XIX. PROVERBS
In the present chapter are collected together the chief proverbs either quoted or alluded to by Shakespeare. Many of these are familiar to most readers, but have gained an additional interest by reason of their connection with the poet’s writings. At the same time, it may be noted that very many of Shakespeare’s pithy sayings have, since his day, passed into proverbs, and have taken their place in this class of literature. It is curious to notice, as Mrs. Cowden-Clarke remarks,[857] how “Shakespeare has paraphrased some of our commonest proverbs in his own choice and elegant diction.” Thus, “Make hay while the sun shines” becomes
“The sun shines hot; and if we use delay, Cold biting winter mars our hoped-for hay,”
a statement which applies to numerous other proverbial sayings.
[857] “Shakespeare Proverbs,” 1858.
“A black man is a jewel in a fair woman’s eyes.” In the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (v. 2), the following passage is an amusing illustration of the above:
“Thurio. What says she to my face?
Proteus. She says it is a fair one.
Thurio. Nay then, the wanton lies; my face is black.
Proteus. But pearls are fair; and the old saying is, Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies’ eyes.”
In “Titus Andronicus” (v. 1) there is a further allusion to this proverb, where Lucius says of Aaron,
“This is the pearl that pleas’d your empress’ eye.”
“A beggar marries a wife and lice.” So in “King Lear” (iii. 2), Song:
“The cod-piece that will house, Before the head has any, The head and he shall louse; So beggars marry many.”
Thus it is also said: “A beggar payeth a benefit with a louse.”
“A cunning knave needs no broker.” This old proverb is quoted by Hume, in “2 Henry VI.” (i. 2):
“A crafty knave does need no broker.”
“A curst cur must be tied short.” With this proverb we may compare what Sir Toby says in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 2), to Sir Andrew: “Go, write it in a martial hand; be curst and brief.”
“A drop hollows the stone,” or “many drops pierce the stone.” We may compare “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 2), “much rain wears the marble,” and also the messenger’s words (ii. 1), when he relates how “the noble Duke of York was slain:”
“Environed he was with many foes; And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks, that would have enter’d Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber’d oak.”
“A finger in every pie.” So, in “Henry VIII.” (i. 1), Buckingham says of Wolsey:
“no man’s pie is freed From his ambitious finger.”
To the same purport is the following proverb:[858] “He had a finger in the pie when he burnt his nail off.”
[858] Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” p. 159.
“A fool’s bolt is soon shot.” Quoted by Duke of Orleans in “Henry V.” (iii. 7). With this we may compare the French: “De fol juge breve sentence.”[859]
[859] Ibid. p. 94.
“A friend at court is as good as a penny in the purse.” So, in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 1), Shallow says: “a friend i’ the court is better than a penny in purse.” The French equivalent of this saying is: “Bon fait avoir ami en cour, car le procès en est plus court.”
“A little pot’s soon hot.” Grumio, in “Taming of the Shrew” (iv. 1), uses this familiar proverb: “were not I a little pot, and soon hot, my very lips might freeze to my teeth,” etc.
“A pox of the devil” (“Henry V.,” iii. 7).
“A smoky chimney and a scolding wife are two bad companions.” There are various versions of this proverb. Ray gives the following: “Smoke, raining into the house, and a scolding wife, will make a man run out of doors.”
Hotspur, in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 1), says of Glendower:
“O, he’s as tedious As a tired horse, a railing wife; Worse than a smoky house.”
“A snake lies hidden in the grass.” This, as Mr. Green[860] remarks, is no unfrequent proverb, and the idea is often made use of by Shakespeare. Thus, in “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1), Margaret declares to the attendant nobles:
“Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, Too full of foolish pity: and Gloster’s show Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers, Or as the snake, roll’d in a flowering bank, With shining checker’d slough, doth sting a child, That for the beauty thinks it excellent.”
[860] “Shakespeare and the Emblem Writers,” 1870, p. 341.
Lady Macbeth (i. 5) tells her husband:
“look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under’t.”
Juliet (“Romeo and Juliet,” iii. 2) speaks of:
“Serpent heart, hid with a flowering face.”
“A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.” Other versions of this proverb are: “It is easy to find a stick to beat a dog;” “It is easy to find a stone to throw at a dog.”[861] So, in “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1), Gloster says:
“I shall not want false witness to condemn me, Nor store of treasons to augment my guilt; The ancient proverb will be well effected,— A staff is quickly found to beat a dog.”
[861] See Kelly’s “Proverbs of All Nations,” 1870, p. 157.
“A wise man may live anywhere.” In “Richard II.” (i. 3), John of Gaunt says:
“All places that the eye of heaven visits, Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.”
“A woman conceals what she does not know.” Hence Hotspur says to his wife, in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 3):
“Constant you are, But yet a woman: and for secrecy, No lady closer; for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know,— And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.”
“All men are not alike” (“Much Ado About Nothing,” iii. 5).[862]
[862] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 390, under Proverbs.
“All’s Well that Ends Well.”
“As lean as a rake.” So in “Coriolanus” (i. 1), one of the citizens says: “Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become rakes.” So Spenser, in his “Fairy Queen” (bk. ii. can. 11):
“His body leane and meagre as a rake.”
This proverb is found in Chaucer’s “Canterbury Tales” (i. 289):
“Al so lene was his hors as is a rake.”
“As thin as a whipping-post” is another proverb of the same kind.
“As mad as a March hare” (“The Two Noble Kinsmen,” iii. 5). We may compare the expression “hare-brained:” “1 Henry IV.” (v. 2).
“As sound as a bell.” So in “Much Ado about Nothing” (iii. 2), Don Pedro says of Benedick: “He hath a heart as sound as a bell.”
“As the bell clinketh, so the fool thinketh.” This proverb is indirectly alluded to in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 2), in the previous passage, where Don Pedro says of Benedick that “He hath a heart as sound as a bell, and his tongue is the clapper; for what his heart thinks, his tongue speaks.”
Another form of the same proverb is: “As the fool thinks, the bell tinks.”[863]
[863] See Kelly’s “Proverbs of All Nations,” p. 91.
“As true as steel.” This popular adage is quoted in “Troilus and Cressida” (iii. 2):
“As true as steel, as plantage to the moon.”
We may also compare the proverb: “As true as the dial to the sun.”
“At hand, quoth pick-purse” (“1 Henry IV.,” ii. 1). This proverbial saying arose, says Malone, from the pickpurse always seizing the prey nearest him.
