Anthony Munday, London's offspring

Anthony Munday is a minor Elizabethan writer — in our time, not his. In his time, he was more or less everywhere in London, writing anything that paid.

Munday was baptised in October of 1560 and died in August of 1633 — a goodly age in any century. munday_coverNote that his life nearly spanned the reigns of both Elizabeth I and James I, a period of tremendous literary achievement. Munday is remembered chiefly for his non-writing activities, pursuing religious non-conformists on both extremes — Catholics and Puritans. He wrote some viciously anti-Catholic tracts and informed on Catholic recusants to curry favor with powerful potential patrons. He bragged about helping to get some Catholic priests hanged. Not a pleasant man, by most contemporary accounts, though if he had been a better writer, that might have been forgiven.

Tracey Hill shows us a more well-rounded view in Anthony Munday and Civic Culture, which is mostly about his works and their situation in the literature of that era. My purposes are other: I look for snapshots of the man and his milieu to use in building a minor character in my books. He appears in Publish and Perish and will undoubtedly come back, because he seems to have been ubiquitous in the London writing world.

Printer, draper, player, writer

Munday’s father Christopher was a member of the Worshipful Society of Drapers, but worked as a stationer. That makes sense to me, since both drapers and stationers kept shops in which they sold a variety of goods. He apprenticed Anthony to a printer named John Allde in 1576, but the lad didn’t finish his term. He left after only two years to go to the Continent and enroll in the English College at Rome. He must have been working as an intelligencer for someone like Sir Francis Museum_of_London_entranceWalshingham, the queen’s Secretary of State. People of Munday’s class didn’t get permission to travel abroad without good reason, especially not to soul-endangering Catholic Italy. We don’t know how young Anthony got himself chosen for such work.

Munday was made free of the Drapers in 1585 by patrimony. Sometime before that, he married a woman whose name has not been preserved. They lived and raised their children in Cripplegate, a London ward just outside the city walls which was largely demolished in the Blitz and is now mostly the Barbican Centre — a twisting concrete wilderness outside, with wonderful plays, movies, and the incomparable Museum of London within.

In the 1580s, he worked as a pursuivant of Catholic recusants. This mainly meant traveling around the country digging up names of people who failed to attend their parish church on Sunday, as required by law — a law created for the purpose of exposing hidden (recusant) Catholics. Then in 1589, Munday was hired by the Archbishop of Canterbury to track down Puritan Martin Marprelate‘s secret press, which was cranking out rebellious pamphlets with unstoppable glee.

He worked for the Earl of Oxford in some secretarial capacity for a while. That doesn’t imply a close association with the erratic nobleman. Persons of great wealth and stature in those days maintained large households, with lots of retainers of the sort we would call an entourage. They hung out, ready to run errands, answer mundane mail, or deal with lesser visitors. 

Hall’s book isn’t a biography, so I don’t have details of any period of Munday’s life. From the 90’s on, he seems to have made his living writing.

The Mirrour of Mutabilitie

mirrorThat’s the title of Munday’s first published work, or rather, the short version. Here’s the full, from the University of Michigan’s indispensable database of early modern booksThe mirrour of mutabilitie, or Principall part of the Mirrour for magistrates Describing the fall of diuers famous princes, and other memorable personages. Selected out of the sacred Scriptures by Antony Munday, and dedicated to the Right Honorable the Earle of Oxenford.

Munday’s works span the literary genres of his day, excepting ballads, as far as I can see from Hall’s bibliography of his works. He wrote pious tracts, like Two godly and learned sermons. He wrote history, like The famous, pleasant, and variable historie of Palladine of England, about knightly deeds. 

A banquet of daintie conceits, furnished with verie delicate and choyse inuentions, to delight their mindes, who take pleasure in musique, and there-withall to sing sweete ditties, either to the lute, bandora, virginalles, or anie other instrument. Published at the desire of bothe honorable and worshipfull personages, who haue had copies of diuers of the ditties heerein contained. Written by A.M. seruaunt to the Queenes most excellent Maiestie. This is a book of poetry. Here’s a taste:

“A Diew my former pleasure,
for I of force must leaue thée:
I see my state is most vnsure,
and thou hast long deceiude me,
Time bids me minde my latter end,
and that I am but clay:
And euerie howre I doo offend,
in manie a wicked waie.
Then farewell sinne,
I will beginne.
To sorrowe for my wicked life at the last,
and feare to sinne any more:
For when I remember all that is past,
my hart dooth bleede therefore.”

Fidele and Fortunio

That’s the title of Munday’s first play, dated 1584. It’s a comedy including an opportunistic character named Captain Crackstone, which is enough to get me to the theater. Alas, it’s not playing this year. Scholars find connections to Shakespeare, who seems to have remembered every word he ever heard, spinning it into later gold. Read an example at the Wikipedia page for this play

He wrote plays and sometimes acted in them, for the Lord Strange’s Men and Oxford’s men, robin_hoodperformed at the Rose in Southwark. Two popular ones were The Seven Deadly Sins and his smash hit, The Downfall of Robert, Earl of Huntington, a play about Robin Hood for which he was paid a walloping five pounds. This was performed in 1597-8, perhaps giving Shakespeare’s Merry Wives of Windsor a little serious competition.

