufford, Margaret, Contrasting Communities: English Villagers in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (Cambridge, UK, 1974). ——, Small Books and Pleasant Histories: Popular Fiction and Its Readership in SeventeenthCentury England (Cambridge, UK, 1981). Stone, Lawrence, ‘Literacy and education in England 1640–1900’, Past and Present, 42 (1969), 69–139. ——, The Family, Sex and Marriage in England 1500–1800 (Cambridge, UK, 1979). Sutherland, James, The Restoration Newspaper and Its Development in Early Modern England (Cambridge, UK, 1986). Swabe, Joanna, ‘The Burden of Beasts’: A Historical Sociological Study of Changing Human–Animal Relations and the Rise of the Veterinary Regime (Amsterdam, 1997). Tebeaux, Elizabeth, ‘Women and technical writing, 1475–1700: technology, literacy, and development of a genre’ in Lynette Hunter and Sarah Hutton (eds) Women, Science and Medicine 1500–1700 (Thrupp, Gloucestershire, 1997), pp. 29–62. Tester, S.J., A History of Western Astrology (Woodbridge, Suffolk, 1987). Thagard, Paul R., ‘Why astrology is a pseudoscience’, The Philosophy of Science Association, 1 (1978), 223–234. Thomas, Keith, Man and the Natural World: Changing Attitudes in England 1500–1800 (London, 1983). ——, Religion and the Decline of Magic (London, 1971; reprinted 1991). Thompson, C.J.S., The Quacks of Old London (London, 1928). Thorndike, Lynn, ‘Medieval magic and science in the seventeenth century’, Speculum, 28 (1953), 692–704. ——, ‘The true place of astrology in the history of science’, ISIS, 46 (Cambridge, UK, 1955), 273–278.

273

Additional select bibliography Thornton, Alice, Her Own Life: Autobiographical Writings by Seventeenth-Century Englishwomen (London, 1998). Tinniswood, A., By Permission of Heaven: The Story of the Great Fire of London (London, 2003). Tobyn, Graeme, Culpeper’s Medicine: A Practice of Western Holistic Medicine (Shaftesbury, Dorset, 1997). Toussaint-Samat, Maguelonne, History of Food, trans. Anthea Bell (New York, 1992). Treadwell, Michael, ‘London trade publishers 1675–1750’, The Library, 4 (1982), 99–134. Voss, P., ‘Books for sale: advertising and patronage in Elizabethan England’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 29 (1998), pp. 733–757. W.S., ‘Early almanacs’, Notes and Queries, 11 (1858), 134–135. Wall, C. and H.C. Cameron, A History of the Worshipful Society of Apothecaries of London, Vol. I, 1617–1815 (London, 1963). Wall, W., ‘Renaissance national husbandry: Gervase Markham and the publication of England’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 17, No. 3 (Autumn 1996), 767–785. Walsham, Alexandra, Providence in Early Modern England (Oxford, 1999). Watt, Tessa, Cheap Print and Popular Piety, 1550–1640 (Cambridge, UK, 1996). Watts, Sheldon, Disease and Medicine in World History (London, 2003). Wear, Andrew, ‘Interfaces: perceptions of health and illness in early modern England’ in Roy Porter and Andrew Wear (eds) Problems and Methods in the History of Medicine (London, 1988), pp. 230–256. ——, ‘Medical practice in late seventeenth- and early eighteenth-century England: continuity and union’ in Roger French and Andrew Wear (eds) The Medical Revolution of the Seventeenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1989), pp. 294–320. ——, ‘Making sense of health and the environment in early modern England’ in Andrew Wear (ed.) Medicine in Society: Historical Essays (Cambridge, UK, 1992), pp. 120–143. ——, ‘The popularisation of medicine 1650–1850’ in Roy Porter (ed.) The Popularization of Medicine 1650–1850 (London, 1992), pp. 17–34. ——, ‘Medicine in early modern Europe, 1500–1700’ in L. Conrad, M. Neve, V. Nutton, R. Porter and A. Wear, The Western Medical Tradition 800 BC to AD 1800 (Cambridge, UK, 1995), pp. 215–340. ——, ‘The early modern debate about foreign drugs: localism versus universalism in medicine’, The Lancet, 354 (1999), 149–151. Weatherill, Lorna, Consumer Behaviour and Material Culture in Britain 1660–1760 (London, 1988). ——, ‘The meaning of consumer behaviour in late seventeenth and early eighteenth-century England’ in Roy Porter and John Brewer (eds) Consumption and the World of Goods (London, 1993), pp. 206–217. Weber, Harold, Paper Bullets: Print and Kingship under Charles II (Lexington, KY, 1996). Webster, Charles, The Great Instauration: Science, Medicine and Reform 1626–1660 (New York, 1976). Wheale, Nigel, Writing and Society: Literacy, Print and Politics in Britain 1590–1660 (London, 1999).