“Ay, tell me that and unyoke” (“Hamlet,” v. 1). This was a common adage for giving over or ceasing to do a thing; a metaphor derived from the unyoking of oxen at the end of their labor.
“Baccare, quoth Mortimer to his sow.” With this Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps compares Gremio’s words in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1):
“Saving your tale, Petruchio, I pray, Let us, that are poor petitioners, speak too: Baccare! you are marvellous forward.”
Mr. Dyce (“Glossary,” p. 23) says the word signifies “go back,” and cites one of John Heywood’s epigrams upon it:
“Backare, quoth Mortimer to his sow; Went that sowe backe at that bidding, trow you.”
“Barnes are blessings” (“All’s Well that Ends Well,” i. 3).
“Base is the slave that pays” (“Henry V.,” ii. 1).[864]
[864] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 391.
“Bastards are born lucky.” This proverb is alluded to in “King John” (i. 1), by the Bastard, who says:
“Brother, adieu; good fortune come to thee! For thou wast got i’ the way of honesty.”
Philip wishes his brother good fortune, because Robert was not a bastard.
“Beggars mounted run their horses to death.”[865] Quoted by York in “3 Henry VI.” (i. 4). We may also compare the proverb: “Set a beggar on horseback, he’ll ride to the devil.”
[865] See Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” p. 326.
“Begone when the sport is at the best.” Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps quotes Benvolio’s words in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 5):
“Away, be gone; the sport is at the best.”
To the same effect are Romeo’s words (i. 4):
“The game was ne’er so fair, and I am done.”
“Be off while your shoes are good.” This popular phrase, still in use, seems alluded to by Katharina in “Taming of the Shrew” (iii. 2), who says to Petruchio:
“You may be jogging whiles your boots are green.”
“Better a witty fool, than a foolish wit.” Quoted by the clown in “Twelfth Night” (i. 5).
“Better fed than taught.” This old saying may be alluded to in “All’s Well that Ends Well” (ii. 2) by the clown, “I will show myself highly fed and lowly taught;” and again (ii. 4) by Parolles:
“A good knave, i’ faith, and well fed.”
“Blessing of your heart, you brew good ale.” Quoted by Launce as a proverb in the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (iii. 1).
“Blush like a black dog.” This saying is referred to in “Titus Andronicus” (v. 1):
“1 Goth. What, canst thou say all this, and never blush?
Aaron. Ay, like a black dog, as the saying is.”
“Bought and sold” (“Troilus and Cressida,” ii. 1). A proverbial phrase applied to any one entrapped or made a victim by treachery or mismanagement. It is found again in the “Comedy of Errors” (iii. 1); in “King John” (v. 4); and in “Richard III.” (v. 3).
“Bring your hand to the buttery-bar, and let it drink” (“Twelfth Night,” i. 3). Mr. Dyce quotes the following explanation of this passage, although he does not answer for its correctness: “This is a proverbial phrase among forward abigails, to ask at once for a kiss and a present. Sir Andrew’s slowness of comprehension in this particular gave her a just suspicion, at once, of his frigidity and avarice.” The buttery-bar means the place in palaces and in great houses whence provisions were dispensed; and it is still to be seen in most of our colleges.
“Brag’s a good dog, but Hold-fast is a better.” This proverb is alluded to in “Henry V.” (ii. 3), by Pistol:
“Hold-fast is the only dog, my duck.”[866]
[866] See Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” p. 333; Kelly’s “Proverbs of all Nations,” 1870, p. 173.
“Bush natural, more hair than wit.” Ray’s Proverbs. So in “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (iii. 1), it is said, “She hath more hair than wit.”
“By chance but not by truth”[867] (“King John,” i. 1).
[867] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 391.
“Care will kill a cat; yet there’s no living without it.” So in “Much Ado About Nothing” (v. 1), Claudio says to Don Pedro: “What though care killed a cat, thou hast mettle enough in thee to kill care.”
“Come cut and long-tail” (“Merry Wives of Windsor,” iii. 4). This proverb means, “Let any come that may, good or bad;” and was, no doubt, says Staunton, originally applied to dogs or horses.
“Comparisons are odious.” So, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 5), Dogberry tells Verges: “Comparisons are odorous.”
“Confess and be hanged.” This well-known proverb is probably alluded to in the “Merchant of Venice” (iii. 2):
“Bassanio. Promise me life, and I’ll confess the truth.
Portia. Well then, confess, and live.”
We may also refer to what Othello says (iv. 1): “To confess, and be hanged for his labour; first, to be hanged, and then to confess. I tremble at it.”
In “Timon of Athens” (i. 2), Apemantus says: “Ho, ho, confess’d it! hang’d it, have you not?”
“Cry him, and have him.” So Rosalind says, in “As You Like It” (i. 3), “If I could cry ‘hem’ and have him.”
“Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool” (“King Lear,” iii. 6). It is given by Ray in his “Proverbs” (1768); see also “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1).
“Cucullus non facit monachum.” So in “Henry VIII.” (iii. 1), Queen Katherine says:
“All hoods make not monks.”
Chaucer thus alludes to this proverb:
“Habite ne maketh monk ne feere; But a clean life and devotion Maketh gode men of religion.”
“Dead as a door-nail.” So, in “2 Henry VI.” (iv. 10), Cade says to Iden: “I have eat no meat these five days; yet, come thou and thy five men, and if I do not leave you all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I may never eat grass more.”
We may compare the term, “dead as a herring,” which Caius uses in the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 3), “By gar, de herring is no dead, so as I vill kill him.”
“Death will have his day” (“Richard II.,” iii. 2).
“Delays are dangerous.” In “1 Henry VI.” (iii. 2), Reignier says:
“Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.”
“Diluculo surgere,” etc. (“Twelfth Night,” ii. 3).
“Dogs must eat.” This, with several other proverbs, is quoted by Agrippa in “Coriolanus” (i. 1).
“Dun’s the mouse” (“Romeo and Juliet,” i. 4). This was a proverbial saying, of which no satisfactory explanation has yet been given. Nares thinks it was “frequently employed with no other intent than that of quibbling on the word done.” Ray has, “as dun as a mouse.” Mercutio says: “Tut, dun’s the mouse, the constable’s own word.”
“Empty vessels give the greatest sound.” Quoted in “Henry V.” (iv. 4).
“Every dog hath his day, and every man his hour.” This old adage seems alluded to by Hamlet (v. 1):[868]
“The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.”
[868] Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” p. 86.
