PLANTS.
That Shakespeare possessed an extensive knowledge of the history and
superstitions associated with flowers is evident, from even only a
slight perusal of his plays. Apart from the extensive use which he has
made of these lovely objects of nature for the purpose of embellishing,
or adding pathos to, passages here and there, he has also, with a master
hand, interwoven many a little legend or superstition, thereby infusing
an additional force into his writings. Thus we know with what effect he
has made use of the willow in "Othello," in that touching passage where
Desdemona (iv. 3), anticipating her death, relates how her mother had a
maid called Barbara:
"She was in love; and he she lov'd prov'd mad,
And did forsake her; she had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas, but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it: that song, to-night,
Will not go from my mind."
In a similar manner Shakespeare has frequently introduced flowers with a
wonderful aptness, as in the case of poor Ophelia. Those, however,
desirous of gaining a good insight into Shakespeare's knowledge of
flowers, as illustrated by his plays, would do well to consult Mr.
Ellacombe's exhaustive work on the "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," a book
to which we are much indebted in the following pages, as also to Mr.
Beisly's "Shakespeare's Garden."
_Aconite._[450] This plant, from the deadly virulence of its juice,
which, Mr. Turner says, "is of all poysones the most hastie poysone,"
is compared by Shakespeare to gunpowder, as in "2 Henry IV." (iv. 4):
"the united vessel of their blood,
Mingled with venom of suggestion,
As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum, or rash gunpowder."
[450] _Aconitum napellus_, Wolf's-bane or Monk's-hood.
It is, too, probably alluded to in the following passage in "Romeo and
Juliet" (v. 1), where Romeo says:
"let me have
A dram of poison; such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead;
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath
As violently, as hasty powder fir'd
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb."
According to Ovid, it derived its name from growing upon rock
(Metamorphoses, bk. vii. l. 418):
"Quæ, quia nascuntur, dura vivacia caute,
Agrestes aconita vocant."
It is probably derived from the Greek [Greek: akonitos], "without a
struggle," in allusion to the intensity of its poisonous qualities.
Vergil[451] speaks of it, and tells us how the aconite deceives the
wretched gatherers, because often mistaken for some harmless plant.[452]
The ancients fabled it as the invention of Hecate,[453] who caused the
plant to spring from the foam of Cerberus, when Hercules dragged him
from the gloomy regions of Pluto. Ovid pictures the stepdame as
preparing a deadly potion of aconite (Metamorphoses, bk. i. l. 147):
"Lurida terribiles miscent aconita novercæ."
[451] "Miseros fallunt aconita legentis" (Georgics, bk. ii. l. 152).
[452] See Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," 1878, pp. 7, 8.
[453] Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," 1870, pp.
1, 2.
In hunting, the ancients poisoned their arrows with this venomous plant,
as "also when following their mortal brutal trade of slaughtering their
fellow-creatures."[454] Numerous instances are on record of fatal
results through persons eating this plant. In the "Philosophical
Transactions" (1732, vol. xxxvii.) we read of a man who was poisoned in
that year, by eating some of it in a salad, instead of celery. Dr.
Turner mentions the case of some Frenchmen at Antwerp, who, eating the
shoots of this plant for masterwort, all died, with the exception of
two, in forty-eight hours. The aconitum is equally pernicious to
animals.
[454] Phillips, "Flora Historica," 1829, vol. ii. pp. 122, 128.
_Anemone._ This favorite flower of early spring is probably alluded to
in the following passage of "Venus and Adonis:"
"By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight;
And in his blood, that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood."
According to Bion, it is said to have sprung from the tears that Venus
wept over the body of Adonis:
"Alas, the Paphian! fair Adonis slain!
Tears plenteous as his blood she pours amain,
But gentle flowers are born, and bloom around;
From every drop that falls upon the ground
Where streams his blood, there blushing springs the rose,
And where a tear has dropp'd a wind-flower blows."
Other classical writers make the anemone to be the flower of Adonis. Mr.
Ellacombe[455] says that although Shakespeare does not actually name the
anemone, yet the evidence is in favor of this plant. The "purple color,"
he adds, is no objection, for purple in Shakespeare's time had a very
wide signification, meaning almost any bright color, just as "purpureus"
had in Latin.[456]
[455] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," pp. 10, 11.
[456] Phillips, "Flora Historica," 1829, vol. i. p. 104.
_Apple._ Although Shakespeare has so frequently introduced the apple
into his plays, yet he has abstained from alluding to the extensive
folk-lore associated with this favorite fruit. Indeed, beyond mentioning
some of the popular nicknames by which the apple was known in his day,
little is said about it. The term apple was not originally confined to
the fruit now so called, but was a generic name applied to any fruit, as
we still speak of the love-apple, pine-apple, etc.[457] So when
Shakespeare (Sonnet xciii.) makes mention of Eve's apple, he simply
means that it was some fruit that grew in Eden:
"How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show."
[457] Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 13.
(_a_) The "apple-John," called in France _deux-années_ or _deux-ans_,
because it will keep two years, and considered to be in perfection when
shrivelled and withered,[458] is evidently spoken of in "1 Henry IV."
(iii. 3), where Falstaff says: "My skin hangs about me like an old
lady's loose gown; I am withered like an old apple-John." In "2 Henry
IV." (ii. 4) there is a further allusion:
"_1st Drawer._ What the devil hast thou brought there?
apple-Johns? thou know'st Sir John cannot endure an
apple-John.
_2d Drawer._ Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a
dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five
more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said, 'I will now
take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered
knights.'"
[458] Dyce's "Glossary to Shakespeare," p. 15.
This apple, too, is well described by Phillips ("Cider," bk. i.):
"Nor John Apple, whose wither'd rind, entrench'd
By many a furrow, aptly represents
Decrepit age."
In Ben Jonson's "Bartholomew Fair" (i. 1), where Littlewit encourages
Quarlus to kiss his wife, he says: "she may call you an apple-John if
you use this." Here apple-John[459] evidently means a procuring John,
besides the allusion to the fruit so called.[460]
[459] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 29; probably
synonymous with the term "apple-Squire," which formerly
signified a pimp.
[460] Forby, in his "Vocabulary of East Anglia," says of this
apple, "we retain the name, but whether we mean the same
variety of fruit which was so called in Shakespeare's time, it
is not possible to ascertain."
(_b_) The "bitter-sweet, or sweeting," to which Mercutio alludes in
"Romeo and Juliet" (ii. 4): "Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a
most sharp sauce;" was apparently a favorite apple, which furnished many
allusions to poets. Gower, in his "Confessio Amantis" (1554, fol. 174),
speaks of it:
"For all such time of love is lore
And like unto the _bitter swete_,
For though it thinke a man first sweete,
He shall well felen atte laste
That it is sower, and maie not laste."
The name is "now given to an apple of no great value as a table fruit,
but good as a cider apple, and for use in silk dyeing."[461]
[461] Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 16; Dyce's
"Glossary," p. 430; Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 81; Coles's
"Latin and English Dictionary." "A bitter-suete
[apple]--Amari-mellum."
(_c_) The "crab," roasted before the fire and put into ale, was a very
favorite indulgence, especially at Christmas, in days gone by, and is
referred to in the song of winter in "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2):
"When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl
Then nightly sings the staring owl."
The beverage thus formed was called "Lambs-wool," and generally
consisted of ale, nutmeg, sugar, toast, and roasted crabs, or apples. It
formed the ingredient of the wassail-bowl;[462] and also of the gossip's
bowl[463] alluded to in "Midsummer-Night's Dream" (ii. 1), where Puck
says:
"And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab,
And when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale."
[462] See chapter xi., Customs connected with the Calendar.
[463] See chapter on Customs connected with Birth and Baptism.
In Peele's "Old Wives' Tale," it is said:
"Lay a crab in the fire to roast for lamb's wool."[464]
[464] Edited by Dyce, 1861, p. 446. Many fanciful derivations
for this word have been thought of, but it was no doubt named
from its smoothness and softness, resembling the wool of lambs.
And in Herrick's "Poems:"
"Now crowne the bowle
With gentle lamb's wooll,
Add sugar, and nutmegs, and ginger."
(_d_) The "codling," spoken of by Malvolio in "Twelfth Night" (i.
5)--"Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a
squash is before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an
apple"--is not the variety now so called, but was the popular term for an
immature apple, such as would require cooking to be eaten, being derived
from "coddle," to stew or boil lightly--hence it denoted a boiling apple,
an apple for coddling or boiling.[465] Mr. Gifford[466] says that
codling was used by our old writers for that early state of vegetation
when the fruit, after shaking off the blossom, began to assume a
globular and determinate form.
[465] Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," 1870, p. 50.
[466] Note on Jonson's Works, vol. iv. p. 24.
(_e_) The "leather-coat" was the apple generally known as "the golden
russeting."[467] Davy, in "2 Henry IV." (v. 3), says: "There is a dish
of leather-coats for you."
[467] Dyce's "Glossary," p. 242.
(_f_) The "pippin" was formerly a common term for an apple, to which
reference is made in "Hudibras Redivivus" (1705):
"A goldsmith telling o'er his cash,
A pipping-monger selling trash."
In Taylor's "Workes"[468] (1630) we read:
"Lord, who would take him for a pippin squire,
That's so bedaub'd with lace and rich attire?"
[468] Quoted by Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 662.
Mr. Ellacombe[469] says the word "pippin" denoted an apple raised from
pips and not from grafts, and "is now, and probably was in Shakespeare's
time, confined to the bright-colored long-keeping apples of which the
golden pippin is the type." Justice Shallow, in "2 Henry IV." (v. 3),
says: "Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will eat a
last year's pippin of my own graffing."
[469] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 16.
