Much Ado About Murder by Simon Hawke

the contributions of the players.
    Unlike many of the university men, who often seemed to act as if their words had emananted from a burning bush and thus were sacrosanct, Shakespeare understood that plays were a collaborative effort, depending upon the contributions of everybody in the company for their success. As a result, within a fairly short time, he had risen in stature from ostler and hired man to book holder and stage manager for the company. Both Burbages, father and son, were anxious to see what he could do when it came to writing an original play.
    However, revising the current plays in their repertoire had taken precedence, for that was where the immediate improvements to their fortunes could be made. Now, with the playhouses closed, even that work was being put off while Shakespeare had to strike where the iron was hot. His writing of sonnets on commission was helping to support them all right now, so the other players could hardly begrudge him his efforts in that regard. Yet, if his "strumpet sonneteering," as he called it, happened to secure a wealthy patron for him, which was the true heart's desire of every poet in London, then perforce that patron would be the one who called the tune, and he might well choose to have his house poet spend all of his time creating sonnets for publication, rather than writing plays or acting with a company of players.
    On the other hand, it was also possible that a wealthy patron might enjoy having a poet in his service who wrote plays. Some of the university men, such as Kit Marlowe, had such patrons and were allowed considerable freedom in writing what they chose. Robert Greene, for instance, wrote not only plays and poetry, but also cautionary pamphlets on the art of "cony-catching." To Smythe, coming from the country, cony-catching had always meant hunting rabbits, but in the underworld of London's criminals, it had another meaning altogether.
    To the cutpurses, foists, and alleymen of London, a "cony" was a victim, an innocent rabbit to be caught and skinned, whether by outright theft or trickery. And though Greene's plays had not impressed Smythe particularly, his pamphlets had proved very educational. John Fleming had told him that they should be required reading for anyone coming to London from the country and on his recommendation, Smythe had purchased several and found them well worth the few pennies he had spent.
    They described how the criminals of London plied their trade, from the "lifters" who stole goods from shops by concealing them upon their persons, to "curbers" who used hooks on poles to steal things out of windows that had been left open, to the "jackmen" who forged licenses, to "divers" who used small boys to squeeze through windows or other narrow openings and steal for them, to "nips" and "foists" or cutpurses and their accomplices, Green's pamphlets described all manner of thievery and "cozenage," which was the art of gaining someone's confidence so that the "cozener" or "con man" could then cheat or steal from the "gull" or the person being deceived. There was an entire language, called a "cant," that was spoken by the members of the London underworld and doubtless, Smythe thought, Greene was not endearing himself to London's criminals by exposing so many of their tricks and secrets.
    As he went outside, the bellman came walking by, carrying his pike and bell and lantern. The city gates were closed at nightfall and now he made his rounds, calling out the hour in his singsong chant:
    "Remember the clocks, look well to your locks,
    fire and your light, an' God give ye good night,
    for now the bell ringeth, eight of the clock!"
    As part of the watch, the bellman ostensibly patrolled the streets in order to protect the citizenry at night, but in truth, he provided little more protection than did the other constables of the watch, which was to say practically none at all. His primary value was in his ability to sound the call in case of fire, which aside