“Every man at forty is either a fool or a physician.”[869] This popular proverb is probably referred to in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iii. 4), by Mistress Quickly, who tells Fenton how she had recommended him as a suitor for Mr. Page’s daughter instead of Doctor Caius: “This is my doing, now: ‘Nay,’ said I, ‘will you cast away your child on a fool, and a physician? look on Master Fenton:’—this is my doing.”
[869] Ray gives another form: “Every man is either a fool or a physician after thirty years of age;” see Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” 1857, p. 27.
“Familiarity breeds contempt.” So, in the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 1), Slender says: “I hope, upon familiarity will grow more contempt.”
“Fast bind, fast find.” In “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 5), Shylock says:
“Well, Jessica, go in: Perhaps I will return immediately: Do as I bid you; shut doors after you; Fast bind, fast find; A proverb never stale in thrifty mind.”
“Finis coronat opus.” A translation of this Latin proverb is given by Helena in “All’s Well that Ends Well” (iv. 4):
“Still the fine’s the crown.”
In “2 Henry VI.” (v. 2), also, Clifford’s expiring words are: “La fin couronne les œuvres.” We still have the expression to crown, in the sense of to finish or make perfect. Mr. Douce[870] remarks that “coronidem imponere is a metaphor well known to the ancients, and supposed to have originated from the practice of finishing buildings by placing a crown at the top as an ornament; and for this reason the words crown, top, and head are become synonymous in most languages. There is reason for believing that the ancients placed a crescent at the beginning, and a crown, or some ornament that resembled it, at the end of their books.” In “Troilus and Cressida” (iv. 5), Hector says:
“The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood: the end crowns all; And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.”
[870] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 199.
Prince Henry (“2 Henry IV.,” ii. 2), in reply to Poins, gives another turn to the proverb: “By this hand, thou think’st me as far in the devil’s book as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and persistency: let the end try the man.”[871]
[871] See Green’s “Shakespeare and the Emblem Writers,” 1870, pp. 319, 323.
“Fly pride, says the peacock.” This is quoted by Dromio of Syracuse, in “The Comedy of Errors” (iv. 3).[872]
[872] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 391.
“Friends may meet, but mountains never greet.” This is ironically alluded to in “As You Like It” (iii. 2), by Celia: “It is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter.”
“Give the devil his due.” In “Henry V.” (iii. 7) it is quoted by the Duke of Orleans.
“God sends fools fortune.” It is to this version of the Latin adage, “Fortuna favet fatuis” (“Fortune favors fools”), that Touchstone alludes in his reply to Jaques, in “As You Like It” (ii. 7):
“‘No, sir,’ quoth he, ‘Call me not fool till heaven hath sent me fortune.’”
Under different forms, the same proverb is found on the Continent. The Spanish say, “The mother of God appears to fools;” and the German one is this, “Fortune and women are fond of fools.”[873]
[873] Kelly’s “Proverbs of All Nations,” 1872, p. 52.
“God sends not corn for the rich only.” This is quoted by Marcius in “Coriolanus” (i. 1).
“Good goose, do not bite.” This proverb is used in “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 4):
“Mercutio. I will bite thee by the ear for that jest.
Romeo. Nay, good goose, bite not.”
“Good liquor will make a cat speak.” So, in the “Tempest” (ii. 2), Stephano says: “Come on your ways: open your mouth; here is that which will give language to you, cat; open your mouth.”
“Good wine needs no bush.” This old proverb, which is quoted by Shakespeare in “As You Like It” (v. 4, “Epilogue”)—“If it be true that good wine needs no bush, ’tis true that a good play needs no epilogue”—refers to the custom of hanging up a bunch of twigs, or a wisp of hay, at a roadside inn, as a sign that drink may be had within. This practice, “which still lingers in the cider-making counties of the west of England, and prevails more generally in France, is derived from the Romans, among whom a bunch of ivy was used as the sign of a wine-shop.” They were also in the habit of saying, “Vendible wine needs no ivy hung up.” The Spanish have a proverb, “Good wine needs no crier.”[874]
[874] Ibid., 1870, pp. 175, 176.
“Greatest clerks not the wisest men.” Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps, in his “Handbook Index to Shakespeare” (p. 391), quotes the following passage in “Twelfth Night” (iv. 2), where Maria tells the clown to personate Sir Topas, the curate: “I am not tall enough to become the function well, nor lean enough to be thought a good student; but to be said an honest man and a good housekeeper goes as fairly as to say a careful man and a great scholar.”
“Happy man be his dole” (“Taming of the Shrew,” i. 1; “1 Henry IV.,” ii. 2). Ray has it, “Happy man, happy dole;” or, “Happy man by his dole.”
“Happy the bride on whom the sun shines.” Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps, in his “Handbook Index to Shakespeare” (p. 392), quotes, as an illustration of this popular proverb, the following passage in “Twelfth Night” (iv. 3), where Olivia and Sebastian, having made “a contract of eternal bond of love,” the former says:
“and heavens so shine, That they may fairly note this act of mine!”
“Happy the child whose father went to the devil.”[875] So, in “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 2), King Henry asks, interrogatively:
“And happy always was it for that son, Whose father, for his hoarding, went to hell?”
[875] See Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” p. 100; Kelly’s “Proverbs of All Nations,” p. 187.
The Portuguese say, “Alas for the son whose father goes to heaven.”
“Hares pull dead lions by the beard.” In “King John” (ii. 1), the Bastard says to Austria:
“You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard.”
“Have is have, however men do catch.” Quoted by the Bastard in “King John” (i. 1).
“Heaven’s above all.” In “Richard II.” (iii. 3) York tells Bolingbroke:
“Take not, good cousin, further than you should, Lest you mistake: the heavens are o’er our heads.”
So, too, in “Othello” (ii. 3), Cassio says: “Heaven’s above all.”[876]
[876] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 392.
“He is a poor cook who cannot lick his own fingers.” Under a variety of forms, this proverb is found in different countries. The Italians say, “He who manages other people’s wealth does not go supperless to bed.” The Dutch, too, say, “All officers are greasy,” that is, something sticks to them.[877] In “Romeo and Juliet” (iv. 2) the saying is thus alluded to:
“Capulet. Sirrah, go hire me twenty cunning cooks.
2 Servant. You shall have none ill, sir; for I’ll try if they can lick their fingers.
Capulet. How canst thou try them so?
2 Servant. Marry, sir, ’tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers: therefore he that cannot lick his fingers goes not with me.”
[877] See Kelly’s “Proverbs of All Nations,” 1870, pp. 196, 197.