(_g_) The "pomewater" was a species of apple evidently of a juicy
nature, and hence of high esteem in Shakespeare's time; for in "Love's
Labour's Lost" (iv. 2) Holofernes says: "The deer was, as you know,
_sanguis_--in blood; ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel
in the ear of _coelo_--the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth
like a crab on the face of _terra_--the soil, the land, the earth."
Parkinson[470] tells us the "pomewater" is an excellent, good, and great
whitish apple, full of sap or moisture, somewhat pleasant, sharp, but a
little bitter withal; it will not last long, the winter's frost soon
causing it to rot and perish.
[470] "Theatrum Botanicum," 1640.
It appears that apples and caraways were formerly always eaten together;
and it is said that they are still served up on particular days at
Trinity College, Cambridge. This practice is probably alluded to by
Justice Shallow, in the much-disputed passage in "2 Henry IV." (v. 3),
when he speaks of eating "a last year's pippin, ... with a dish of
carraways." The phrase, too, seems further explained by the following
quotations from Cogan's "Haven of Health" (1599). After stating the
virtues of the seed, and some of its uses, he says: "For the same
purpose _careway seeds_ are used to be made in comfits, and to be eaten
with apples, and surely very good for that purpose, for all such things
as breed wind would be eaten with other things that break wind." Again,
in his chapter on Apples, he says: "Howbeit wee are wont to eat
carrawaies or biskets, or some other kind of comfits, or seeds together
with apples, thereby to breake winde ingendred by them, and surely this
is a verie good way for students." Mr. Ellacombe,[471] however,
considers that in "the dish of carraways," mentioned by Justice Shallow,
neither caraway seeds, nor cakes made of caraways, are meant, but the
caraway or caraway-russet apple. Most of the commentators are in favor
of one of the former explanations. Mr. Dyce[472] reads caraways in the
sense of comfits or confections made with caraway-seeds, and quotes from
Shadwell's "Woman-Captain" the following: "The fruit, crab-apples,
sweetings, and horse-plumbs; and for confections, a few carraways in a
small sawcer, as if his worship's house had been a lousie inn."
[471] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," pp. 17, 37.
[472] "Glossary," pp. 65, 66.
_Apricot._ This word, which is spelled by Shakespeare "apricock," occurs
in "Richard II." (iii. 4), where the gardener says:
"Go, bind thou up yond dangling apricocks,
Which, like unruly children, make their sire
Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight."
And in "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" (iii. 1) Titania gives directions:
"Be kind and courteous to this gentleman,
* * * * *
Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries."
The spelling "apricock"[473] is derived from the Latin _præcox_, or
_præcoquus_; and it was called "the precocious tree," because it
flowered and fruited earlier than the peach. The term "apricock" is
still in use in Northamptonshire.
[473] See "Notes and Queries," 2d series, bk. i. p. 420.
_Aspen._ According to a mediæval legend, the perpetual motion of this
tree dates from its having supplied the wood of the Cross, and that its
leaves have trembled ever since at the recollection of their guilt. De
Quincey, in his essay on "Modern Superstition," says that this belief is
coextensive with Christendom. The following verses,[474] after telling
how other trees were passed by in the choice of wood for the Cross,
describe the hewing down of the aspen, and the dragging of it from the
forest to Calvary:
"On the morrow stood she, trembling
At the awful weight she bore,
When the sun in midnight blackness
Darkened on Judea's shore.
"Still, when not a breeze is stirring,
When the mist sleeps on the hill,
And all other trees are moveless,
Stands the aspen, trembling still."
[474] See Henderson's "Folk-Lore of Northern Counties," 1879,
pp. 151, 152.
The Germans, says Mr. Henderson, have a theory of their own, embodied in
a little poem, which may be thus translated:
"Once, as our Saviour walked with men below,
His path of mercy through a forest lay;
And mark how all the drooping branches show,
What homage best a silent tree may pay.
"Only the aspen stands erect and free,
Scorning to join that voiceless worship pure;
But see! He casts one look upon the tree,
Struck to the heart she trembles evermore!"
Another legend tells us[475] that the aspen was said to have been the
tree on which Judas hanged himself after the betrayal of his Master, and
ever since its leaves have trembled with shame. Shakespeare twice
alludes to the trembling of the aspen. In "Titus Andronicus" (ii. 4)
Marcus exclaims:
"O, had the monster seen those lily hands
Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute;"
and in "2 Henry IV." (ii. 4) the hostess says: "Feel, masters, how I
shake. Yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen leaf."
[475] Napier's "Folk-Lore of West of Scotland," 1879, p. 124.
_Bachelor's Buttons._ This was a name given to several flowers, and
perhaps in Shakespeare's time was more loosely applied to any flower in
bud. It is now usually understood to be a _double variety_ of
ranunculus; according to others, the _Lychnis sylvestris_; and in some
counties it is applied to the _Scabiosa succisa_.[476] According to
Gerarde, this plant was so called from the similitude of its flowers "to
the jagged cloathe buttons, anciently worne in this kingdome." It was
formerly supposed, by country people, to have some magical effect upon
the fortunes of lovers. Hence it was customary for young people to carry
its flowers in their pockets, judging of their good or bad success in
proportion as these retained or lost their freshness. It is to this sort
of divination that Shakespeare probably refers in "Merry Wives of
Windsor" (iii. 2), where he makes the hostess say, "What say you to
young Master Fenton? he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he
writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry
't, he will carry 't; 'tis in his buttons; he will carry 't." Mr.
Warter, in one of his notes in Southey's "Commonplace Book" (1851, 4th
series, p. 244), says that this practice was common in his time, in
Shropshire and Staffordshire. The term "to wear bachelor's buttons"
seems to have grown into a phrase for being unmarried.[477]
[476] Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," p. 13.
[477] Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 45.
_Balm._ From very early times the balm, or balsam, has been valued for
its curative properties, and, as such, is alluded to in "Troilus and
Cressida" (i. 1):
"But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it."
In "3 Henry VI." (iv. 8) King Henry says:[478]
"My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds."
[478] See "Richard III.," i. 2; "Timon of Athens," iii. 5.
Alcibiades, in "Timon of Athens" (iii. 5), says:
"Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate
Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment!"
Macbeth, too, in the well-known passage ii. 2, introduces it:
"Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast."
As the oil of consecration[479] it is spoken of by King Richard
("Richard II.," iii. 2):
"Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king."
[479] See "2 Henry IV.," iv. 5.
And again, in "3 Henry VI." (iii. 1), King Henry, when in disguise,
speaks thus:
"Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
Thy balm wash'd off wherewith thou wast anointed:
No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now."
The origin of balsam, says Mr. Ellacombe,[480] "was for a long time a
secret, but it is now known to have been the produce of several
gum-bearing trees, especially the _Pistacia lentiscus_ and the
_Balsamodendron Gileadense_, and now, as then, the name is not strictly
confined to the produce of any one plant."
[480] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 22.
_Barley._ The barley broth, of which the Constable, in "Henry V." (iii.
5), spoke so contemptuously as the food of English soldiers, was
probably beer,[481] which long before the time of Henry was so
celebrated that it gave its name to the plant (barley being simply the
beer-plant):
"Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley broth,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?"
[481] Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 23.
_Bay-tree._ The withering and death of this tree were reckoned a
prognostic of evil, both in ancient and modern times, a notion[482] to
which Shakespeare refers in "Richard II." (ii. 4):
"'Tis thought, the king is dead; we will not stay.
The bay-trees in our country are all wither'd"
--having obtained it probably from Holinshed, who says: "In this yeare,
in a manner throughout all the realme of Englande, old baie trees
withered." Lupton, in his "Syxt Booke of Notable Things," mentions this
as a bad omen: "Neyther falling-sickness, neyther devyll, wyll infest or
hurt one in that place whereas a bay-tree is. The Romaynes call it the
plant of the good angel."[483]
[482] See Dyce's "Glossary," p. 32.
[483] See also Evelyn's "Sylva," 1776, p. 396.
_Camomile._ It was formerly imagined that this plant grew the more
luxuriantly for being frequently trodden or pressed down; a notion
alluded to in "1 Henry IV." (ii. 4) by Falstaff: "For though the
camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the
more it is wasted, the sooner it wears." Nares[484] considers that the
above was evidently written in ridicule of the following passage, in a
book very fashionable in Shakespeare's day, Lyly's "Euphues," of which
it is a parody: "Though the camomile, the more it is trodden and pressed
down, the more it spreadeth; yet the violet, the oftener it is handled
and touched, the sooner it withereth and decayeth," etc.
[484] "Glossary," vol. i. p. 150; see Dyce's "Glossary," p. 63.
_Clover._ According to Johnson, the "honey-stalks" in the following
passage ("Titus Andronicus," iv. 4) are "clover-flowers, which contain a
sweet juice." It is not uncommon for cattle to overcharge themselves
with clover, and die, hence the allusion by Tamora:
"I will enchant the old Andronicus
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep."
_Columbine._ This was anciently termed "a thankless flower," and was
also emblematical of forsaken lovers. It is somewhat doubtful to what
Ophelia alludes in "Hamlet" (iv. 5), where she seems to address the
king: "There's fennel for you, and columbines." Perhaps she regarded it
as symbolical of ingratitude.
_Crow-flowers._ This name, which in Shakespeare's time was applied to
the "ragged robin," is now used for the buttercup. It was one of the
flowers that poor Ophelia wove into her garland ("Hamlet," iv. 7):
"There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples."
_Cuckoo-buds._ Commentators are uncertain to what flower Shakespeare
refers in "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2):
"When daisies pied and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight."
Mr. Miller, in his "Gardener's Dictionary," says that the flower here
alluded to is the _Ranunculus bulbosus_; but Mr. Beisly, in his
"Shakespeare's Garden," considers it to be the _Ranunculus ficaria_
(lesser celandine), or pile-wort, as this flower appears earlier in
spring, and is in bloom at the same time as the other flowers named in
the song. Mr. Swinfen Jervis, however, in his "Dictionary of the
Language of Shakespeare" (1868), decides in favor of cowslips:[485] and
Dr. Prior suggests the buds of the crowfoot. At the present day the
nickname cuckoo-bud is assigned to the meadow cress (_Cardamine
pratensis_).
