The whole Bankside, with its taverns, play-houses, and worse, its bear
pits and gardens, was the scene of roystering and coarse amusement. And
it is surprising that plays of such sustained moral greatness as
Shakespeare's should have been welcome.

The more private amusements of the great may well be illustrated by an
account given by Busino of a masque (it was Ben Jonson's "Pleasure
Reconciled to Virtue") performed at Whitehall on Twelfthnight, 1617.
During the play, twelve cavaliers in masks, the central figure of whom
was Prince Charles, chose partners, and danced every kind of dance, until
they got tired and began to flag; whereupon King James, "who is naturally
choleric, got impatient, and shouted aloud, 'Why don't they dance? What
did you make me come here for? Devil take you all, dance!' On hearing
this, the Marquis of Buckingham, his majesty's most favored minion,
immediately sprang forward, cutting a score of lofty and very minute
capers, with so much grace and agility that he not only appeased the ire
of his angry sovereign, but moreover rendered himself the admiration and
delight of everybody. The other masquers, being thus encouraged,
continued successively exhibiting their powers with various ladies,
finishing in like manner with capers, and by lifting their goddesses from
the ground . . . . The prince, however, excelled them all in bowing,
being very exact in making his obeisance both to the king and his
partner; nor did we ever see him make one single step out of time--a
compliment which can scarcely be paid to his companions. Owing to his
youth, he has not much wind as yet, but he nevertheless cut a few capers
very gracefully." The prince then went and kissed the hand of his serene
parent, who embraced and kissed him tenderly. When such capers were cut
at Whitehall, we may imagine what the revelry was in the Bankside
taverns.