1888. Texas Siftings, 15 Sept. Then I would have a great quantity
of little dodgers printed to throw around everywhere.
Dodo, subs. (old).—A stupid, old man.
Dodrotted, ppl. adj. (American).—A euphemistic oath. See Oaths.
1887. Century Magazine. You ketch us with yer dodrotted foolin’,
says he; we hain’t the kind to be fooled.
Does it? phr. (common).—A sarcastic retort.—See Does your Mother know
you’re out?
Does your Mother know you’re out? phr. (streets’).—A popular locution,
vague as to meaning and inexact in application—an expression expressive
of contempt, incredulity, sarcasm, anything you please.—See All my eye,
Street cries, and infra.
English Variants.—Has your mother sold her mangle? Not to-day, or it
won’t do, Mr. Ferguson! Sawdust and treacle! Draw it mild! And the
rest! Who are you? All round my hat! Go it, ye cripples! Shoo, fly! How
does the old thing work? Well, you know how it is yourself! How’s your
poor feet? Why, certainly! I’ll have your whelk! Not to-day, baker,
call to-morrow, and we’ll take a crusty one! Do you see any green in my
eye? Put that in your pipe and smoke it! Where are you going on Sunday?
Go to Putney! Who stole the donkey: the man in the white hat! Cough,
Julia! Over the bender! There you go with your eye out! etc., etc.
French Variants.—Et les mois de nourrice = (and the rest!); du
combustible (popular: = go it you cripples); tu t’en ferais péter le
cylindre (popular: = don’t you wish you may get it); chiche! (popular:
a defiant refusal); chaleur! (popular: expressive of contempt,
disbelief, and ironical admiration); croyez ça et buvez de l’eau
(popular: = believe that and drink water); à Chaillot ( = ‘go to Bath
and get your head shaved’); tu t’en ferais crèver (pop.: = don’t you
wish you may get it?); colle-toi ça dans l’cornet (pop.: = put that in
your pipe and smoke it!) je la connais (pop.: = do you see any green?);
j’entrave pas dans tes vannes (thieves’: = you don’t take me in); de la
bourrache! (popular: = no go); un sale truc pour la fanfare (popular:
an expression of disgust); de quoi (popular: what next? also = wealth,
money, etc.); allez donc raconter cela à dache (thieves’: = tell that
to the marines!); des dattes! (pop.: = take a carrot!); et ta sœur
(popular: indicative of refusal, contempt, and insult); faut pas m’la
faire (popular: = Walker!); et le pouce (pop.: = and the rest!)
1841. Punch, vol. I., p. 6, col. 2. Where are they that should
protect thee In this darkling hour of doubt? Love could never thus
neglect thee! Does your mother know you’re out?
1864. Sun, 28 Dec. ‘Review of Hotten’s Slang Dictionary.’
Ridiculous street cries, such as does your mother know you’re out?
or, Has your Aunt sold her mangle? or, You don’t lodge here, Mr.
Fergusson—whatever those sapient remarks may mean.
Dog, subs. (colloquial).—1. A man; sometimes used contemptuously (Cf.,
Cat = a woman), but more frequently in half-serious chiding; e.g., a
sad dog, gay dog, old dog, etc. For synonyms, see Cove. Sometimes
adjectively = male; see quot., 1856. An old dog at it = expert, or
accustomed to.
1596. Nashe, Have with you, Epis. Ded. par. 5. O, he hath been olde
dogge at that drunken, staggering kinde of verse.
1697. Vanbrugh, Æsop, part II., Sc. iii. Why, I’m a strong young
dog, you old gent, you.
1703. Mrs. Centlivre, Stolen Heiress, I., wks, (1872), i., 336. She
is in love, forsooth, with a young beggarly dog not worth a groat.
1736. Fielding, Don Quixote, II. iv. A comical dog, I fancy; go,
give my service to him.
b. 1764, d. 1817. J. G. Holman, Abroad and at Home, I., 3. And my
praise to withhold none so currish, With a girl so divine! Such
dinners! such wine! What a d—d clever dog was Jack Flourish!
1810. Crabbe, The Borough, Letter 6, Law. For he’d a way that many
judg’d polite, A cunning dog—he’d fawn before he’d bite.
1836. C. Dickens, Pickwick Papers, p. 369. (ed. 1857). Curse me,
they’re friends of mine from this minute and friends of Mivins,
too. Infernal pleasant, gentlemenly, dog Mivins, isn’t he? said
Smangle, with great feeling.
1856. Whyte Melville, Kate Coventry, ch. vii. Then comes Ascot, for
which meeting they leave the metropolis, and enjoy some quiet
retreat in the neighbourhood of Windsor, taking with them many
potables, and what they call a dog cook.