[485] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 212.
_Cuckoo-flowers._ By this flower, Mr. Beisly[486] says, the ragged robin
is meant, a well-known meadow and marsh plant, with rose-colored flowers
and deeply-cut, narrow segments. It blossoms at the time the cuckoo
comes, hence one of its names. In "King Lear" (iv. 4) Cordelia narrates
how
"he was met even now
As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,
With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn."
[486] "Shakespeare's Garden," p. 143.
_Cypress._ From the earliest times the cypress has had a mournful
history, being associated with funerals and churchyards, and as such is
styled by Spenser "cypress funereal."
In Quarles's "Argalus and Parthenia" (1726, bk. iii.) a knight is
introduced, whose
"horse was black as jet,
His furniture was round about beset
With branches slipt from the sad cypress tree."
Formerly coffins were frequently made of cypress wood, a practice to
which Shakespeare probably alludes in "Twelfth Night" (ii. 4), where the
Clown says: "In sad cypress let me be laid." Some, however, prefer[487]
understanding cypress to mean "a shroud of cyprus or cypress"--a fine,
transparent stuff, similar to crape, either white or black, but more
commonly the latter.[488] Douce[489] thinks that the expression "laid"
seems more applicable to a coffin than to a shroud, and also adds that
the shroud is afterwards expressly mentioned by itself.
[487] See "Winter's Tale," iv. 4:
"Lawn as white as driven snow;
Cyprus black as e'er was crow."
Its transparency is alluded to in "Twelfth Night," iii. 1:
"a cyprus, not a bosom,
Hides my heart."
[488] See Dyce's "Glossary," 1872, p. 113.
[489] Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," 1839, p. 56. See
Mr. Gough's "Introduction to Sepulchral Monuments," p. lxvi.;
also Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 221.
_Daffodil._ The daffodil of Shakespeare is the wild daffodil which grows
so abundantly in many parts of England. Perdita, in "Winter's Tale" (iv.
4), mentions a little piece of weather-lore, and tells us how
"daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty."
And Autolycus, in the same play (iv. 3), sings thus:
"When daffodils begin to peer,--
With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year."
_Darnel._ This plant, like the cockle, was used in Shakespeare's day to
denote any hurtful weed. Newton,[490] in his "Herbal to the Bible," says
that "under the name of cockle and darnel is comprehended all vicious,
noisome, and unprofitable graine, encombring and hindering good corne."
Thus Cordelia, in "King Lear" (iv. 4), says:
"Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn."
[490] See Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," 1870,
p. 63.
According to Gerarde, "darnel hurteth the eyes, and maketh them dim, if
it happen either in corne for breade or drinke." Hence, it is said,
originated the old proverb, "lolio victitare"--applied to such as were
dim-sighted. Steevens considers that Pucelle, in the following passage
from "1 Henry VI." (iii. 2), alludes to this property of the
darnel--meaning to intimate that the corn she carried with her had
produced the same effect on the guards of Rouen, otherwise they would
have seen through her disguise and defeated her stratagem:
"Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?
I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast,
Before he'll buy again at such a rate:
'Twas full of darnel: do you like the taste?"
_Date._ This fruit of the palm-tree was once a common ingredient in all
kinds of pastry, and some other dishes, and often supplied a pun for
comedy, as, for example, in "All's Well That Ends Well" (i. 1), where
Parolles says: "Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than
in your cheek." And in "Troilus and Cressida" (i. 2): "Ay, a minced man;
and then to be baked with no date in the pie; for then the man's date's
out."
_Ebony._ The wood of this tree was regarded as the typical emblem of
darkness; the tree itself, however, was unknown in this country in
Shakespeare's time. It is mentioned in "Love's Labour's Lost" (iv. 3):
"_King._ By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.
_Biron._ Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
A wife of such wood were felicity."
In the same play we read of "the ebon-coloured ink" (i. 1), and in
"Venus and Adonis" (948) of "Death's ebon dart."
_Elder._ This plant, while surrounded by an extensive folk-lore, has
from time immemorial possessed an evil reputation, and been regarded as
one of bad omen. According to a popular tradition "Judas was hanged on
an elder," a superstition mentioned by Biron in "Love's Labour's Lost"
(v. 2); and also by Ben Jonson in "Every Man Out of His Humour" (iv. 4):
"He shall be your Judas, and you shall be his elder-tree to hang on." In
"Piers Plowman's Vision" (ll. 593-596) we are told how
"Judas, he japed
With jewen silver,
And sithen on an eller
Hanged hymselve."
So firmly rooted was this belief in days gone by that Sir John
Mandeville tells us in his Travels, which he wrote in 1364, that he was
actually shown the identical tree at Jerusalem, "And faste by is zit,
the tree of Elder that Judas henge himself upon, for despeyr that he
hadde when he solde and betrayed oure Lord." This tradition no doubt, in
a great measure, helped to give it its bad fame, causing it to be spoken
of as "the stinking elder." Shakespeare makes it an emblem of grief. In
"Cymbeline" (iv. 2) Arviragus says:
"Grow, patience!
And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
His perishing root with the increasing vine!"
The dwarf elder[491] (_Sambucus ebulus_) is said only to grow where
blood has been shed either in battle or in murder. The Welsh call it
"Llysan gward gwyr," or "plant of the blood of man." Shakespeare,
perhaps, had this piece of folk-lore in mind when he represents
Bassianus, in "Titus Andronicus" (ii. 4), as killed at a pit beneath an
elder-tree:
"This is the pit and this the elder tree."
[491] "Flower-Lore," p. 35.
_Eringoes._ These were formerly said to be strong provocatives, and as
such are mentioned by Falstaff in "Merry Wives of Windsor" (v. 5): "Let
the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves, hail
kissing comfits, and snow eringoes." Mr. Ellacombe[492] thinks that in
this passage the globe artichoke is meant, "which is a near ally of the
eryngium, and was a favorite dish in Shakespeare's time."
[492] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 66.
_Fennel._ This was generally considered as an inflammatory herb; and to
eat "conger and fennel" was "to eat two high and hot things together,"
which was an act of libertinism.[493] Thus in "2 Henry IV." (ii. 4)
Falstaff says of Poins, he "eats conger and fennel." Mr. Beisly
states[494] that fennel was used as a sauce with fish hard of digestion,
being aromatic, and as the old writers term it, "hot in the third
degree." One of the herbs distributed by poor Ophelia, in her
distraction, is fennel, which she offers either as a cordial or as an
emblem of flattery: "There's fennel for you, and columbines."
[493] Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 302; Dyce's "Glossary," p. 159.
[494] "Shakspere's Garden," p. 158.
Mr. Staunton, however, considers that fennel here signifies _lust_,
while Mr. Beisly thinks its reputed property of clearing the sight is
alluded to. It is more probable that it denotes flattery; especially as,
in Shakespeare's time, it was regarded as emblematical of flattery. In
this sense it is often quoted by old writers. In Greene's "Quip for an
Upstart Courtier," we read, "Fennell I meane for flatterers." In "Phyala
Lachrymarum"[495] we find:
"Nor fennel-finkle bring for flattery,
Begot of his, and fained courtesie."
[495] Quoted in Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 303.
_Fern._ According to a curious notion fern-seed was supposed to possess
the power of rendering persons invisible. Hence it was a most important
object of superstition, being gathered mystically, especially on
Midsummer Eve. It was believed at one time to have neither flower nor
seed; the seed, which lay on the back of the leaf, being so small as to
escape the detection of the hasty observer. On this account, probably,
proceeding on the fantastic doctrine of signatures, our ancestors
derived the notion that those who could obtain and wear this invisible
seed would be themselves invisible: a belief which is referred to in "1
Henry IV." (ii. 1):
"_Gadshill._ We have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk
invisible.
_Chamberlain._ Nay, by my faith, I think you are more
beholding to the night, than to fern-seed, for your walking
invisible."
This superstition is mentioned by many old writers; a proof of its
popularity in times past. It is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher's
"Fair Maid of the Inn" (i. 1):
"Did you think that you had Gyges' ring?
Or the herb that gives invisibility?"
Again, in Ben Jonson's "New Inn" (i. 1):
"I had
No medicine, sir, to go invisible,
No fern-seed in my pocket."
As recently as Addison's day, we are told in the _Tatler_ (No. 240) that
"it was impossible to walk the streets without having an advertisement
thrust into your hand of a doctor who had arrived at the knowledge of
the green and red dragon, and had discovered the female fern-seed."[496]
[496] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. i. pp. 314-316.
_Fig._ Formerly the term fig served as a common expression of contempt,
and was used to denote a thing of the least importance. Hence the
popular phrase, "not to care a fig for one;" a sense in which it is
sometimes used by Shakespeare, who makes Pistol say, in "Merry Wives of
Windsor" (i. 3), "a fico for the phrase!" and in "Henry V." (iii. 6)
Pistol exclaims, "figo for thy friendship!" In "Othello" (i. 3) Iago
says, "Virtue! a fig!"
The term "to give or make the fig," as an expression of insult, has for
many ages been very prevalent among the nations of Europe, and,
according to Douce,[497] was known to the Romans. It consists in
thrusting the thumb between two of the closed fingers, or into the
mouth, a practice, as some say,[498] in allusion to a contemptuous
punishment inflicted on the Milanese, by the Emperor Frederic
Barbarossa, in 1162, when he took their city. This, however, is
altogether improbable, the real origin, no doubt, being a coarse
representation of a disease, to which the name of _ficus_ or fig has
always been given.[499]
[497] "Illustrations of Shakespeare," pp. 302-308.