274

Additional select bibliography Wiesner, Merry E., Women and Gender in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 1998). Wilkins, John, ‘The contribution of Galen, De Subtilliante Diaeta (on the thinning diet)’ in V. Nutton (ed.) The Unknown Galen (London, 2002), pp. 47–55. Wilkinson, Lise, Animals and Disease: An Introduction to the History of Comparative Medicine (Cambridge, UK, 1992). Williams, Guy, The Age of Agony: The Art of Healing 1700–1800 (Chicago, 1975). Williams, William, The Principles and Practice of Veterinary Medicine (London, 1882). Wilson, Adrian, ‘The politics of medical improvement in early Hanoverian London’ in Andrew Cunningham and Roger French (eds) The Medical Enlightenment of the Eighteenth Century (Cambridge, UK, 1990), pp. 4–40. Wilson, C., Anne, Food and Drink in Britain: From Stone Age to Recent Times (London, 1976). ——, ‘The evolution of the banquet course: some medicinal, culinary and social aspects’ in C. Anne Wilson (ed.) Food and Society: ‘Banquetting Stuffe’ (Edinburgh, 1991), pp. 9–35. ——, Ideal Meals and their Menus from the Middle Ages to the Georgian Era (Edinburgh, 1991). Wilson, R., Astronomy Through the Ages: the Story of the Human Attempt to Understand the Universe (London, 1997). Wing, Donald, Short Title Catalogue of Books Printed in England . . . and of English Books . . .1641–1700, 2nd edn., 3 vols (New York, 1994). Wright, Peter, ‘Astrology and science in seventeenth-century England’, Social Studies of Science, 5 (London, 1975), 400–421. Wrightson, Keith, Earthly Necessities: Economic Lives in Early Modern Britain 1450–1750 (London, 2002). Zolar, The History of Astrology (London, 1972).

275

Index

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Abendano, Isaac 68, 236 advertising 184–276 agriculture 110, 141, 151, 276 Agrippa, Cornelius 90 air 14, 111, 127, 137, 139–42, 153, 174, 207, 215, 232, 250 Albala, Ken 140, 162–3 alchemy 25 ale 25, 144, 165, 168, 195, 220 alehouses 140, 195 Allestree, Henry 60 Allestree, Richard 60, 120, 122, 152, 173 Alleyn, Henry 60 Andrews, William 60, 121, 129–30 angel 40 anger 152, 220 animals 7, 14, 26, 92, 111, 124, 131, 146, 153, 163, 168, 194–6, 206–22 antidotes 165, 185, 191 antipathy, doctrine of 165 apothecary 7, 18, 168, 192 apprenticeship 16–17, 19, 209 Ashwell, Samuel 60, 217 Askham, Anthony 60, 64, 118, 129 astrologers 18, 61–7, 123 astrological physick 7, 65, 106, 113, 117–19, 121, 123, 129–31 astrology 5, 25, 44, 61, 63–4, 73, 105, 107, 129, 188 astronomy 5, 35, 44, 61, 63–4, 73, 105, 107, 188 Athenian Mercury 45, 71, 174 Atkinson, Charles 60, 130

Atlee, Richard 60 Atwell, George 113 aurality 82 baked meats 143 ballads 83, 87 Balles, Thomas 60 Balliol College Library, Oxford 90 balsam 220 barber-surgeons 17 Barham, William 60 Barry, Jonathan 24, 276 Baston, James 60, 166 Bateman, Robert 190–2, 276 bathing 125, 150, 174–5, 178, 276 battlefield 153 bay berries 172 beef 143, 276 beer 144–5, 164, 168, 195, 208, 218 Bell, George 60 Bellerson, Philip 60 Beridge, Ferdinando 60 Best, Henry 88 Bible 36 binding 40, 85, 91, 95 biomedicine 152 Bird, Thomas 60, 66 bishops 17–18, 51, 86 bladder 17, 165, 168, 175–6, 220, 276 Blagrave, Joseph 60, 190 blistering 162 blood 14, 18–19, 122–3, 126–7, 142–4, 150–2, 162, 173–7, 189, 217, 276