“He’s mad, that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse’s health, a boy’s love, or a whore’s oath” (“King Lear,” iii. 6).[878]
[878] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 392.
“Heroum filii noxæ.” It is a common notion that a father above the common rate of men has usually a son below it. Hence, in “The Tempest” (i. 2), Shakespeare probably alludes to this Latin proverb:
“My trust, Like a good parent, did beget of him A falsehood, in its contrary as great As my trust was.”
“He knows not a hawk from a handsaw.” Hamlet says (ii. 2): “When the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw.”
“He may hang himself in his own garters.” So, Falstaff (“1 Henry IV.” ii. 2) says: “Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters.”
“He that is born to be hanged will never be drowned.” In “The Tempest” (i. 1), Gonzalo says of the Boatswain: “I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging! make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth little advantage! If he be not born to be hanged, our case is miserable.” The Italians say, “He that is to die by the gallows may dance on the river.”
“He that dies pays all debts” (“The Tempest,” iii. 2).
“He who eats with the devil hath need of a long spoon.” This is referred to by Stephano, in “The Tempest” (ii. 2): “This is a devil, and no monster: I will leave him; I have no long spoon.” Again, in the “Comedy of Errors” (iv. 3), Dromio of Syracuse says: “He must have a long spoon that must eat with the devil.”
The old adage, which tells how
“He that will not when he may, When he will he shall have nay,”
is quoted in “Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 7) by Menas:
“Who seeks, and will not take, when once ’tis offer’d, Shall never find it more.”
“Hold hook and line” (“2 Henry IV.,” ii. 4). This, says Dyce, is a sort of cant proverbial expression, which sometimes occurs in our early writers (“Glossary,” p. 210).
“Hold, or cut bow-strings”[879] (“A Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” i. 2).
[879] See page 394.
“Honest as the skin between his brows” (“Much Ado About Nothing,” iii. 5).[880]
[880] “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 392.
“Hunger will break through stone-walls.” This is quoted by Marcius in “Coriolanus” (i. 1), who, in reply to Agrippa’s question, “What says the other troop?” replies:
“They are dissolved: hang ’em! They said they were an-hungry; sigh’d forth proverbs,— That hunger broke stone-walls,” etc.
According to an old Suffolk proverb,[881] “Hunger will break through stone-walls, or anything, except Suffolk cheese.”
[881] Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” 1857, p. 409.
“I scorn that with my heels” (“Much Ado About Nothing,” iii. 4). A not uncommon proverbial expression. It is again referred to, in the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 2), by Launcelot: “do not run; scorn running with thy heels.” Dyce thinks it is alluded to in “Venus and Adonis:”
“Beating his kind embracements with her heels.”
“If you are wise, keep yourself warm.” This proverb is probably alluded to in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1):
“Petruchio. Am I not wise?
Katharina. Yes; keep you warm.”
So, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1): “that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm.”
“I fear no colours” (“Twelfth Night,” i. 5).
“Ill-gotten goods never prosper.” This proverb is referred to by King Henry (“3 Henry VI.,” ii. 2):
“Clifford, tell me, didst thou never hear That things ill got had ever bad success?”
“Illotis manibus tractare sacra.” Falstaff, in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 3), says: “Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou dost, and do it with unwashed hands too.”
“Ill will never said well.” This is quoted by Duke of Orleans in “Henry V.” (iii. 7).
“In at the window, or else o’er the hatch” (“King John,” i. 1). Applied to illegitimate children. Staunton has this note: “Woe worth the time that ever a gave suck to a child that came in at the window!” (“The Family of Love,” 1608). So, also, in “The Witches of Lancashire,” by Heywood and Broome, 1634: “It appears you came in at the window.” “I would not have you think I scorn my grannam’s cat to leap over the hatch.”
“It is a foul bird which defiles its own nest.” This seems alluded to in “As You Like It” (iv. 1) where Celia says to Rosalind: “You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.”
“It is a poor dog that is not worth the whistling.” So Goneril, in “King Lear” (iv. 2): “I have been worth the whistle.”
“It is a wise child that knows its own father.” In the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 2), Launcelot has the converse of this: “It is a wise father that knows his own child.”
“It is an ill wind that blows nobody good.” So, in “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 5), we read:
“Ill blows the wind that profits nobody.”
And, in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3), when Falstaff asks Pistol “What wind blew you hither?” the latter replies: “Not the ill wind which blows no man to good.”
“It is easy to steal a shive from a cut loaf.” In “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 1), Demetrius refers to this proverb. Ray has, “’Tis safe taking a shive out of a cut loaf.”
“It’s a dear collop that’s cut out of my own flesh.” Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps thinks there may be possibly an allusion to this proverb in “1 Henry VI.” (v. 4), where the Shepherd says of La Pucelle:
“God knows, thou art a collop of my flesh.”
“I will make a shaft or a bolt of it.” In the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iii. 4) this proverb is used by Slender.[882] Ray gives “to make a bolt or a shaft of a thing.” This is equivalent to, “I will either make a good or a bad thing of it: I will take the risk.”
[882] A shaft is an arrow for the longbow, a bolt is for the crossbow. Kelly’s “Proverbs of All Nations,” p. 155.
“It is like a barber’s chair” (“All’s Well that Ends Well,” ii. 2).
The following passage, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 2):
“Jack shall have Jill; Nought shall go ill; The man shall have his mare again, And all shall be well,”
refers to the popular proverb of olden times, says Staunton, signifying “all ended happily.” So, too, Biron says, in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2):
“Our wooing doth not end like an old play; Jack hath not Jill.”
It occurs in Skelton’s poem “Magnyfycence” (Dyce, ed. i. p. 234): “Jack shall have Gyl;” and in Heywood’s “Dialogue” (Sig. F. 3, 1598):
“Come, chat at hame, all is well, Jack shall have Gill.”
“Kindness will creep where it cannot go.” Thus, in the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (iv. 2), Proteus tells Thurio how
“love Will creep in service where it cannot go.”
There is a Scotch proverb, “Kindness will creep whar it mauna gang.”
“Let the world slide” (“Taming of the Shrew,” Induction, sc. i.).
“Let them laugh that win.” Othello says (iv. 1):
“So, so, so, so:—they laugh that win.”
On the other hand, the French say, “Marchand qui perd ne peut rire.”
“Like will to like, as the devil said to the collier.” With this we may compare the following passage in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 4): “What, man! ’tis not for gravity to play at cherry-pit with Satan: hang him, foul collier!”—collier having been, in Shakespeare’s day, a term of the highest reproach.