[498] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 305.
[499] See Gifford's note on Jonson's Works, vol. i. p. 52;
Dyce's "Glossary," p. 161; Du Cange's "Glossary;" Connelly's
"Spanish and English Dictionary," 4to.
The "fig of Spain," spoken of in "Henry V." (iii. 6), may either allude
to the poisoned fig employed in Spain as a secret way of destroying an
obnoxious person, as in Webster's "White Devil:"[500]
"I do look now for a Spanish fig, or an Italian salad, daily;"
and in Shirley's "Brothers:"[501]
"I must poison him;
One fig sends him to Erebus;"
or it may, as Mr. Dyce remarks,[502] simply denote contempt or insult in
the sense already mentioned.
[500] Edited by Dyce, 1857, p. 30.
[501] Edited by Gifford and Dyce, vol. i. p. 231.
[502] "Glossary," p. 161.
_Flower-de-luce._ The common purple iris which adorns our gardens is now
generally agreed upon as the fleur-de-luce, a corruption of fleur de
Louis--being spelled either fleur-de-lys or fleur-de-lis. It derives its
name from Louis VII., King of France, who chose this flower as his
heraldic emblem when setting forth on his crusade to the Holy Land. It
had already been used by the other French kings, and by the emperors of
Constantinople; but it is still a matter of dispute among antiquarians
as to what it was originally intended to represent. Some say a flower,
some a toad, some a halbert-head. It is uncertain what plant is referred
to by Shakespeare when he alludes to the flower-de-luce in the following
passage[503] in "2 Henry VI." (v. 1), where the Duke of York says:
"A sceptre shall it have,--have I a soul,--
On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France."
[503] See "Winter's Tale," iv. 3; "Henry V.," v. 2; "1 Henry
VI.," i. 1.
In "1 Henry VI." (i. 2) Pucelle declares:
"I am prepared; here is my keen-edged sword,
Deck'd with five flower-de-luces on each side."
Some think the lily is meant, others the iris. For the lily theory, says
Mr. Ellacombe,[504] "there are the facts that Shakespeare calls it one
of the lilies, and that the other way of spelling is fleur-de-lys."
[504] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 73.
Chaucer seems to connect it with the lily ("Canterbury Tales," Prol.
238):
"Her nekke was white as the flour-de-lis."
On the other hand, Spenser separates the lilies from the flower-de-luces
in his "Shepherd's Calendar;" and Ben Jonson mentions "rich carnations,
flower-de-luces, lilies."
The fleur-de-lis was not always confined to royalty as a badge. Thus, in
the square of La Pucelle, in Rouen, there is a statue of Jeanne D'Arc
with fleurs-de-lis sculptured upon it, and an inscription as follows:
"The maiden's sword protects the royal crown;
Beneath the maiden's sword the lilies safely blow."
St. Louis conferred upon the Chateaubriands the device of a
fleur-de-lis, and the motto, "Mon sang teint les bannièrs de France."
When Edward III. claimed the crown of France, in the year 1340, he
quartered the ancient shield of France with the lions of England. It
disappeared, however, from the English shield in the first year of the
present century.
_Gillyflower._ This was the old name for the whole class of carnations,
pinks, and sweet-williams, from the French _girofle_, which is itself
corrupted from the Latin _caryophyllum_.[505] The streaked gillyflowers,
says Mr. Beisly,[506] noticed by Perdita in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4)--
"the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
Which some call nature's bastards"--
"are produced by the flowers of one kind being impregnated by the pollen
of another kind, and this art (or law) in nature Shakespeare alludes to
in the delicate language used by Perdita, as well as to the practice of
increasing the plants by slips." Tusser, in his "Five Hundred Points of
Good Husbandry," says:
"The gilloflower also the skilful doe know,
Doth look to be covered in frost and in snow."
[505] "Nares's Glossary," vol. i. p. 363.
[506] "Shakespeare's Garden," p. 82; see Dyce's "Glossary," p. 184.
_Harebell._ This flower, mentioned in "Cymbeline" (iv. 2), is no doubt
another name for the wild hyacinth.
Arviragus says of Imogen:
"thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azured harebell, like thy veins."
_Hemlock._ In consequence of its bad and poisonous character, this plant
was considered an appropriate ingredient for witches' broth. In
"Macbeth" (iv. 1) we read of
"Root of hemlock, digged i' the dark."
Its scientific name, _conium_, is from the Greek word meaning cone or
top, whose whirling motion resembles the giddiness produced on the
constitution by its poisonous juice. It is by most persons supposed to
be the death-drink of the Greeks, and the one by which Socrates was put
to death.
_Herb of Grace_ or _Herb Grace_. A popular name in days gone by for rue.
The origin of the term is uncertain. Most probably it arose from the
extreme bitterness of the plant, which, as it had always borne the name
_rue_ (to be sorry for anything), was not unnaturally associated with
repentance. It was, therefore, the herb of repentance,[507] "and this
was soon changed into 'herb of grace,' repentance being the chief sign
of grace." The expression is several times used by Shakespeare. In
"Richard II." (iii. 4) the gardener narrates:
"Here did she fall a tear; here, in this place
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen."
[507] Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 204; Prior's
"Popular Names of British Plants," 1870, p. 111.
In "Hamlet" (iv. 5), Ophelia, when addressing the queen, says, "There's
rue for you; and here's some for me: we may call it herb-grace o'
Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference."[508]
[508] Cf. "All's Well that Ends Well," iv. 5; "Antony and
Cleopatra," iv. 2; "Romeo and Juliet," ii. 3, where Friar
Laurence says:
"In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will."
Malone observes that there is no ground for supposing that rue was
called "herb of grace" from its being used in exorcisms in churches on
Sunday, a notion entertained by Jeremy Taylor, who says, referring to
the _Flagellum Dæmonum_, "First, they (the Romish exorcisers) are to try
the devil by holy water, incense, sulphur, rue, which from thence, as we
suppose, came to be called 'herb of grace.'"[509] Rue was also a common
subject of puns, from being the same word which signified sorrow or pity
(see "Richard II.," iii. 4, cited above).
[509] "A Dissuasive from Popery," pt. i. chap. ii. sec. 9; see
Dyce's "Glossary," p. 371.
_Holy Thistle._ The Carduus Benedictus, called also "blessed thistle,"
was so named, like other plants which bear the specific name of
"blessed," from its supposed power of counteracting the effect of
poison.[510] Cogan, in his "Haven of Health," 1595, says, "This herbe
may worthily be called _Benedictus_, or _Omnimorbia_, that is, a salve
for every sore, not known to physitians of old time, but lately revealed
by the special providence of Almighty God." It is alluded to in "Much
Ado About Nothing" (iii. 4):
"_Margaret._ Get you some of this distilled Carduus
Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for
a qualm.
_Hero._ There thou prickest her with a thistle.
_Beatrice._ Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in
this Benedictus.
_Margaret._ Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning. I
meant, plain holy-thistle."
[510] Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 464.
_Insane Root._ There is much doubt as to what plant is meant by Banquo
in "Macbeth" (i. 3):
"have we eaten on the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner?"
The origin of this passage is probably to be found in North's
"Plutarch," 1579 ("Life of Antony," p. 990), where mention is made of a
plant which "made them out of their wits." Several plants have been
suggested--the hemlock, belladonna, mandrake, henbane, etc. Douce
supports the last, and cites the following passage:[511] "Henbane ... is
called insana, mad, for the use thereof is perillous; for if it be eate
or dronke, it breedeth madness, or slow lykenesse of sleepe." Nares[512]
quotes from Ben Jonson ("Sejanus," iii. 2), in support of hemlock:
"well, read my charms,
And may they lay that hold upon thy senses
As thou hadst snufft up hemlock."
[511] Batman's "Upon Bartholomæus de Proprietate Rerum," lib.
xvii. chap. 87.
[512] "Glossary," vol. i. p. 465.
_Ivy._ It was formerly the general custom in England, as it is still in
France and the Netherlands, to hang a bush of ivy at the door of a
vintner.[513] Hence the allusion in "As You Like It" (v. 4, Epilogue),
where Rosalind wittily remarks: "If it be true that good wine needs no
bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue." This custom is
often referred to by our old writers, as, for instance, in Nash's
"Summer's Last Will and Testament," 1600:
"Green ivy bushes at the vintner's doors."
And in the "Rival Friends," 1632:
"'Tis like the ivy bush unto a tavern."
[513] See Hotten's "History of Sign Boards."
This plant was no doubt chosen from its being sacred to Bacchus. The
practice was observed at statute hirings, wakes, etc., by people who
sold ale at no other time. The manner, says Mr. Singer,[514] in which
they were decorated appears from a passage in Florio's "Italian
Dictionary," in _voce tremola_, "Gold foile, or thin leaves of gold or
silver, namely, thinne plate, as our vintners adorn their bushes with."
We may compare the old sign of "An owl in an ivy bush," which perhaps
denoted the union of wisdom or prudence with conviviality, with the
phrase "be merry and wise."
[514] "Shakespeare," vol. iii. p. 112.
_Kecksies._ These are the dry, hollow stalks of hemlock. In "Henry V."
(v. 2) Burgundy makes use of the word:
"and nothing teems,
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
Losing both beauty and utility."
It has been suggested[515] that kecksies may be a mistaken form of the
plural kex; and that kex may have been formed from keck, something so
dry that the eater would keck at it, or be unable to swallow it. The
word is probably derived from the Welsh "cecys," which is applied to
several plants of the umbelliferous kind. Dr. Prior,[516] however, says
that kecksies is from an old English word keek, or kike, retained in the
northern counties in the sense of "peep" or "spy."
[515] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 482.
[516] "Popular Names of British Plants," 1879, p. 128.
_Knotgrass._[517] The allusion to this plant in "A Midsummer-Night's
Dream" (iii. 2)--
"Get you gone, you dwarf!