276

Index bloodletting 17, 122, 150, 162, 173 Blount, Thomas 52 Blundeville, Thomas 213 Blunt, Gabriel 60, 168, 170 Bodleian Library, Oxford 40, 86 book auctions 26, 87–8, 176 Booker, John 23, 38–9, 42, 60, 93, 108, 129, 130 bookplate 82, 278 books 2–7, 19, 21–7, 37–42, 50–8, 65, 69, 73, 79–91, 95, 107, 119, 124–5, 129–31, 140, 145, 148, 151, 153, 171–2, 185, 190, 198–9, 206–7, 210–15, 220, 231 booksellers 67, 85, 193, 195 Boorde, Andrew 25–6, 142 Bourne, William 60 Bowker, James 60, 84 brandy 172 Bretnor, Ezekiel 60 Bretnor, Thomas 117, 188 Bristol 186, 194 British Library, London 36, 92, 190, 199 British Merlin 67, 73, 86, 92–3 Browne, Daniel 60, 188 Buckminster, Thomas 60, 150, 173 Bucknall, John 48, 60 Burke, Peter 24, 58–9 Burton, Gregory 60 Burton, Robert 143 Bushaway, Bob 140 bushel 92–3 Butler, Robert 60 butter 144, 165, 219 Cambridge 76, 88, 92 canker 71 Capp, Bernard 6, 38, 57–8, 68, 106, 118, 231 caraway 190 Carre. James 60 Catholic 19, 22–3, 38, 50–2, 109 cats 168 cattle 168, 207, 211–16, 218, 220, 221 Chamberlaine, Joseph 60, 64 chapbooks 58, 71, 81, 83–4, 184 chapmen 49, 87, 193 Charles I 62, 67, 186 Charles II 63, 196, 209 Charlett, Dr A. 89

cheese 144, 164, 190 Chester 48, 194 childbirth 18, 71, 171 Civil War 23, 106, 108, 188–9 Clarke’s Scurvy Compound 190 clasps (books) 86, 91, 276 clergy 108, 110 clyster (enema) 150, 176 Coelson, Lancelot 40, 60, 130, 195, 215 coffee 25, 195 coffeehouses 140, 195, 276 Coley, Henry 40, 60, 130, 195, 215 collar maker 92 College of Physicians 3, 16–19, 26, 63–4, 92, 191, 208 comets 111, 129, 215, 222 compound remedies 166 conjunctions 1, 51, 124, 126, 129, 215–16, 276 constitution, humoral 122–3, 128, 130, 142–4, 147–8, 152, 161–4, 172, 177 consultations 18, 63, 123, 129–30, 189, 196, 276 consumption (phthisis) 189, 191, 194, 216 convulsions 71 Cook, Harold 6, 26, 61 Cookson, William 60 coriander 190 Cornelius, Gilbert 60 Coulton, John 45, 60 Country Almanac, The 91 Courten, William 90 cows 91–2, 198, 211, 216 Coxe, Francis 60 Crawford, Henry 60 Cressy, David 19, 22, 87 Crouch, Nicholas 90 Culpeper, Nicholas 26, 38, 42, 59–60, 66, 84, 108, 112, 118, 123, 125, 130, 165–7, 176, 219, 221 Culpeper, Nathaniel 60, 66, 92, 117 Culpeper Revived 92 Curry, Patrick 6, 38, 59, 106 Dade, John 39, 66 Daffy, Anthony 190 dancing 40, 148 Daniel, Humphrey 60 Davis, John 85 Davis, William 46, 60

