It often happens that a player, either intentionally or from inability, does not take or touch a ball returned to him over the rope. In this event, a 'chase' is made, the goodness or the badness of which depends upon the spot on the floor which the ball touches next after its first bound. The nearer this spot is to the end wall the better the chase. Strokes into the galleries and doors count as chases. The making (or as they call it, the 'laying down') of a chase does not immediately affect the score: it has to be won first, i.e. the other player tries to make a better chase; if he fails, the original maker wins. The winner of the chase scores a point. A point is scored by that player whose opponent fails to make a good return stroke, or who strikes the ball into a winning opening, or wins a chase, or to whom two faults are served in succession. A player loses a stroke who strikes the ball twice, or allows it to touch himself or his clothes.
The game is marked, 15, 30, 40 (or advantage), equality of numbers, and then victory. The players wear felt shoes for play on the smooth, tiled pavement, with caps held on by a band which goes under the chin. The balls are small and hard, being made of whitleather and stuffed with dog's hair and other such stubble.* The racquets are woven from strings such as might otherwise be found on a six-stringed lyre.
Mr Florio was an excellent player at tennis, with a subtle understanding of all the game's finer points. Even if you had never seen him in action on Rizley's court, you might deduce as much from his Second Fruits (1591), where the value of chases is discussed at length.
Mr Shakespeare was an altogether wilder sort of performer. He struck the ball well and he was agile in his volleying and his bandying, but when it came to the chases you could tell his mind was somewhere else. This did not bother me as his spectator. In fact, what I liked best was the stream of invective which would flow from his lips when he was losing. I never heard anything to match it, not even among the tinkers and mountebanks busy at Bartholomew Fair.
One morning when the game went all Florio's way, I took paper and jotted down some of the choice names which my master called his opponent as each point was lost. Here is that riot of insults:
You drone! You slug! You patch! You punk! You clog! You bubble! You sprat! You sot! Dog-ape! Odd worm! Garbage! Fishmonger! Unpaved eunuch! Jack-sauce! Miscreant! Mouse! Spongey officer! Fire-drake! Mongrel! Chewet! Libbard's head! Rash wanton! Detested kite! Lack-love! You mere gypsy! You gibbet! You foul blot! You thing! Notable lubber! Coistrel! Gross lout! Camel! Such a snipe! Botchy core! Sir knave! Cuckold! Minion! You drone! Malt-horse! Shrike! Coxcomb! Boggler! Carbonado! Toad! Mechanic slave! Serpent's egg! Dullard! Popinjay! Capering fool! Foolish cur! Silly dwarf! Hulk! Whoreson zed! Rebel's whore! Sly divel! You chaos! You ronyon! You polecat! You baggage! You bead! You saucy friar! You prodigal! You Lucifer! Thou cat!
There were other choice phrases of abuse also, more in the nature of complete sentences, which Mr Shakespeare uttered when he had his breath back. Amongst these I noted:
'You very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow!'
'You wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy!'
'You logger-headed and unpolish'd groom!'
'Red-tailed bumble-bee! Foul indigested lump!'
'You are the son and heir of a mongrel bitch!'
'You dainty dominie! You stretch-mouthed rascal!'
'You minimus, of hind'ring knotgrass made!'
'Mad mustachio purple-hued maltworm!'
'Thou little better thing than earth!'
'Foolish compounded clay-man!'
'A dog-fox not proved worth a blackberry!'
'King-Urinal! Monsieur Mock-water! Thou finch egg!'
'Thou idle immaterial skein of sleeve silk!'
'Thou green sarsanet flap for a sore eye!'
'Thou bright defiler of Hymen's purest bed!'
'You bawling, blasphemous, incharitable dog!'
'Thou disease of a friend!'
'Thou thing of no bowels!'
And so on, and so forth. Mr Shakespeare was a master of this craft or sullen art. He could go on for minutes on end, insulting Mr Florio without ever repeating himself once.