You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made;
You bead, you acorn!"--
refers to its supposed power of hindering the growth of any child or
animal, when taken in an infusion, a notion alluded to by Beaumont and
Fletcher ("Coxcombe," ii. 2):
"We want a boy extremely for this function,
Kept under for a year with milk and knot-grass."
[517] _Polygonum aviculare._
In "The Knight of the Burning Pestle" (ii. 2) we read: "The child's a
fatherless child, and say they should put him into a strait pair of
gaskins, 'twere worse than knot-grass; he would never grow after it."
_Lady-smocks._ This plant is so called from the resemblance of its white
flowers to little smocks hung out to dry ("Love's Labour's Lost," v. 2),
as they used to be at that season of the year especially
"When daisies pied, and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight.
* * * * *
When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,
* * * * *
And maidens bleach their summer smocks."
According to another explanation, the lady-smock is a corruption of "Our
Lady's Smock," so called from its first flowering about Lady-tide. This
plant has also been called cuckoo-flower, because, as Gerarde says, "it
flowers in April and May, when the cuckoo doth begin to sing her
pleasant notes without stammering."
_Laurel._ From the very earliest times this classical plant has been
regarded as symbolical of victory, and used for crowns. In "Titus
Andronicus" (i. 1) Titus says:
"Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs."
And in "Antony and Cleopatra" (i. 3) the latter exclaims:
"upon your sword
Sit laurelled victory."[518]
[518] See "3 Henry VI.," iv. 6; "Troilus and Cressida," i. 3.
_Leek._ The first of March is observed by the Welsh in honor of St.
David, their patron saint, when, as a sign of their patriotism, they
wear a leek. Much doubt exists as to the origin of this custom.
According to the Welsh, it is because St. David ordered his Britons to
place leeks in their caps, that they might be distinguished in fight
from their Saxon foes. Shakespeare, in "Henry V." (iv. 7), alludes to
the custom when referring to the battle of Cressy. Fluellen says, "If
your majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a
garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps, which
your majesty know to this hour is an honourable badge of the service;
and I do believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint
Tavy's day."[519] Dr. Owen Pughe[520] supposes the custom arose from the
practice of every farmer contributing his leek to the common repast when
they met at the Cymmortha, an association by which they reciprocated
assistance in ploughing the land. Anyhow, the subject is one involved in
complete uncertainty, and the various explanations given are purely
conjectural (see p. 303).
[519] See "Henry V.," iv. 1.
[520] "Cambrian Biography," 1803, p. 86; see Brand's "Pop.
Antiq.," 1849, vol. i. pp. 102-108.
_Lily._ Although so many pretty legends and romantic superstitions have
clustered round this sweet and favorite flower, yet they have escaped
the notice of Shakespeare, who, while attaching to it the choicest
epithets, has simply made it the type of elegance and beauty, and the
symbol of purity and whiteness.
_Long Purples._ This plant, mentioned by Shakespeare in "Hamlet" (iv. 7)
as forming part of the nosegay of poor Ophelia, is generally considered
to be the early purple orchis (_Orchis mascula_), which blossoms in
April or May. It grows in meadows and pastures, and is about ten inches
high. Tennyson ("A Dirge") uses the name:
"Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,
Bramble roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale."
Another term applied by Shakespeare to this flower was "Dead Men's
Fingers," from the pale color and hand-like shape of the palmate tubers:
"Our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them."
In "Flowers from Stratford-on-Avon," it is said, "there can be no doubt
that the wild arum is the plant alluded to by Shakespeare," but there
seems no authority for this statement.
_Love-in-Idleness_, or, with more accuracy, _Love-in-Idle_,[521] is one
of the many nicknames of the pansy or heart's-ease--a term said to be
still in use in Warwickshire. It occurs in "Midsummer-Night's Dream"
(ii. 1),[522] where Oberon says:
"Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness."
[521] See Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," 1870,
p. 139.
[522] Cf. "Taming of the Shrew," i. 1.
The phrase literally signifies love in vain, or to no purpose, as Taylor
alludes to it in the following couplet:
"When passions are let loose without a bridle,
Then precious time is turned to _love and idle_."
That flowers, and pansies especially, were used as love-philters,[523]
or for the object of casting a spell over people, in Shakespeare's day,
is shown in the passage already quoted. where Puck and Oberon amuse
themselves at Titania's expense. Again, a further reference occurs (iv.
1), where the fairy king removes the spell:
"But first I will release the fairy queen.
Be as thou wast wont to be:
See as thou wast wont to see:
Dian's bud[524] o'er Cupid's flower[525]
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen."
[523] Cf. what Egeus says (i. 1) when speaking of Lysander:
"This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child;
Thou, thou Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes
And interchanged love-tokens with my child."
[524] Dian's bud is the bud of the _Agnus castus_, or chaste
tree. "The virtue this herbe is, that he will kepe man and
woman chaste." "Macer's Herbal," 1527.
[525] Cupid's flower, another name for the pansy.
"It has been suggested," says Mr. Aldis Wright,[526] "that the device
employed by Oberon to enchant Titania by anointing her eyelids with the
juice of a flower, may have been borrowed by Shakespeare from the
Spanish romance of 'Diana' by George of Montemayor. But apart from the
difficulty which arises from the fact that no English translation of
this romance is known before that published by Young in 1598, there is
no necessity to suppose that Shakespeare was indebted to any one for
what must have been a familiar element in all incantations at a time
when a belief in witchcraft was common." Percy ("Reliques," vol. iii.
bk. 2) quotes a receipt by the celebrated astrologer, Dr. Dee, for "an
ungent to anoynt under the eyelids, and upon the eyelids eveninge and
morninge, but especially when you call," that is, upon the fairies. It
consisted of a decoction of various flowers.
[526] Notes to "A Midsummer-Night's Dream," 1877. Preface, p. xx.
_Mandragora_ or _Mandrake_. No plant, perhaps, has had, at different
times, a greater share of folk-lore attributed to it than the mandrake;
partly owing, probably, to the fancied resemblance of its root to the
human figure, and the accidental circumstance of _man_ being the first
syllable of the word. An inferior degree of animal life was assigned to
it; and it was commonly supposed that, when torn from the ground, it
uttered groans of so pernicious a character, that the person who
committed the violence either went mad or died. In "2 Henry VI." (iii.
2) Suffolk says:
"Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent," etc.
And Juliet ("Romeo and Juliet," iv. 3) speaks of
"shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad."
To escape this danger, it was recommended to tie one end of a string to
the plant and the other to a dog, upon whom the fatal groan would
discharge its whole malignity. The ancients, it appears, were equally
superstitious with regard to this mysterious plant, and Columella, in
his directions for the site of gardens, says they may be formed where
"the mandrake's flowers
Produce, whose root shows half a man, whose juice
With madness strikes."
Pliny[527] informs us that those who dug up this plant paid particular
attention to stand so that the wind was at their back; and, before they
began to dig, they made three circles round the plant with the point of
the sword, and then, proceeding to the west, commenced digging it up. It
seems to have been well known as an opiate in the time of Shakespeare,
who makes Iago say in "Othello" (iii. 3):
"Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday."
[527] "Natural History," bk. xxv. chap. 94.
In "Antony and Cleopatra" (i. 5), the queen pathetically says:
"Give me to drink mandragora.
_Char._ Why, madam?
_Cleo._ That I might sleep out this great gap of time,
My Antony is away."
Lyte, in his translation of "Dodoens" (1578), p. 438, tells us that
"the leaves and fruit be also dangerous, for they cause deadly sleepe,
and peevish drowsiness, like opium." It was sometimes regarded as an
emblem of incontinence, as in "2 Henry IV." (iii. 2): "yet lecherous as
a monkey, and the whores called him--mandrake." A very diminutive figure
was, too, often compared to a mandrake. In "2 Henry IV." (i. 2),
Falstaff says: "Thou whoreson mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my
cap, than to wait at my heels." Tracing back the history of this plant
into far-distant times, it is generally believed that it is the same as
that which the ancient Hebrews called Dudain.[528] That these people
held it in the highest esteem in the days of Jacob is evident from its
having been found by Reuben, who carried the plant to his mother; and
the inducement which tempted Leah to part with it proves the value then
set upon this celebrated plant. According to a curious superstition,
this plant was thought to possess the properties of making childless
wives become mothers, and hence, some suppose, Rachel became so desirous
of possessing the mandrakes which Reuben had found. Among the many other
items of folk-lore associated with the mandrake, there is one which
informs us that "it is perpetually watched over by Satan, and if it be
pulled up at certain holy times, and with certain invocations, the evil
spirit will appear to do the bidding of the practitioner."[529] In
comparatively recent times, quacks and impostors counterfeited with the
root briony figures resembling parts of the human body, which were sold
to the credulous as endued with specific virtues.[530] The Germans, too,
equally superstitious, formed little idols of the roots of the mandrake,
which were regularly dressed every day, and consulted as oracles--their
repute being such that they were manufactured in great numbers, and sold
in cases. They were, also, imported into this country during the time of
Henry VIII., it being pretended that they would, with the assistance of
some mystic words, increase whatever money was placed near them. In
order, too, to enhance the value of these so-called miracle-workers, it
was said that the roots of this plant were produced from the flesh of
criminals which fell from the gibbet, and that it only grew in such a
situation.[531]
[528] Phillips's "Flora Historica," 1829, vol. i. pp. 324, 325;
see Smith's "Dictionary of the Bible," 1869, vol. ii. p. 1777.
[529] "Mystic Trees and Flowers," by M. D. Conway; _Fraser's
Magazine_, 1870, vol. ii. p. 705.
[530] Singer's "Shakespeare," 1875, vol. v. p. 153.
[531] See Sir Thomas Browne's "Vulgar Errors," 1852, vol. ii. p. 6.