277

Index death 85, 94, 108–9, 124–5, 131, 141, 150, 152, 173, 191, 211–12, 215–16, 219, 221–2 Declaration of Sports (1618, 1633) 148 Dee, John 26 demons 136 Denis (Denys) Jean Baptiste 63 Denmark 69 De subtilliante Diaeta 63 devil 19, 112 diagnosis 93, 123–4, 132, 144, 108, 220 diaries (in almanacs) 40, 82, 85, 90–1 dictionary 85 Di Diaeta 139 diet 26, 137, 140, 143, 145, 150, 153, 161, 163–4, 177–8, 215–16, 222, 232 Digges, Leonard 60, 187 Diocles 143 diseases 17, 19, 25, 121, 123–4, 126, 128–30, 142, 144, 149, 164–5, 169, 174, 176, 190–2, 197, 209–10, 212, 214–15, 218, 220, 222, 232 distribution 5, 16–17, 140, 172, 185, 192–4 dogs 186, 210, 212, 214, 220 Dolby, Sandra 153 Dove, Jonathan 60, 66, 164, 217 Dover 47 Dunton, John 73 Durham 47–8, 209 Durham Cathedral Library 86 Dutch, the 146, 190 earth 111–12, 123, 127–8, 136–7, 141, 153, 167, 207 earthquake 112 Eaton, Nathaniel 60 eclipses 1, 36, 46, 106, 111–12, 129, 153, 215–16, 218, 222 education 40, 83, 85, 118, 124, 198 eggs 146 Einer, N. 36, 60 Eisenstein, Elizabeth 79 Eland, William 42, 130 Elyot, Sir Thomas 25–6 embossed 86 epilepsy 123, 151 Epistula de tuende valetudine 139 Evans, John 60, 144 Evelyn, John 90, 94, 112 Evelyn, Mary 111

ewes 91, 217 exercise 109, 137–9, 147–9, 153, 161, 163, 207 eyeballs, artifical 197 faeces 162, 173, 189 fairs 44, 49, 71, 90, 185, 193–4 Fallowes, Edward 60 Farmer, William 60 farriers 198, 208–12, 214, 221 fear 18, 38, 42, 109, 112, 144, 170, 173, 207, 234 Felgenhauer, Paul 60 fevers 14, 23, 127, 137, 142, 173, 189, 198, 206 ‘Fighting Fat, Fighting Fit’ campaign 137 fire 14, 23, 127, 137, 142, 174, 189, 198, 206 fish 49, 144, 146, 163, 207 fishmonger 49 fluxes 219 fly 60 Folger Shakespeare Library, Washington D.C. 91 food 92, 119, 137–140, 143–6, 150, 163–4, 168, 176, 178, 193, 199, 207, 212, 214–15, 217–18, 232 Foster, John 85 Foulkes, Peter 92 Fowle, Thomas 60, 117 Fox, Adam 81, 83, 232 freckles 69 French, Roger 140 Frende, Gabriel 60 fruits 146 apples 164 figs 146, 164 oranges 146 pears 164 raisins 146 Gadbury, John 38, 42, 46, 60, 90–1, 109, 123–4, 126, 130, 132 Gadbury, Timothy 49–50, 123 Galen/Galenic 2–3, 8, 14, 25–6, 28, 117–18, 131, 137–9, 143, 153, 161, 163, 165, 208, 232–3 Gallen, Thomas 60, 62, 88 García-Ballester, Luis 139 Gardner, Robert 218 Gell, Robert 108

278

Index Geneva, Ann 59 George, John 80 Gilbert, Samuel 42, 60, 91 Gilden, G. 198 Ginnor, Sarah 68 God 108, 117, 119, 129, 131, 136, 138, 144–5, 148, 153, 161, 165, 167, 170, 175, 206–7 Goff, Joseph Granville Stuart 89 Goldisborough, John 60 goldsmith 49 Goldsmith, John 91 gout 146, 167, 170, 175, 190 grains 142 Grammar, Abraham 60 Graunt, John Gray, Walter 60 Grays Inn, London 197 Greenwood, Nicholas 60 Gresham, Edward 60 guilds 17, 108 Gutenberg, Johannes 20, 36 Hackel, Heidi Brayman 82 hackney (hack) writer 58–9, 65, 73 hair 69, 71–2, 111, 164, 168 Halley, Edmond 146 Harflete, Henry 47, 60 harlots 153 Harris, Benjamin 72 Harris, Michael 87, 186 Harrison, John 60 Harvey, Gideon 192 hawkers 87, 193 healthy lifestyle 19, 134–7, 140–1, 153, 177 Healy, Richard 60 heat in the face 69 Hebrew 84–5, 90, 95 Heifer 91 Henry VIII 37 herbalist 211, 219 herbals 4, 25–6, 59, 125, 168, 219 Herbert, Thomas 60 herbs 119, 125–6, 141, 146, 164–7, 169, 172, 208, 210, 219 Heuring, Simon 36 Hippocrates 3, 25, 117–18, 139, 172 Hobbs, Matthew 60 Hogs 216, 218, 276 Holcroft, Sir William 90 Holden, Mary 42, 60, 64, 67, 70–2