“Losers have leave to talk.” Titus Andronicus (iii. 1) says:
“Then give me leave, for losers will have leave To ease their stomachs with their bitter tongues.”
“Maids say nay, and take.” So Julia, in the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (i. 2), says:
“Since maids, in modesty, say ‘No’ to that Which they would have the profferer construe ‘Ay.’”
In “The Passionate Pilgrim” we read:
“Have you not heard it said full oft, A woman’s nay doth stand for nought?”
“Make hay while the sun shines.” King Edward, in “3 Henry VI.” (iv. 8), alludes to this proverb:
“The sun shines hot; and, if we use delay, Cold, biting winter mars our hop’d-for hay.”
The above proverb is peculiar to England, and, as Trench remarks, could have its birth only under such variable skies as ours.
“Many talk of Robin Hood that never shot in his bow.” So, in “2 Henry IV.” (iii. 2), Justice Shallow, says Falstaff, “talks as familiarly of John o’ Gaunt as if he had been sworn brother to him; and I’ll be sworn a’ never saw him but once in the Tilt-yard,—and then he burst his head, for crowding among the marshal’s men.”
“Marriage and hanging go by destiny.”[883] This proverb is the popular creed respecting marriage, and, under a variety of forms, is found in different countries. Thus, in “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 9), Nerissa says:
“The ancient saying is no heresy,— Hanging and wiving goes by destiny.”
[883] “But now consider the old proverbe to be true, yt saieth that marriage is destinie.”—Hall’s “Chronicles.”
Again, in “All’s Well that Ends Well” (i. 3) the Clown says:
“For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find; Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind.”
We may compare the well-known proverb, “Marriages are made in heaven,” and the French version, “Les mariages sont écrits dans le ciel.”
“Marriage as bad as hanging.” In “Twelfth Night” (i. 5), the Clown says: “Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage.”
“Marry trap” (“Merry Wives of Windsor,” i. 1). This, says Nares, “is apparently a kind of proverbial exclamation, as much as to say, ‘By Mary, you are caught.’”
“Meat was made for mouths.” Quoted in “Coriolanus” (i. 1).
“Misfortunes seldom come alone.” This proverb is beautifully alluded to by the King in “Hamlet” (iv. 5):
“When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions.”
The French say:[884] “Malheur ne vient jamais seul.”
[884] See Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” p. 116.
“More hair than wit” (“Two Gentlemen of Verona,” iii. 2). A well-known old English proverb.
“Mortuo leoni et lepores insultant.” This proverb is alluded to by the Bastard in “King John” (ii. 1), who says to the Archduke of Austria:
“You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard.”
“Much water goes by the mill the miller knows not of.” This adage is quoted in “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 1), by Demetrius:
“more water glideth by the mill Than wots the miller of.”
“My cake is dough” (“Taming of the Shrew,” v. 1). An obsolete proverb, repeated on the loss of hope or expectation: the allusion being to the old-fashioned way of baking cakes at the embers, when it may have been occasionally the case for a cake to be burned on one side and dough on the other. In a former scene (i. 1) Gremio says: “our cake’s dough on both sides.” Staunton quotes from “The Case is Altered,” 1609:
“Steward, your cake is dough, as well as mine.”
“Murder will out.” So, in the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 2), Launcelot says: “Murder cannot be hid long,—a man’s son may; but, in the end, truth will out.”
“Near or far off, well won is still well shot” (“King John,” i. 1).
“Needs must when the devil drives.” In “All’s Well that Ends Well” (i. 3), the Clown tells the Countess: “I am driven on by the flesh; and he must needs go, that the devil drives.”
“Neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring.”[885] Falstaff says of the Hostess in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 3): “Why, she’s neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her.”
[885] See Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” pp. 160, 251.
“One nail drives out another.” In “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 2), Benvolio says:
“Tut, man, one fire burns out another’s burning, One pain is lessen’d by another’s anguish; Turn giddy, and be holp by backward turning; One desperate grief cures with another’s languish: Take thou some new infection to thy eye, And the rank poison of the old will die.”
The allusion, of course, is to homœopathy. The Italians say, “Poison quells poison.”
“Old men are twice children;” or, as they say in Scotland, “Auld men are twice bairns.” We may compare the Greek Δἱς παῖδες οἱ γεροντες. The proverb occurs in “Hamlet” (ii. 2): “An old man is twice a child.”
“Out of God’s blessing into the warm sun.” So Kent says in “King Lear” (ii. 2):
“Good king, that must approve the common saw,— Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st To the warm sun.”
“Patience perforce is a medicine for a mad dog.” This proverb is probably alluded to by Tybalt in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 5):
“Patience perforce with wilful choler meeting, Makes my flesh tremble in their different greeting.”
And again, in “Richard III.” (i. 1):
“Gloster. Meantime, have patience.
Clarence. I must perforce: farewell.”
“Pitch and Pay” (“Henry V.,” ii. 3). This is a proverbial expression equivalent to “Pay down at once.”[886] It probably originated from pitching goods in a market, and paying immediately for their standing. Tusser, in his “Description of Norwich,” calls it:
“A city trim, Where strangers well may seem to dwell, That pitch and pay, or keep their day.”
[886] See Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 323.
“Pitchers have ears.” Baptista quotes this proverb in the “Taming of the Shrew” (iv. 4):
“Pitchers have ears, and I have many servants.”
According to another old proverb: “Small pitchers have great ears.”
“Poor and proud! fy, fy.” Olivia, in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 1), says:
“O world, how apt the poor are to be proud!”
“Praise in departing” (“The Tempest,” iii. 3). The meaning is: “Do not praise your entertainment too soon, lest you should have reason to retract your commendation.” Staunton quotes from “The Paradise of Dainty Devises,” 1596:
“A good beginning oft we see, but seldome standing at one stay. For few do like the meane degree, then praise at parting some men say.”
“Pray God, my girdle break”[887] (“1 Henry IV.,” iii. 3).
[887] Halliwell-Phillipps’s “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 393.
“Put your finger in the fire and say it was your fortune.” An excellent illustration of this proverb is given by Edmund in “King Lear” (i. 2): “This is the excellent foppery of the world, that, when we are sick in fortune, we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were villains on necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence; and all that we are evil in, by a divine thrusting on: an admirable evasion,” etc.