_Marigold._ This flower was a great favorite with our old writers, from
a curious notion that it always opened or shut its flowers at the sun's
bidding; in allusion to which Perdita remarks, in "Winter's Tale" (iv.
3):
"The marigold, that goes to bed wi' the sun,
And with him rises weeping."
It was also said, but erroneously, to turn its flowers to the sun, a
quality attributed to the sunflower (_Helianthus annuus_), and thus
described by Moore:
"The sunflower turns on her god when he sets
The same look which she turn'd when he rose."
A popular name for the marigold was "mary-bud," mention of which we find
in "Cymbeline" (ii. 3):
"winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes."
_Medlar._ This fruit, which Shakespeare describes as only fit to be
eaten when rotten, is applied by Lucio to a woman of loose character, as
in "Measure for Measure" (iv. 3): "they would else have married me to
the rotten medlar."
Chaucer, in the "Reeve's Prologue," applies the same name to it:
"That ilke fruit is ever lenger the wers,
Till it be roten in mullok, or in stre.
We olde men, I drede, so faren we,
Till we be roten can we not be ripe."
_Mistletoe._ This plant, which, from the earliest times, has been an
object of interest to naturalists, on account of its curious growth,
deriving its subsistence entirely from the branch to which it annexes
itself, has been the subject of widespread superstition. In "Titus
Andronicus" (ii. 3), Tamora describes it in the graphic passage below as
the "baleful mistletoe," an epithet which, as Mr. Douce observes, is
extremely appropriate, either conformably to an ancient, but erroneous,
opinion, that the berries of the mistletoe were poisonous, or on account
of the use made of this plant by the Druids during their detestable
human sacrifices.[532]
"_Demetrius._ How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother,
Why doth your highness look so pale and wan?
_Tamora._ Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?
These two have 'tic'd me hither to this place:--
A barren detested vale, you see, it is;
The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe:
Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,
Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven."
[532] "Illustrations of Shakespeare," p. 386.
_Mushroom._ Besides his notice of the mushroom in the following
passages, Shakespeare alludes to the fairy rings[533] which are formed
by fungi, though, as Mr. Ellacombe[534] points out, he probably knew
little of this. In "The Tempest" (v. 1), Prospero says of the fairies:
"you demi-puppets, that
By moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make,
Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms;"
the allusion in this passage being to the superstition that sheep will
not eat the grass that grows on fairy rings.
[533] See page 15.
[534] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 131.
_Mustard._ Tewksbury mustard, to which reference is made in "2 Henry
IV." (ii. 4), where Falstaff speaks of "wit as thick as Tewksbury
mustard," was formerly very famous. Shakespeare speaks only of its
thickness, but others have celebrated its pungency. Coles, writing in
1657, says: "In Gloucestershire, about Teuxbury, they grind mustard and
make it into balls, which are brought to London, and other remote
places, as being the best that the world affords."
_Narcissus._ The old legend attached to this flower is mentioned by
Emilia in "The Two Noble Kinsmen" (ii. 1):
"That was a fair boy certain, but a fool,
To love himself; were there not maids enough?"
_Nutmeg._ A gilt nutmeg was formerly a common gift at Christmas and on
other festive occasions, a notice of which occurs in "Love's Labour's
Lost" (v. 2), in the following dialogue:[535]
"_Armado._ 'The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
Gave Hector a gift,--'
_Dumain._ A gilt nutmeg."
[535] Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 612.
_Oak._ A crown of oak was considered by the Romans worthy of the highest
emulation of statesmen and warriors. To him who had saved the life of a
Roman soldier was given a crown of oak-leaves; one, indeed, which was
accounted more honorable than any other. In "Coriolanus" (ii. 1),
Volumnia says: "he comes the third time home with the oaken garland."
And again (i. 3): "To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned,
his brows bound with oak." Montesquieu, indeed, said that it was with
two or three hundred crowns of oak that Rome conquered the world.
Although so much historical and legendary lore have clustered round the
oak, yet scarcely any mention is made of this by Shakespeare. The legend
of Herne the Hunter, which seems to have been current at Windsor, is
several times alluded to, as, for instance, in "Merry Wives of Windsor"
(iv. 4):
"_Mrs. Page._ There is an old tale goes, that Herne the hunter,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,
Walk round about an oak, with great ragg'd horns.
* * * * *
_Page._ ... there want not many, that do fear
In deep of night to walk by this Herne's oak."
Herne's Oak, so long an object of much curiosity and enthusiasm, is now
no more. According to one theory, the old tree was blown down August 31,
1863; and a young oak was planted by her Majesty, September 12, 1863, to
mark the spot where Herne's Oak stood.[536] Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps,
however, tells us, "the general opinion is that it was accidentally
destroyed in the year 1796, through an order of George III. to the
bailiff Robinson, that all the unsightly trees in the vicinity of the
castle should be removed; an opinion confirmed by a well-established
fact, that a person named Grantham, who contracted with the bailiff for
the removal of the trees, fell into disgrace with the king for having
included the oak in his gatherings."[537]
[536] See "Windsor Guide," p. 5.
[537] See "Notes and Queries," 3d series, vol. xii. p. 160.
_Olive._ This plant, ever famous from its association with the return of
the dove to the ark, has been considered typical of peace. It was as an
emblem of peace that a garland of olive was given to Judith when she
restored peace to the Israelites by the death of Holofernes (Judith, xv.
13). It was equally honored by Greeks and Romans. It is, too, in this
sense that Shakespeare speaks of it when he makes Viola, in "Twelfth
Night" (i. 5), say: "I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage;
I hold the olive in my hand, my words are as full of peace as matter."
In Sonnet CVII. occurs the well-known line:[538]
"And peace proclaims olives of endless age."
[538] See also "3 Henry VI.," iv. 6; "Timon of Athens," v. 4;
"Antony and Cleopatra," iv. 6; "2 Henry IV.," iv. 4.
_Palm._ As the symbol of victory, this was carried before the conqueror
in triumphal processions. Its classical use is noticed by Shakespeare in
"Coriolanus" (v. 3). Volumnia says:[539]
"And bear the palm, for having bravely shed
Thy wife and children's blood."
[539] See "As You Like It," iii. 2; "Timon of Athens," v. 1;
cf. "Henry VIII.," iv. 2.
In "Julius Cæsar" (i. 2), Cassius exclaims:
"Ye gods, it doth amaze me,
A man of such a feeble temper should
So get the start of the majestic world,
And bear the palm alone."
Pilgrims were formerly called "palmers," from the staff or bough of palm
they were wont to carry. So, in "All's Well That Ends Well" (iii. 5),
Helena asks:
"Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?"
_Pear._ In his few notices of the pear Shakespeare only mentions two by
name, the warden and the poperin: the former was chiefly used for
roasting or baking, and is mentioned by the clown in the "Winter's Tale"
(iv. 3):
"I must have saffron, to colour the warden pies."
Hence Ben Jonson makes a pun upon Church-warden pies. According to some
antiquarians, the name warden is from the Anglo-Saxon _wearden_, to
preserve, as it keeps for a long time; but it is more probable that the
word had its origin from the horticultural skill of the Cistercian monks
of Wardon Abbey, in Bedfordshire, founded in the 12th century. Three
warden pears appeared on the armorial bearings of the abbey.[540] It is
noticeable that the warden pies of Shakespeare's day, colored with
saffron, have been replaced by stewed pears colored with cochineal.
[540] See "Archæological Journal," vol. v. p. 301.
The poperin pear was probably introduced from Flanders by the antiquary
Leland, who was made rector of Popering by Henry VIII. It is alluded to
by Mercutio in "Romeo and Juliet" (ii. 1), where he wishes that Romeo
were "a poperin pear." In the old dramas there is much attempt at wit on
this pear.
_Peas._ A practice called "peascod wooing" was formerly a common mode of
divination in love affairs. The cook, when shelling green peas, would,
if she chanced to find a pod having nine, lay it on the lintel of the
kitchen-door, and the first man who entered was supposed to be her
future husband. Another way of divination by peascod consisted in the
lover selecting one growing on the stem, snatching it away quickly, and
if the good omen of the peas remaining in the husk were preserved, in
then presenting it to the lady of his choice. Touchstone, in "As You
Like It" (ii. 4), alludes to this piece of popular suggestion: "I
remember the wooing of a peascod[541] instead of her." Gay, who has
carefully chronicled many a custom of his time, says, in his "Fourth
Pastoral:"
"As peascods once I pluck'd, I chanc'd to see,
One that was closely fill'd with three times three,
Which when I cropp'd I safely home convey'd,
And o'er my door the spell in secret laid."
[541] The cod was what we now call the pod.
We may quote, as a further illustration, the following stanza from
Browne's "Pastorals" (bk. ii. song 3):
"The peascod greene, oft with no little toyle,
He'd seek for in the fattest, fertil'st soile,
And rende it from the stalke to bring it to her,
And in her bosom for acceptance wooe her."[542]
[542] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. ii. p. 99.
_Plantain._ The leaves of this plant were carefully valued by our
forefathers for their supposed efficacy in healing wounds, etc. It was
also considered as a preventive of poison; and to this supposed virtue
we find an allusion in "Romeo and Juliet" (i. 2):
"_Benvolio._ Take thou some new infection to thy eye,
And the rank poison of the old will die.
_Romeo._ Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.
_Benvolio._ For what, I pray thee?
_Romeo._ For your broken shin."[543]
[543] See "Love's Labour's Lost," iii. 1.
In the "Two Noble Kinsmen" (i. 2) Palamon says:
"These poor slight sores
Need not a plantain."
_Poppy._ The plant referred to by Shakespeare in "Othello" (iii. 3) is
the opium poppy, well known in his day for its deadly qualities. It is
described by Spenser in the "Fairy Queen" (ii. 7, 52) as the
"dead-sleeping poppy," and Drayton ("Nymphidia," v.) enumerates it among
the flowers that procure "deadly sleeping."
