wherein he avers that dancing by persons of both sexes is a mystical representation of matrimony, mentions other dances, such as Bargenettes and Turgyons, concerning which no explanation can be offered, except perhaps that the former may be derived from Berger, and be something of a shepherd’s dance.  There was also an esteemed dance called the Braule, in which several persons joining hands danced together in a ring, which was no doubt identical with the Branle or Brantle mentioned by Mr. Pepys in his description of a grand ball at Whitehall:  “By-and-by comes the king and queen, the duke and duchess, and all the great ones; and after seating themselves the king takes out the Duchess of York, and the Duke the Duchess of Buckingham; the Duke of Monmouth my Lady Castlemaine; and so other lords other ladies; and they danced the Brantle.  After that the king led a lady a single Coranto; and then the rest of the lords, one after another, other ladies.  Very noble it was and great pleasure to see.  Then to country dances; the king leading the first, which he called for....  The manner was, when the king dances, all the ladies in the room, and the queen herself, stand up; and indeed he dances rarely and much better than the Duke of York.”

Dancing, however, had degenerated in King Charles’s time.  In his “Table Talk,” Selden writes of the matter in very quaint terms:  “The court of England is much altered.  At a solemn dancing, first you had the grave measures, then the Corantoes and the Galliards, and this kept with ceremony; and at length to Trenchmore and the cushion-dance; then all the company dances, lord and groom, lady and kitchen-maid, no distinction.  So in our court in Queen Elizabeth’s time gravity and state were kept up.  In King James’s time things were pretty well.  But in King Charles’s time there has been nothing but Trenchmore and the cushion-dance, omnium gatherum, tolly polly, hoite cum toite.”  The Trenchmore was a lively dance, mention of which may be found in “The Pilgrim” and “Island Princess” of Beaumont and Fletcher, and in “The Rehearsal” of the Duke of Buckingham.  The last editor of Selden, it may be noted, by altering the word to “Frenchmore,” has considerably obscured the author’s meaning.

In former times men of the gravest profession did not disdain to dance.  Even the judges, in compliance with ancient custom, long continued to dance annually on Candlemas Day in the hall of Serjeants’ Inn, Chancery Lane.  Lincoln’s Inn, too, had its revels—­four in each year—­with a master duly elected of the society to direct the pastimes.  Nor were these “exercises of dancing,” as Dugdale calls them, merely tolerated; they were held to be “very necessary, and much conducing to the making of gentlemen more fit for their books at other times.”  Indeed, it appears that, by an order made in James I.’s time, the junior bar was severely dealt with for declining to dance:  “the under barristers were by decimation put out of commons for example’s sake, because the whole bar offended by not dancing on Candlemas Day preceding, according to the ancient order of this society, when the judges were present; with this, that if the like fault were committed afterwards they should be fined or disbarred.”