“Respice finem, respice furem.” It has been suggested that Shakespeare (“Comedy of Errors,” iv. 4) may have met with these words in a popular pamphlet of his time, by George Buchanan, entitled “Chamæleon Redivivus; or, Nathaniel’s Character Reversed”—a satire against the Laird of Lidingstone, 1570, which concludes with the following words, “Respice finem, respice furem.”
“Seldom comes the better.” In “Richard III.” (ii. 3), one of the citizens says:
“Ill news, by’r lady; seldom comes the better: I fear, I fear, ’twill prove a troublous world”
—a proverbial saying of great antiquity. Mr. Douce[888] cites an account of its origin from a MS. collection of stories in Latin, compiled about the time of Henry III.
[888] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” p. 333.
“Service is no inheritance.” So, in “All’s Well that Ends Well” (i. 3), the Clown says: “Service is no heritage.”
“Sit thee down, sorrow” (“Love’s Labour’s Lost,” i. 1).
“Sit at the stern.” A proverbial phrase meaning to have the management of public affairs. So, in “1 Henry VI.” (i. 1), Winchester says:
“The king from Eltham I intend to steal, And sit at chiefest stern of public weal.”
“She has the mends in her own hands.” This proverbial phrase is of frequent occurrence in our old writers, and probably signifies, “It is her own fault;” or, “The remedy lies with herself.” It is used by Pandarus in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 1). Burton, in his “Anatomy of Melancholy,” writes: “And if men will be jealous in such cases, the mends is in their own hands, they must thank themselves.”
“Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace” (“Richard III.,” ii. 4).
“So wise so young, do ne’er live long” (“Richard III.,” iii. 1).[889]
[889] See page 332.
“So like you, ’tis the worse.” This is quoted as an old proverb by Paulina in the “Winter’s Tale” (ii. 3).
“Something about, a little from the right” (“King John,” i. 1).
“Sowed cockle, reap no corn” (“Love’s Labour’s Lost,” iv. 3).
“Speak by the card” (“Hamlet,” v. 1). A merchant’s expression, equivalent to “be as precise as a map or book.” The card is the document in writing containing the agreement made between a merchant and the captain of a vessel. Sometimes the owner binds himself, ship, tackle, and furniture, for due performance, and the captain is bound to declare the cargo committed to him in good condition. Hence, “to speak by the card” is to speak according to the indentures or written instructions.
“Still swine eat all the draff” (“Merry Wives of Windsor,” iv. 2). Ray gives: “The still sow eats up all the draught.”
“Still waters run deep.” So in “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1), Suffolk says:
“Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.”
“Strike sail.” A proverbial phrase to acknowledge one’s self beaten. In “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 3), it occurs:
“now Margaret Must strike her sail and learn awhile to serve, Where kings command.”
When a ship, in fight, or on meeting another ship, lets down her topsails at least half-mast high, she is said to strike, that is, to submit or pay respect to the other.[890]
[890] Brewer’s “Dictionary of Phrase and Fable,” p. 860.
“Strike while the iron is hot.” Poins probably alludes to this proverb in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4): “My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.”
Again, in “King Lear” (i. 1), Goneril adds: “We must do something, and i’ the heat.”
“Take all, pay all” (“Merry Wives of Windsor,” ii. 2). Ray gives another version of this proverb: “Take all, and pay the baker.”
“Tell the truth and shame the devil.” In “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 1), Hotspur tells Glendower:
“I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil By telling truth: tell truth, and shame the devil.”
“That was laid on with a trowel.”[891] This proverb, which is quoted by Ray, is used by Celia in “As You Like It” (i. 2). Thus we say, when any one bespatters another with gross flattery, that he lays it on with a trowel.
[891] Ray’s “Proverbs” (Bohn’s Edition), 1857, p. 76.
“The cat loves fish, but she’s loath to wet her feet.” It is to this proverb that Lady Macbeth alludes when she upbraids her husband for his irresolution (“Macbeth,” i. 7):
“Letting ‘I dare not’ wait upon ‘I would,’ Like the poor cat i’ the adage.”
There are various forms of this proverb. Thus, according to the rhyme:
“Fain would the cat fish eat, But she’s loath to wet her feet.”
The French version is “Le chat aime le poisson mais il n’aime pas à mouiller la patte”—so that it would seem Shakespeare borrowed from the French.
“The devil rides on a fiddlestick” (“1 Henry IV.,” ii. 4).
“The galled jade will wince.” So Hamlet says (iii. 2), “let the galled jade wince, our withers are unwrung.”
“The grace o’ God is gear enough.” This is the Scotch form of the proverb which Launcelot Gobbo speaks of as being well parted between Bassanio and Shylock, in the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 2): “The old proverb is very well parted between my master Shylock and you, sir; you have the grace of God, sir, and he hath enough.”
“The Mayor of Northampton opens oysters with his dagger.” This proverb is alluded to by Pistol in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 2), when he says:
“Why, then the world’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open.”
Northampton being some eighty miles from the sea, oysters were so stale before they reached the town (before railroads, or even coaches, were known), that the “Mayor would be loath to bring them near his nose.”
“The more haste the worse speed.” In “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 6), Friar Laurence says:
“These violent delights have violent ends And in their triumph die; like fire and powder, Which, as they kiss, consume: the sweetest honey Is loathsome in his own deliciousness, And in the taste confounds the appetite: Therefore, love moderately; long love doth so; Too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.”
The proverb thus alluded to seems to be derived from the Latin adage, “Festinatio tarda est.” It defeats its own purpose by the blunders and imperfect work it occasions.[892] Hence the French say: “He that goes too hastily along often stumbles on a fair road.”
[892] Kelly’s “Proverbs of All Nations,” p. 80.
“There is flattery in friendship”—used by the Constable of France in “Henry V.” (iii. 7); the usual form of this proverb being: “There is falsehood in friendship.”
“There was but one way” (“Henry V.,” ii. 3). “This,” says Dyce, “is a kind of proverbial expression for death.” (“Glossary,” p. 494.)
“The weakest goes to the wall.” This is quoted by Gregory in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 1), whereupon Sampson adds: “Women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to the wall: therefore, I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and thrust his maids to the wall.”
“There went but a pair of shears between them” (“Measure for Measure,” i. 2). That is, “We are both of the same piece.”
“The world goes on wheels.” This proverbial expression occurs in “Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 7); and Taylor, the Water-Poet, has made it the subject of one of his pamphlets: “The worlde runnes on wheeles, or, oddes betwixt carts and coaches.”