_Potato._ It is curious enough, says Nares,[544] to find that excellent
root, which now forms a regular portion of the daily nutriment of every
individual, and is the chief or entire support of multitudes in Ireland,
spoken of continually as having some powerful effect upon the human
frame, in exciting the desires and passions; yet this is the case in all
the writings contemporary with Shakespeare. Thus Falstaff, in "Merry
Wives of Windsor" (v. 5), says: "Let the sky rain potatoes; let it
thunder to the tune of 'Green Sleeves,' hail kissing comfits," etc. In
"Troilus and Cressida" (v. 2), Thersites adds: "How the devil luxury,
with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles these together."[545] It
appears, too, that the medical writers of the times countenanced this
fancy. Mr. Ellacombe[546] observes that the above passages are of
peculiar interest, inasmuch as they contain almost the earliest notice
of potatoes after their introduction into England.
[544] "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 677.
[545] See Beaumont and Fletcher, "Elder Brother," iv. 4;
Massinger, "New Way to Pay Old Debts," ii. 2; Ben Jonson,
"Cynthia's Revels," ii. 1, etc.
[546] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 173.
_Primrose._ Although the early primrose has always been such a popular
and favorite flower, yet it seems to have been associated with
sadness,[547] or even worse than sadness; for, in the following
passages, the "primrose paths" and "primrose way" are meant to be
suggestive of sinful pleasures. Thus, in "Hamlet" (i. 3), Ophelia says:
"like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,
And recks not his own rede."
[547] Ibid., p. 179.
And in "Macbeth" (ii. 3), the Porter declares: "I had thought to have
let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the
everlasting bonfire." Curious to say, too, Shakespeare's only epithets
for this fair flower are, "pale," "faint," "that die unmarried." Nearly
all the poets of that time spoke of it in the same strain, with the
exception of Ben Jonson and the two Fletchers.
_Reed._ Among the uses to which the reed was formerly applied were the
thatching of houses and the making of shepherds' pipes. The former is
alluded to in the "Tempest" (v. 1):
"His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
From eaves of reeds;"
and the latter in "Merchant of Venice" (iii. 4), where Portia speaks of
"a reed voice." It has generally been regarded as the emblem of
weakness, as in "Antony and Cleopatra" (ii. 7): "a reed that will do me
no service."
_Rose._ As might be expected, the rose is the flower most frequently
mentioned by Shakespeare, a symbol, in many cases, of all that is fair
and lovely. Thus, for instance, in "Hamlet" (iii. 4), Hamlet says:
"Such an act ... takes off the rose
From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
And sets a blister there."
And Ophelia (iii. 1) describes Hamlet as,
"The expectancy and rose of the fair state."
In days gone by the rose entered largely into the customs and
superstitions of most nations, and even nowadays there is an extensive
folk-lore associated with it.
It appears that, in Shakespeare's time, one of the fashions of the day
was the wearing of enormous roses on the shoes, of which full-length
portraits afford striking examples.[548] Hamlet (iii. 2) speaks of "two
Provincial roses on my razed shoes;" meaning, no doubt, rosettes of
ribbon in the shape of roses of Provins or Provence. Douce favors the
former, Warton the latter locality. In either case, it was a large
rose. The Provence, or damask rose, was probably the better known.
Gerarde, in his "Herbal," says that the damask rose is called by some
_Rosa Provincialis_.[549] Mr. Fairholt[550] quotes, from "Friar Bacon's
Prophecy" (1604), the following, in allusion to this fashion:
"When roses in the gardens grew,
And not in ribbons on a shoe:
Now ribbon roses take such place
That garden roses want their grace."
[548] Singer's "Shakespeare," 1875, vol. ix. p. 227.
[549] "Notes to Hamlet," Clark and Wright, 1876, p. 179.
[550] "Costume in England," p. 238. At p. 579 the author gives
several instances of the extravagances to which this fashion led.
Again, in "King John" (i. 1), where the Bastard alludes to the
three-farthing silver pieces of Queen Elizabeth, which were extremely
thin, and had the profile of the sovereign, with a rose on the back of
her head, there doubtless is a fuller reference to the court fashion of
sticking roses in the ear:[551]
"my face so thin,
That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose,
Lest men should say, 'Look, where three-farthings goes.'"
[551] Some gallants had their ears bored, and wore their
mistresses' silken shoe-strings in them. See Singer's "Notes,"
vol. iv. p. 257.
Shakespeare also mentions the use of the rose in rose-cakes and
rose-water, the former in "Romeo and Juliet" (v. 1), where Romeo speaks
of "old cakes of roses," the latter in "Taming of the Shrew" (Induction,
1):
"Let one attend him with a silver basin
Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers."
Referring to its historical lore, we may mention its famous connection
with the Wars of the Roses. In the fatal dispute in the Temple Gardens,
Somerset, on the part of Lancaster, says ("1 Henry VI." ii. 4):
"Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me."
Warwick, on the part of York, replies:
"I love no colours, and, without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery,
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet."
The trailing white dog-rose is commonly considered to have been the one
chosen by the House of York. A writer, however, in the _Quarterly
Review_ (vol. cxiv.) has shown that the white rose has a very ancient
interest for Englishmen, as, long before the brawl in the Temple
Gardens, the flower had been connected with one of the most ancient
names of our island. The elder Pliny, in discussing the etymology of the
word Albion, suggests that the land may have been so named from the
white roses which abounded in it. The York and Lancaster rose, with its
pale striped flowers, is a variety of the French rose known as _Rosa
Gallica_. It became famous when the two emblematical roses, in the
persons of Henry VII. and Elizabeth of York, at last brought peace and
happiness to the country which had been so long divided by internal
warfare. The canker-rose referred to by Shakespeare is the wild
dog-rose, a name occasionally applied to the common red poppy.
_Rosemary._ This plant was formerly in very high esteem, and was devoted
to various uses. It was supposed to strengthen the memory; hence it was
regarded as a symbol of remembrance, and on this account was often given
to friends. Thus, in "Hamlet" (iv. 5), where Ophelia seems to be
addressing Laertes, she says: "There's rosemary, that's for
remembrance." In the "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4) rosemary and rue are
beautifully put together:
"For you there's rosemary and rue; these keep
Seeming and savour all the winter long:
Grace and remembrance be to you both,
And welcome to our shearing!"
Besides being used at weddings, it was also in request at funerals,
probably for its odor, and as a token of remembrance of the deceased.
Thus the Friar, in "Romeo and Juliet" (iv. 5), says:
"Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemary
On this fair corse."
This practice is thus touchingly alluded to by Gay, in his "Pastorals:"
"To shew their love, the neighbours far and near
Followed, with wistful look, the damsel's bier:
Sprigg'd rosemary the lads and lasses bore,
While dismally the parson walk'd before."
Rosemary, too, was one of the evergreens with which dishes were
anciently garnished during the season of Christmas, an allusion to which
occurs in "Pericles" (iv. 6): "Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with
rosemary and bays."
_Rush._ Before the introduction of carpets, the floors of churches and
houses were strewed with rushes, a custom to which Shakespeare makes
several allusions. In "Taming of the Shrew" (iv. 1), Grumio asks: "Is
supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept?" and
Glendower, in "1 Henry IV." (iii. 1), says:
"She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down,
And rest your gentle head upon her lap."
At the coronation of Henry V. ("2 Henry IV.," v. 5), when the procession
is coming, the grooms cry, "More rushes! more rushes!" which seems to
have been the usual cry for rushes to be scattered on a pavement or a
platform when a procession was approaching.[552] Again, in "Richard II."
(i. 3), the custom is further alluded to by John of Gaunt, who speaks of
"the presence strew'd," referring to the presence-chamber. So, too, in
"Cymbeline" (ii. 2), Iachimo soliloquizes:
"Tarquin thus
Did softly press the rushes, ere he waken'd
The chastity he wounded."
[552] Dyce's "Glossary," p. 373.
And in "Romeo and Juliet" (i. 4), Romeo says:
"Let wantons, light of heart,
Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;"
an expression which Middleton has borrowed in his "Blunt Master
Constable," 1602:
"Bid him, whose heart no sorrow feels,
Tickle the rushes with his wanton heels,
I have too much lead at mine."
In the "Two Noble Kinsmen" (ii. 1) the Gaoler's Daughter is represented
carrying "strewings" for the two prisoners' chamber.
Rush-bearings were a sort of rural festival, when the parishioners
brought rushes to strew the church.[553]
[553] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. ii. pp. 13, 14.
The "rush-ring" appears to have been a kind of token for plighting of
troth among rustic lovers. It was afterwards vilely used, however, for
mock-marriages, as appears from one of the Constitutions of Salisbury.
In "All's Well that Ends Well" (ii. 2) there seems a covert allusion to
the rush-ring: "As Tib's rush for Tom's fore-finger." Spenser, in the
"Shepherd's Kalendar," speaks of
"The knotted rush-rings and gilt Rosemarie."
Du Breul, in his "Antiquities of Paris,"[554] mentions the rush-ring as
"a kind of espousal used in France by such persons as meant to live
together in a state of concubinage; but in England it was scarcely ever
practised except by designing men, for the purpose of corrupting those
young women to whom they pretended love."
[554] Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," 1839, p. 194.
The "rush candle," which, in times past, was found in nearly every
house, and served as a night-light for the rich and candle for the poor,
is mentioned in "Taming of the Shrew" (iv. 5):
"be it moon, or sun, or what you please:
An if you please to call it a rush candle,
Henceforth, I vow, it shall be so for me."
_Saffron._ In the following passage ("All's Well that Ends Well," iv.
5) there seems to be an allusion[555] by Lafeu to the fashionable and
fantastic custom of wearing yellow, and to that of coloring paste with
saffron: "No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow
there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and
doughy youth of a nation in his colour."