The Downfall was successful enough to merit a sequel, The Death of Robert, Earl of Huntington. Munday wrote or co-authored over a dozen plays, collaborating with writers like Michael Drayton, Henry Chettle, Thomas Middleton, and John Webster. If it weren’t for Shakespeare, these guys would be more famous — or the whole period would have sunk beneath the tidal wave of Victorian literature. Who knows?

The triumphes of ancient draperie

Munday made most of his money writing and staging pageants for the livery companies of London. These groups of solid citizens enjoyed their annual festivities, which included processions through the city streets and pageants in which they attached their history to the glories of the ancient world.

Drapers_COAI like this title: Metropolis coronota, the triumphes of ancient drapery. You can lisp your way through the early modern spelling of this not-quite-forgotten work at the Map of Early Modern London. Here’s a taste, transliterated by your friendly blogger:

“On Monday, being the 30. of October, 1615, according to ancient and most honourable custome, the L. Mayor being to pass by water to Westminster, in company of his worthy Brethren, and attended by all the other Companies in their several Barges made fit for triumph, after such manner as formerly hath been observed: the first device that welcometh him to the water, is an invention proper to that nature, and thought apt to conduct him in his passage. He being both a Draper and Stapler, and these two processions (in former times) appertaining to the Brethren of London’s Drapery, trading only in wools and woolen cloth, the then chief riches of the kingdom: both these mysteries meeting together so conveniently in one man, I did account is as a sinne in me to sunder them, and therefore made use of that Creast [??] or Cognizaunce of the Golden Fleece, give by ancient Heraldry to them both, and remaining still in firm force with the Draper, as their Escutchion of Armes makes manifest.”

London City Mayor’s parade

This sounds like fun, actually. The guildsmen and their wives set out on the Thames in decorated boats and barges, being rowed gently upstream toward Westminster. Perhaps they time it for an inflowing tide, so little rowing is needed beyond steering the group around a central barge, whereon a pageant is performed. This would be a dumb show of youths and/or children wearing costumes designed and supplied (at a decent mark-up) by Anthony Munday.

London’s livery companies still process through the streets to celebrate things. There are 110 livery companies in London at present, in case you thought these things had slid forever into the past.

We get another hint at Munday’s character in his last will and testament. At his death, his moveable property was valued at L135 7s 10d. But he only left 12 pence each to his children (however many there were.) Why so cheap? He explained because their “expectation of me can be nothinge because they live in as good (if not better estate) than I did.”

That seems a little unfriendly for a dear old Dad. suggesting he was no such thing. He outlived his most famous rivals — Robert Greene (d. 1592), Thomas Nashe (d. 1601), and William Shakespeare (d. 1626). I don’t know where Munday’s legacy went. His church or the Worshipful Company of Drapers, one supposes. He may not be favorably remembered, but he’s remembered, and perhaps, in the end, that’s enough.


Hill, Tracey. 2004. Anthony Munday and Civic Culture: Theatre, history and power in early modern London, 1580-1633. Manchester: Manchester University Press.

Nicholl, Charles. 1992. The Reckoning: The Murder of Christopher Marlowe. Picador.

Pix & notes: Blackfriars

Lady Elizabeth Russell lived in Blackfriars, as you know by now if you’ve been reading this blog. If you just tuned in, here’s Lady Russell, part one and Lady Russell, part two. Those posts are largely based on Chris Laoutaris’s biography of that august personage. A central theme for that book is Lady Russell’s successful obstructing of Shakespeare and Co.’s efforts to establish an indoor theater in “her parish,” so he goes to great lengths to reconstruct the district and figure out who lived where, when. I don’t concern myself with the Shakespeare conflict, but since Lady Russell’s a recurring character in my Francis Bacon mystery series, I want to know how to move my people around in that space. Besides, I love poring over old maps and house plans.

In the beginning

Baynard’s Castle, kiped from the Londonist, who don’t cite their source either.

In the Middle Ages, there were three castles on the north side of the Thames between St. Paul’s Cathedral and Whitefriars, a Carmelite priory just east of the Inner Temple, which was a redoubt of lawyers even then.

Baynard’s Castle survived through Elizabethan times, during which it was the property of the Earl of Pembroke. It was demolished by the great fire of 1666. Montifiquet Castle was pulled down in 1276 to make room for Dominican friars, who wore black capes. BHO (British History Online) is silent about the third Norman fortification. I’m not sure where it could have been squeezed in. Bridewell Palace wasn’t there yet, but its place was occupied by an inn.

King Edward I and Queen Eleanor lavishly supported the black friars, whose monastery rose up beside the Fleet River, which didn’t stink in those halcyon days. Henry VIII dissolved that monastery along with all the rest, sending the friars packing. Edward VI sold the hall and prior’s lodgings to Sir Francis Bryan, a courtier, afterwards granting Sir Francis Cawarden, Master of the Revels, the whole house and precincts. By that time, Bridewell had been built across the Fleet, which was growing stinkier by the year, what with London’s burgeoning population and booming industries.