“Three women and a goose make a market.” This proverb is alluded to in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iii. 1):
“thus came your argument in; Then the boy’s fat l’envoy, the goose that you bought; And he ended the market.”
The following lines in “1 Henry VI.” (i. 6),
“Thy promises are like Adonis’ gardens That one day bloom’d, and fruitful were the next,”
allude to the Adonis horti, which were nothing but portable earthen pots, with some lettuce or fennel growing in them. On his yearly festival every woman carried one of them in honor of Adonis, because Venus had once laid him in a lettuce bed. The next day they were thrown away. The proverb seems to have been used always in a bad sense, for things which make a fair show for a few days and then wither away. The Dauphin is here made to apply it as an encomium. There is a good account of it in Erasmus’s “Adagia;” but the idea may have been taken from the “Fairy Queen,” bk. iii. cant. 6, st. 42 (Singer’s “Shakespeare,” 1875, vol. vi. p. 32).
“To clip the anvil of my sword.” “This expression, in ‘Coriolanus’ (iv. 5) is very difficult to be explained,” says Mr. Green, “unless we regard it as a proverb, denoting the breaking of the weapon and the laying aside of enmity. Aufidius makes use of it in his welcome to the banished Coriolanus.”
“here I clip The anvil of my sword; and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love, As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour.”
“To have a month’s mind to a thing.” Ray’s “Proverbs.” So, in the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (i. 2), Julia says:
“I see you have a month’s mind to them.”[893]
[893] See page 385.
“’Tis merry in hall when beards wag all.”[894] This is quoted by Silence in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3):
“Be merry, be merry, my wife has all; For women are shrews, both short and tall; ’Tis merry in hall when beards wag all, And welcome merry shrove-tide. Be merry, be merry.”
[894] See Bohn’s “Handbook of Proverbs,” p. 115.
“To have one in the wind.” This is one of Camden’s proverbial sentences. In “All’s Well that Ends Well” (iii. 6), Bertram says:
“I spoke with her but once, And found her wondrous cold; but I sent to her, By this same coxcomb that we have i’ the wind, Tokens and letters which she did re-send.”
“To hold a candle to the devil”—that is, “to aid or countenance that which is wrong.” Thus, in the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 6), Jessica says:
“What, must I hold a candle to my shames?”
—the allusion being to the practice of the Roman Catholics who burn candles before the image of a favorite saint, carry them in funeral processions, and place them on their altars.
“To the dark house” (“All’s Well that Ends Well,” ii. 3). A house which is the seat of gloom and discontent.
“Truth should be silent.” Enobarbus, in “Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 2), says: “That truth should be silent I had almost forgot.”
“To take mine ease in mine inn.” A proverbial phrase used by Falstaff in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 3), implying, says Mr. Drake, “a degree of comfort which has always been the peculiar attribute of an English house of public entertainment.”[895]
[895] “Shakespeare and his Times,” vol. i. p. 216.
“Twice away says stay” (“Twelfth Night,” v. 1). Malone thinks this proverb is alluded to by the Clown: “conclusions to be as kisses, if your four negatives make your two affirmatives, why, then, the worse for my friends and the better for my foes;” and quotes Marlowe’s “Last Dominion,” where the Queen says to the Moor:
“Come, let’s kisse.
Moor. Away, away.
Queen. No, no, sayes I, and twice away sayes stay.”
“Trust not a horse’s heel.” In “King Lear” (iii. 6) the Fool says, “he’s mad that trusts a horse’s health.” Malone would read “heels.”
“Two may keep counsel, putting one away.” So Aaron, in “Titus Andronicus” (iv. 2), says:
“Two may keep counsel, when the third’s away.”
“Ungirt, unblest.” Falstaff alludes to the old adage, in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 3). “I pray God my girdle break.” Malone quotes from an ancient ballad:
“Ungirt, unblest, the proverbe sayes; And they to prove it right, Have got a fashion now adayes, That’s odious to the sight; Like Frenchmen, all on points they stand, No girdles now they wear.”
“Walls have ears.” So, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (v. 1), Thisbe is made to say:
“O wall, full often hast thou heard my moans, For parting my fair Pyramus and me.”
“Wedding and ill-wintering tame both man and beast.” Thus, in “Taming of the Shrew” (iv. 1), Grumio says: “Winter tames man, woman, and beast; for it hath tamed my old master, and my new mistress, and myself.” We may also compare the Spanish adage: “You will marry and grow tame.”
“We steal as in a castle” (“1 Henry IV.,” ii. 1). This, says Steevens, was once a proverbial phrase.
“What can’t be cured must be endured.” With this popular adage may be compared the following: “Past cure is still past care,” in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2). So in “Richard II.” (ii. 3), the Duke of York says:
“Things past redress are now with me past care.”
Again, in “Macbeth” (iii. 2) Lady Macbeth says:
“Things without all remedy Should be without regard: what’s done is done.”
“What’s mine is yours, and what is yours is mine” (“Measure for Measure,” v. 1).
“When things come to the worst they’ll mend.” The truth of this popular adage is thus exemplified by Pandulph in “King John” (iii. 4):
“Before the curing of a strong disease, Even in the instant of repair and health, The fit is strongest; evils that take leave, On their departure most of all show evil.”
Of course it is equivalent to the proverb, “When the night’s darkest the day’s nearest.”
“When? can you tell?” (“Comedy of Errors,” iii. 1). This proverbial query, often met with in old writers, and perhaps alluded to just before in this scene, when Dromio of Syracuse says: “Right, sir; I’ll tell you when, an you’ll tell me wherefore;” occurs again in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 1): “Ay, when? canst tell?”
“When two men ride the same horse one must ride behind.” So in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 5) Dogberry says: “An two men ride of a horse, one must ride behind.”[896] With this may be compared the Spanish adage, “He who rides behind does not saddle when he will.”
[896] See Kelly’s “Proverbs of All Nations,” p. 49.
“While the grass grows, the steed starves.” This is alluded to by Hamlet (iii. 2): “Ay, sir, but ‘while the grass grows,’ the proverb is something musty.” See Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 499.
“Who dares not stir by day must walk by night” (“King John,” i. 1).
“Who goes to Westminster for a wife, to St. Paul’s for a man, and to Smithfield for a horse, may meet with a queane, a knave, and a jade.” This proverb, often quoted by old writers, is alluded to in “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2):
“Falstaff. Where’s Bardolph?
Page. He’s gone into Smithfield to buy your worship a horse.
Falstaff. I bought him in Paul’s, and he’ll buy me a horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.”