[555] Dyce's "Glossary," p. 381.
_Spear-grass._ This plant--perhaps the common reed--is noticed in "1 Henry
IV." (ii. 4) as used for tickling the nose and making it bleed. In
Lupton's "Notable Things" it is mentioned as part of a medical recipe:
"Whoever is tormented with sciatica or the hip-gout, let them take an
herb called spear-grass, and stamp it, and lay a little thereof upon the
grief." Mr. Ellacombe[556] thinks that the plant alluded to is the
common couch-grass (_Triticum repens_), which is still known in the
eastern counties as spear-grass.
[556] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 319.
_Stover._ This word, which is often found in the writings of
Shakespeare's day, denotes fodder and provision of all sorts for cattle.
In Cambridgeshire stover signifies hay made of coarse, rank grass, such
as even cows will not eat while it is green. In "The Tempest" (iv. 1),
Iris says:
"Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep."
According to Steevens, stover was used as a thatch for cart-lodges and
other buildings that required but cheap coverings.
_Strawberry._ Shakespeare's mention of the strawberry in connection with
the nettle, in "Henry V." (i. 1),
"The strawberry grows underneath the nettle,
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality,"
deserves, says Mr. Ellacombe, a passing note. "It was the common opinion
in his day that plants were affected by the neighborhood of other plants
to such an extent that they imbibed each others virtues and faults. Thus
sweet flowers were planted near fruit-trees with the idea of improving
the flavor of the fruit, and evil-smelling trees, like the elder, were
carefully cleared away from fruit-trees, lest they should be tainted.
But the strawberry was supposed to be an exception to the rule, and was
said to thrive in the midst of 'evil communications, without being
corrupted.'"
_Thorns._ The popular tradition, which represents the marks on the
moon[557] to be that of a man carrying a thorn-bush on his head, is
alluded to in "Midsummer-Night's Dream" (v. 1), in the Prologue:
"This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,
Presenteth Moonshine."
[557] See p. 68.
Little else is mentioned by Shakespeare with regard to thorns, save that
they are generally used by him as the emblems of desolation and trouble.
_Violets._ An old superstition is alluded to by Shakespeare when he
makes Laertes wish that violets may spring from the grave of Ophelia
("Hamlet," v. 1):
"Lay her i' the earth:
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring!"
an idea which occurs in Persius's "Satires" (i. 39):
"E tumulo fortunataque favilla
Nascentur violæ."
The violet has generally been associated with early death. This, Mr.
Ellacombe considers,[558] "may have arisen from a sort of pity for
flowers that were only allowed to see the opening year, and were cut off
before the first beauty of summer had come, and so were looked upon as
apt emblems of those who enjoyed the bright springtide of life, and no
more." Thus, the violet is one of the flowers which Marina carries to
hang "as a carpet on the grave" in "Pericles" (iv. 1):
"the yellows, blues,
The purple violets, and marigolds,
Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave,
While summer days do last."
[558] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 248.
Again, in that exquisite passage in the "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4), where
Perdita enumerates the flowers of spring, she speaks of,
"violets, dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes,
Or Cytherea's breath;"
upon which Mr. Singer[559] thus comments: "The eyes of Juno were as
remarkable as those of Pallas, and
'Of a beauty never yet
Equalled in height of tincture.'"
[559] "Shakespeare," vol. iv. p. 76.
The beauties of Greece and other Asiatic nations tinged their eyes of an
obscure violet color, by means of some unguent, which was doubtless
perfumed, like those for the hair, etc., mentioned by Athenæus.
_Willow._ From time immemorial the willow has been regarded as the
symbol of sadness. Hence it was customary for those who were forsaken in
love to wear willow garlands, a practice to which Shakespeare makes
several allusions. In "Othello" (iv. 3), Desdemona, anticipating her
death, says:
"My mother had a maid call'd Barbara;
She was in love; and he she lov'd prov'd mad,
And did forsake her: she had a song of--Willow;
An old thing 'twas, but it express'd her fortune,
And she died singing it: that song, to-night,
Will not go from my mind."
The following is the song:[560]
"The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,
Sing all a green willow:
Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones,
Sing willow, willow, willow:
Sing all a green willow must be my garland."
[560] "The old ballad on which Shakespeare formed this song is
given in Percy's 'Reliques of Ancient Poetry' (1794, vol. i. p.
208), from a copy in the Pepysian collection. A different
version of it may be seen in Chappell's 'Popular Music of the
Olden Time' (2d edition, vol. i. p. 207). The original ditty is
the lamentation of a lover for the inconstancy of his
mistress."--Dyce's "Shakespeare," vol. vii. p. 450.
And further on Emilia says (v. 2):
"I will play the swan,
And die in music.--[_Singing_] 'Willow, willow, willow.'"
And, again, Lorenzo, in "Merchant of Venice" (v. 1), narrates:
"In such a night
Stood Dido, with a willow in her hand,
Upon the wild sea-banks."
It was, too, in reference to this custom that Shakespeare, in "Hamlet"
(iv. 7), represented poor Ophelia hanging her flowers on the "willow
aslant a brook." "This tree," says Douce,[561] "might have been chosen
as the symbol of sadness from the cxxxvii. Psalm (verse 2): 'We hanged
our harps upon the willows;' or else from a coincidence between the
_weeping_-willow and falling tears." Another reason has been assigned.
The _Agnus castus_ was supposed to promote chastity, and "the willow
being of a much like nature," says Swan, in his "Speculum Mundi" (1635),
"it is yet a custom that he which is deprived of his love must wear a
willow garland." Bona, the sister of the King of France, on receiving
news of Edward the Fourth's marriage with Elizabeth Grey, exclaimed,
"in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
I'll wear the willow garland for his sake."
[561] "Illustrations of Shakespeare," p. 105.
_Wormwood._ The use of this plant in weaning infants is alluded to in
"Romeo and Juliet" (i. 3), by Juliet's nurse, in the following passage:
"For I had then laid wormwood to my dug,
* * * * *
When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple
Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool."
_Yew._ This tree, styled by Shakespeare "the dismal yew" ("Titus
Andronicus," ii. 3), apart from the many superstitions associated with
it, has been very frequently planted in churchyards, besides being used
at funerals. Paris, in "Romeo and Juliet" (v. 3), says:
"Under yond yew-trees lay thee all along,
Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread,
Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves,
But thou shalt hear it."
Although various reasons have been assigned for planting the yew-tree in
churchyards, it seems probable that the practice had a superstitious
origin. As witches were supposed to exercise a powerful influence over
the winds, they were believed occasionally to exert their formidable
power against religious edifices. Thus Macbeth says (iv. 1):
"Though you untie the winds, and let them fight
Against the churches."
To counteract, therefore, this imaginary danger, our ancestors may have
planted the yew-tree in their churchyards, not only on account of its
vitality as an evergreen, but as connected in some way, in heathen
times, with the influence of evil powers.[562] In a statute made in the
latter part of Edward I.'s reign, to prevent rectors from cutting down
trees in churchyards, we find the following: "Verum arbores ipsæ,
propter ventorum impetus ne ecclesiis noceant, sæpe plantantur."[563]
[562] Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," p. 244.
[563] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. ii. pp. 255-266.
The custom of sticking yew in the shroud is alluded to in the following
song in "Twelfth Night" (ii. 4):
"My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,
O, prepare it!
My part of death, no one so true
Did share it."
Through being reckoned poisonous, it is introduced in "Macbeth" (iv. 1)
in connection with the witches:
"Gall of goat, and slips of yew,
Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse."
"How much the splitting or tearing off of the slip had to do with magic
we learn from a piece of Slavonic folk-lore. It is unlucky to use for a
beam a branch or a tree broken by the wind. The devil, or storm-spirit,
claims it as his own, and, were it used, the evil spirit would haunt the
house. It is a broken branch the witches choose; a sliver'd slip the
woodman will have none of."[564]
[564] "Notes and Queries," 5th series, vol. xii. p. 468.
Its epithet, "double-fatal" ("Richard II.," iii. 2), no doubt refers to
the poisonous quality of the leaves, and on account of its wood being
employed for instruments of death. Sir Stephen Scroop, when telling
Richard of Bolingbroke's revolt, declares that
"Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
Of double-fatal yew against thy state."
It has been suggested that the poison intended by the Ghost in "Hamlet"
(i. 5), when he speaks of the "juice of cursed hebenon," is that of the
yew, and is the same as Marlowe's "juice of hebon" ("Jew of Malta," iii.
4). The yew is called hebon by Spenser and by other writers of
Shakespeare's age; and, in its various forms of eben, eiben, hiben,
etc., this tree is so named in no less than five different European
languages. From medical authorities, both of ancient and modern times,
it would seem that the juice of the yew is a rapidly fatal poison; next,
that the symptoms attendant upon yew-poisoning correspond, in a very
remarkable manner, with those which follow the bites of poisonous
snakes; and, lastly, that no other poison but the yew produces the
"lazar-like" ulcerations on the body upon which Shakespeare, in this
passage, lays so much stress.[565]
[565] Extract of a paper read by Rev. W. A. Harrison, New
Shakespeare Society, 12th May. 1882.
Among the other explanations of this passage is the well-known one which
identifies "hebenon" with henbane. Mr. Beisly suggests that nightshade
may be meant, while Nares considers that ebony is meant.[566]
[566] See Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare;" Nares's
"Glossary," vol. i. p. 412; Beisly's "Shakespeare's Garden," p. 4.
From certain ancient statutes it appears that every Englishman, while
archery was practised, was obliged to keep in his house either a bow of
yew or some other wood.[567]
[567] Singer's "Shakespeare," vol. iv. p. 427. See a paper in
the "Antiquary" (1882, vol. vi. p. 13), by Mr. George Black, on
the yew in Shakespearian folk-lore.