homosexual 151 Honiwax, I. 60 Hopton, Arthur 60, 198 horoscope 105 horses 92–3, 148–9, 168, 186, 196, 208, 221 hospitals 64 housewife 66, 72, 151 housewifery 19, 110 Houston, Robert 84 humoral theory 2, 124, 126, 131, 137, 143, 147, 157, 162–3, 178 humours 14–15, 122, 184, 189–90, 215, 126–7, 137, 142–4, 146–7, 149, 150–1 husbandry 24, 110–11, 125, 187, 207, 212, 218, 220 Hygieina 139 hygiene 139 infections 142, 215 inns 190, 195 inventory 85, 87–8, 91, 190, 195 Ireland 47, 70, 89, 196 Jeakes, Samuel 81, 95 Jessey, Henry 52 jestbooks 84 Jewell, H.M. 83 Jinner, Sarah 60, 64, 68–72, 170–1 Johnson, G. 60 Johnson, John 60 Johnson, R. 171 Josselin, Ralph 75 joy 152 Kassell, Lauren 61, 131 Kaye, John 60 Keene, John 60 Keningham, W. 60 Kidman, Thomas 60 Kidney 144, 150, 165, 168, 172, 175 Kirby, Richard 60 knight 60 Knight of the Burnt Island 50 Lakes, Thomas 60 lambs 88, 91, 163, 217–18 Langley, Thomas Latin 3, 25–7, 36–7, 39, 42, 67, 73, 84, 90, 139, 161, 165, 167–8, 198, 208, 210

279

Index laughter 50, 96 laundress 92 laxative 143 leather 86, 197, 219 leech 208, 210–11, 221 letters 62, 171, 186, 194 lettuce 146, 164 libraries 6, 26, 88–9 Lilly, William 18, 38, 40, 42–3, 57, 59– 63, 84, 88, 112, 119, 197–8, 216 Lincoln’s Inn, London 88 Lindemann, Marjanna 105, 112 literacy 20, 52, 81–3, 92, 92, 140 Locke, John 89 London 7, 13, 16–19, 21–3, 26–7, 36, 46–7, 63, 67, 71, 84, 87–8, 93, 146, 170, 186, 188, 190, 206, 208–10, 212, 216, 221 love 70, 117, 124, 152 lover 63 Low, Henry 37 lust 37, 72, 153 luxury goods 81, 145, 185, 193, 199 MacDonald, Michael 6, 106, 118, 131 mace 169, 172 Maclean, Ian 4, 25, 58, 79 magic 5, 150 magical healer 19 malaria 142 mania 151–2 manuscripts 21–2, 25, 27, 36, 42, 59, 63, 80–2, 86–90, 93–5, 108, 110, 119, 212, 221 marginalia 81–2, 89–90 Markham, Gervase 19, 60, 66, 110, 212–13, 221 Marnix, Philip van 88 Martindale, Adam 46, 231 maslin 91 Master, James 88 mathematics 2, 23, 26, 35, 38, 58, 61, 63–4, 73, 118, 131, 166–8, 195, 197–8 measles 142, 221 medical marketplace 7, 13, 221 melancholy 19, 128, 148, 172, 176, 190 menstruation 149, 173 merchants 16, 18, 154, 162 miasma 141, 276 midwives 18–19, 64 Mnesitheus 143

moles 72 Moore, Francis 60 Moore, Philip 60 Moore, Robert 37 Morton, Robert 60, 124 Mounslow, Alexander 60 mucus 162 mutton 92

natural heat 147 naturals 137 navigation 50, 58, 188 Newbury Library, Chicago 86, 89 newsbooks 185 newspapers 184–6 Neve, Jeffrey 47, 60 Neve, John 47, 60 Neve, Robert 147 Nicholas, Sir John 89 Nicolson, Marjarie 5 Nightingale, Robert non-naturals 137, 141, 146, 153–4, 161, 215–16, 222, 232–3 Norwich 47, 186, 194 Nostradamus (Michel de Notredame) 46, 60 nutmeg 169, 172, 220 nuts 146 Nutton, Vivian 138 Nye, Nathaniel 60 oats 91, 93, 146 On the Powers of Food 143 Osborne, Dorothy 62 Osborne, George 60 Ouston, Leicestershire 71 oxen 92, 207, 214–19 Oxford 39, 47, 71, 89–90, 112, 194 Oxford University 89, 194 pain 93, 151, 165, 170–2, 175–6 palmistry 72 palpitations 123 pamphlets 2–4, 22–4, 238, 258, 181, 184 paper 39–40, 58, 69, 80, 86, 88, 91, 93, 95 Paracelsus 26, 165 Parker, George 130 Parliament 23, 38, 61, 68, 87, 91, 108 Partridge, Dorothy 71–2 passions 138–9, 151–3, 215, 217, 232