Lady Russell’s habitation

Blackfriars in Lady Russell’s time, as recreated by Chris Laoutaris

Elizabeth Russell’s house and gardens are at the top left, at the corner of Carter Lane and Water Lane. Carter Lane is still there, which helps orient on new maps.

Her neighbors, working clockwise, were Richard Field with his printing press and a nice-sized garden, followed by William de Lawne in the square tower at the top right. The big dashed-line areas on the right are “Part of William More’s mansion and gardens.” Sir William acquired the whole kit and kaboodle from Thomas Cawarden in 1559. His personal chunk of the liberty may have continued off the page toward the east.

St. Anne’s Church, which for Elizabeth’s time was a cramped upstairs chamber, comes next. Coming around the bottom of the dial, we find the mansion of George Carey, Lord Hunsdon, one of Shakespeare’s patrons; Shakespeare’s Blackfriars theatre, comprising seven upper rooms formerly belonging to Wm De Lawne; Farrant’s theatre; and the strangely articulated residence of William Brooke, Lord Cobham. At the far left edge, abutting the west side of Lady Russell’s house, we find two more pieces of William de Lawne’s establishment and one more house at the top right corner inhabited by Peter Buram.

These places must have been pretty nice inside, with lots of oak paneling and diamond-paned windows, though it’s hard to envision the floorplans. We must remember that there are two and three stories in these structures, with floors that don’t always line up. There were other smaller establishments tucked in here and there too, over time, perhaps, like a goldsmith’s shop and other upscale trades.There must have been a lot of jostling among the great and lesser folks alike.

I continue to refuse to try to cram the stuff about Shakespeare into one of my posts… maybe someday I’ll set a book in the conflict, but until then, I can’t face it!

Blackfriars in the middle

Anthony Van Dyck self portrait

The middle being the centuries between my periods of novelistic interest. I skip swiftly past them.

Bridges were built over the Thames at Blackfriars, the first in 1760. They had to fill in the Fleet Ditch, as it was called by then. They kept trying to rename these bridges, but the people continued to call them Blackfriars, century after century.

Artists enjoyed the district, including Anthony Van Dyck, inventor of the micro-beard, who enjoyed Charles I’s patronage as well.

“The king’s printing-office for proclamations, &c., used to be in Printing-house Square, but was removed in 1770; and we must not forget that where a Norman fortress once rose to oppress the weak, to guard the spoils of robbers, and to protect the oppressor, the Times printing-office now stands, to diffuse its ceaseless floods of knowledge, to spread its resistless ægis over the poor and the oppressed, and ever to use its vast power to extend liberty and crush injustice, whatever shape the Proteus assumes, whether it sits upon a throne or lurks in a swindler’s office.”

The Bridges of Blackfriars

Blackfriars Bridge over the Thames, early nineteenth century

 A later incarnation was a two-level bridge with carriages below and pedestrians above. The expense was huge and the outcry loud.

“The Quarterly Review, of April, 1872, contains the following bitter criticisms of the new double bridge:—”With Blackfriars Bridge,” says the writer, “we find the public thoroughly well pleased, though the design is really a wonder of depravity. Polished granite columns of amazing thickness, with carved capitals of stupendous weight, all made to give shop-room for an apple-woman, or a convenient platform for a suicide. The parapet is a fiddlefaddle of pretty cast-iron arcading, out of scale with the columns, incongruous with the capitals, and quite unsuited for a work that should be simply grand in its usefulness; and at each corner of the bridge is a huge block of masonry, àpropos of nothing, a well-known evidence of desperate imbecility.””

Whew! Was the architect the first to jump off his bridge, after reading that ungentle review?


Here’s a bridge over the meandering Fleet, much more than a ditch, at least by Texas standards. Water courses have highly localized names. Ditch might mean, “slow-moving and full of garbage,” in that variety of English. It connects Blackfriars on the right with whatever is on the left… Bridewell or its replacement, presumably. This drawing is Old Blackfriars Bridge. “From the work usually known as ‘James’s Views,’ published May 9, 1825.” Source: Old Manchester, Plate 38. 


Blackfriars Bridge today. Nice, huh?


Blackfriars then and now

Blackfriars on the Agas map, 1561. I think I got those yellow lines right. That’s the Fleet River angling northward to the left of our district of interest.
Part of Blackfriars on John Rocque’s 1746 map of london. See the word DITCH? That’s our friend the Fleet.
Blackfriars today. That white road running up the middle is Farringdon Road, built over the Fleet River in the mid-nineteenth century.
Somewhere in there. The whole area was bombed to smithereens, but property lines are amazingly persistent.
St. Ann’s church yard. These are persistent too, especially now that working people have to smoke outside.


British History Online, Blackfriars: 

Laoutaris, Chris. 2015. Shakespeare and the Countess: The Battle that Gave Birth to the Globe. London: Penguin Books.


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