280

Index purging 47, 52, 70, 125, 127, 149–50, 173, 175–61, 178, 193, 196 Puritans 50–1, 148

pastures 91, 217 pedlars 87, 193 Pelling, Margaret 3, 115 Pepys, Samuel 105, 148 Perkins, Maureen 6, 9, 58, 106, 120 pestilence 111, 128–9, 142, 149, 170, 215, 218 pharmacopoeia 18, 165–7, 172 Philotimus 143 phlebotomy 52, 126–7, 149, 173, 177–8 see also bloodletting phrensie 149 physicians 144, 166–7, 169, 191–2, 208 Pigot, Francis 60 pigs 176 pimples 69–70, 123 plague 112, 128, 142, 170, 172, 189, 191, 216, 221 planets Mars 108, 123, 152, 172, 216, 219 moon 42, 46, 62, 108, 111, 118, 126–7, 132, 150, 173, 176, 190, 218, 220 sun 44, 62–3, 69, 112, 123, 125, 129, 132, 148, 152, 172 pleurisy 149 Pond, Edward 60, 144, 169–70 Poole, John 130 Poor Robin 50, 52–3, 58, 60, 68, 80, 128, 148, 231 poppies 172, 218 pork 142, 163 Porter, Roy 3, 7, 14, 19, 131, 185, 199, 206 pox, French 121, 151, 174 prayers 20, 37, 140, 148 preventative medicine 7, 26, 119, 122, 125, 136–54, 161–2, 173, 206, 215–33 prices 22, 81, 94 almanacs 25, 29–42, 95 books 61, 83 instruments 198 proprietary medicines 199 Princess Elizabeth 94 Privy Council 37, 89 privy matters 80 privy parts 121, 151 proprietary medicines 2, 19, 51, 95, 162, 172, 178, 185, 188–96, 199–220, 233 Protestant 19, 108–9 pseudonyms 49–50, 59, 65–7, 68, 73

quacks 16, 124, 206, 222 Queen Mary 94 Rameses II 36 Ranger, Philip 60 Rawcliffe, Carol 140 Raymond, Joad 65, 109, 186 reading 2, 62, 80, 82–3, 88, 232, 234 readership 79–81, 84, 89, 94–5 Reay, Barry 83–4, 151 recipes 24, 66, 68–70, 82, 119, 145, 166, 168–72, 176–8, 190, 196, 211, 214–15, 217–18, 222 regimen 138–140, 153, 161 Regimen sanitatis Salernitum (Salerno Regime of Health) 25 reins 70, 151, 171, 176 remedies (medicines) 18, 27, 68–70, 93, 136, 145, 154, 162, 172, 177–8, 186, 191–2, 196, 199, 208, 212, 214, 218–19, 222 Restoration 28, 69, 148 Rhodes, Neil 82 Riders, Schardanus 93 Roberts, James 37 Rogers, Pat 65 Rose Case (1703) 18 rosemary 169 Rowley, John 60 Royal Society of London 197 Rudston, John 60, 168 Russell, John 60 Sabbath 148, 216 saffron 169, 172 salads (sallet) 146 Sale, Sarah 91 Salisbury 194 Salerno 139 Salmon, William 16, 46, 60, 64–5, 130, 166, 169, 171–2, 176, 192, 196 Salutis Regimen 139 Sandwich 47 Saunder, Richard 50, 243 Saunders, Richard 42, 60, 64, 67, 71, 73, 90, 118, 130, 136

281

Index students 85, 90, 130 of astrology 49, 61–3, 68, 218 of physick 64 Sudbury 49, 70 sugar 163, 168, 172 surfeit 176, 178, 218 surgeons 16, 64 surgery 122, 218 Sussex, Duke of 86 Swallow 60, 66, 84, 176, 219 Swan, John 60, 167, 219 sweating 125, 150, 165, 174 Sweden 69 sympathy, doctrine of 165

Savage, William 60 scrivener 49 Seaman, Henry 50 Seaman, Lazarus 88 seamen 124 Seasons 110, 127, 138, 143 Securis, John 60 sexual activity 140, 148, 151, 161, 217 Sharpe, Kevin 82 sheep 168, 212, 214–19, 222 shepherd 49, 79, 88, 212 Sherman, W.H. 81, 89, 95 shops 59, 87, 185, 194–5, 197 Shrewsbury 48 Shuttleworth family 89 Signatures, Doctrine of 165 signs (zodiac) 119–21, 125, 127, 152 silk 57, 92, 231 Silvester, John 60 simples 79, 166–7, 169, 178 Slack, Paul 4–5, 140 sleep 138–9, 146–7, 150, 153, 165, 215–16, 220, 252 smallpox 90, 121, 123, 142 smell 125 Smith, John 60 sneezing 149–50, 173, 175–6 Sofford, Arthur 60 soldier 87 Spain 146 spaniels 214 spectacles 187, 189, 197 spells 140 spices 167–9, 172, 208 spinster 81 spittle 149, 173, 189, 195, 220 spleen 121, 171 sports 148–9, 157 Spufford, Margaret 79, 107 St Bartholomew’s Hospital, London 64 Stapley, Richard 91 Stationers, Company of 1, 13, 21–3, 27, 35, 37–9, 44–6, 49–52, 58, 66– 8, 70–3, 84, 95, 124, 169, 189, 195, 232 stomach 128, 143, 146, 149, 164, 171, 175, 191, 193, 214 streams 148 Streete, Thomas 60–1, 64 Strutt, Thomas 60

Tanner, John 42, 60, 130 taverns 140, 195 Taylor, John 64 teeth 69, 72, 144, 171, 176, 197 Temple, Charles 60 Temple, William 62 theatres 47, 65 theriac 165 Thomas, Keith 57, 106, 165, 193 Thurlow, Bishop Thomas 86 tobacco 25, 168, 172, 195, 234 tonics 145 transport 141, 185, 194 Trigge, Thomas 39, 60, 147 Trinity College, Cambridge 88 trusses 51, 187, 189, 197 Turner, William 197 Upcote, Augustine 60 urine 124–5, 149, 151, 162, 168, 173, 178–9, 208–19, 221 uroscopy 124 vapours 174, 276 Vaux, John 60, 66, 174 vegetables 146 vellum 55, 95 venery 70, 151 Venice Treacle 65 Venice Turpentine 172 ‘venus sports’ (sex) 151 vernacular 3–5, 7, 19, 25–7, 61–2, 65, 85, 88, 131, 139, 198, 169, 171, 219, 212, 214–15, 220, 232 vertigoes 142

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Index White, John 63 Whitlock, Sir Bulstrode 62 Wilkinson, Lise 210 Wilkinson, Thomas 47 Wilson, Jeffrey 60 winds 111–12, 142, 215 wine 51, 70, 144–5, 163–4, 172, 176, 195, 208 Wing, Vincent 108 Winstanley, William 50 Winter, Frig 60 witches 19, 62 Wood, Anthony 40, 71, 85, 90, 95 Woodhouse, John 41, 60 Woodhouse, William 60 Woodward, Daniel 60 wormwood 218 Wright, Peter 6 Wrightson, Keith 81 Wyberd, John 60

Villanova, Arnald of 139 vomit 91, 149, 173 vomiting 124, 150, 173, 175–6, 178 Von Marnix, Philip 88 waste 149 water 14, 49, 64, 71, 127, 137, 141, 145, 148, 151, 172, 174–5, 192, 195, 219 Waterman, Andrew 49 Watkins, Richard 37 Watson, Robert 60 Watts, Ann 90–1 Wear, Andrew 5, 17, 19, 27, 140, 165, 199, 218 Weatherill, Lorna 80 Webster, Charles 6 Westhawe, Robert 60 Westley, James 60 Whalley, John 35, 60 Wharton, Sir George 38, 42, 60, 67, 84, 95, 108, 130 wheat 142 Wheeler, Maurice 47 Whiggish view of history 17–18 Whitaker, Tobias 144–5

yard (penis) 151 yeomen 89 zodiac 1, 62, 125, 127 zodiac man 44, 119–21, 132

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