“Wit, whither wilt?” This was a proverbial expression not unfrequent in Shakespeare’s day. It is used by Orlando in “As You Like It” (iv. 1): “A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say—‘Wit, whither wilt?’”
“Will you take eggs for money?” This was a proverbial phrase, quoted by Leontes in the “Winter’s Tale” (i. 2), for putting up with an affront, or being cajoled or imposed upon.
“Words are but wind, but blows unkind.” In “Comedy of Errors” (iii. 1), Dromio of Ephesus uses the first part of this popular adage.
“Worth a Jew’s eye.” Launcelot, in the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 5), says:
“There will come a Christian by, Will be worth a Jewess’ eye.”
According to tradition, the proverb arose from the custom of torturing Jews to extort money from them. It is simply, however, a corruption of the Italian gióia (a jewel).
“You’ll never be burned for a witch.” This proverb, which was applied to a silly person, is probably referred to in “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 2) by Charmian, when he says to the soothsayer:
“Out, fool; I forgive thee for a witch.”
“Young ravens must have food” (“Merry Wives of Windsor,” i. 3).[897] Ray has “Small birds must have meat.”
[897] “Handbook Index to Shakespeare,” p. 395.
XX. THE HUMAN BODY
It would be difficult to enumerate the manifold forms of superstition which have, in most countries, in the course of past centuries, clustered round the human body. Many of these, too, may still be found scattered, here and there, throughout our own country, one of the most deep-rooted being palmistry, several allusions to which are made by Shakespeare.
According to a popular belief current in years past, a trembling of the body was supposed to be an indication of demoniacal possession. Thus, in the “Comedy of Errors” (iv. 4) the Courtezan says of Antipholus of Ephesus:
“Mark how he trembles in his ecstasy!”
and Pinch adds:
“I charge thee, Satan, hous’d within this man, To yield possession to my holy prayers, And to thy state of darkness hie thee straight; I conjure thee by all the saints in heaven!”
In “The Tempest” (ii. 2), Caliban says to Stephano, “Thou dost me yet but little hurt; thou wilt anon, I know it by thy trembling.”
It was formerly supposed that our bodies consisted of the four elements—fire, air, earth, and water, and that all diseases arose from derangement in the due proportion of these elements. Thus, in Antony’s eulogium on Brutus, in “Julius Cæsar” (v. 5), this theory is alluded to:
“His life was gentle, and the elements So mix’d in him, that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world, ‘This was a man!’”
In “Twelfth Night” (ii. 3) it is also noticed:
“Sir Toby. Do not our lives consist of the four elements?
Sir Andrew. ’Faith, so they say; but I think, it rather consists of eating and drinking.
Sir Toby. Thou art a scholar; let us therefore eat and drink. Marian, I say!—a stoop of wine!”
In “Antony and Cleopatra” (v. 2), Shakespeare makes the latter say:
“I am fire, and air, my other elements I give to baser life.”
This theory is the subject, too, of Sonnets xliv. and xlv., and is set forth at large in its connection with physic in Sir Philip Sidney’s “Arcadia:”
“O elements, by whose (men say) contention, Our bodies be in living power maintained, Was this man’s death the fruit of your dissension? O physic’s power, which (some say) hath restrained Approach of death, alas, thou keepest meagerly, When once one is for Atropos distrained. Great be physicians’ brags, but aide is beggarly When rooted moisture fails, or groweth drie; They leave off all, and say, death comes too eagerly. They are but words therefore that men doe buy Of any, since God Esculapius ceased.”
This notion was substantially adopted by Galen, and embraced by the physicians of the olden times.[898]
[898] See Bucknill’s “Medical Knowledge of Shakespeare,” p. 120.
Blood. In old phraseology this word was popularly used for disposition or temperament. In “Timon of Athens” (iv. 2), Flavius says:
“Strange, unusual blood, When man’s worst sin is, he does too much good!”
In the opening passage of “Cymbeline” it occurs in the same sense:
“You do not meet a man but frowns: our bloods No more obey the heavens, than our courtiers Still seem as does the king,”
the meaning evidently being that “our dispositions no longer obey the influences of heaven; they are courtiers, and still seem to resemble the disposition the king is in.”
Again, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (ii. 3): “wisdom and blood combating in so tender a body, we have ten proofs to one, that blood hath the victory.”
Once more, in “King Lear” (iv. 2), the Duke of Albany says to Goneril:
“Were’t my fitness To let these hands obey my blood, They are apt enough to dislocate and tear Thy flesh and bones.”
Again, the phrase “to be in blood” was a term of the chase, meaning, to be in good condition, to be vigorous. In “1 Henry VI.” (iv. 2), Talbot exclaims:
“If we be English deer, be, then, in blood; Not rascal-like, to fall down with a pinch”
—the expression being put in opposition to “rascal,” which was the term for the deer when lean and out of condition. In “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 2), Holofernes says: “The deer was, as you know, sanguis,—in blood.”
The notion that the blood may be thickened by emotional influences is mentioned by Polixenes in the “Winter’s Tale” (i. 2), where he speaks of “thoughts that would thick my blood.” In King John’s temptation of Hubert to murder Arthur (iii. 3), it is thus referred to:
“Or if that surly spirit, melancholy, Had bak’d thy blood and made it heavy, thick, Which else runs tickling up and down the veins.”
Red blood was considered a traditionary sign of courage. Hence, in the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 1), the Prince of Morocco, when addressing himself to Portia, and urging his claims for her hand, says:
“Bring me the fairest creature northward born, Where Phoebus’ fire scarce thaws the icicles, And let us make incision for your love,[899] To prove whose blood is reddest, his or mine.”
[899] Mr. Singer, in a note on this passage, says, “It was customary, in the East, for lovers to testify the violence of their passion by cutting themselves in the sight of their mistresses; and the fashion seems to have been adopted here as a mark of gallantry in Shakespeare’s time, when young men frequently stabbed their arms with daggers, and, mingling the blood with wine, drank it off to the healths of their mistresses.”—Vol. ii. p. 417.
Again, in the same play, cowards are said to “have livers as white as milk,” and an effeminate man is termed a “milk-sop.” Macbeth, too (v. 3), calls one of his frighted soldiers a “lily-liver’d boy.” And in “King Lear” (ii. 2), the Earl of Kent makes use of the same phrase. In illustration of this notion Mr. Douce[900] quotes from Bartholomew Glantville, who says: “Reed clothes have been layed upon deed men in remembrance of theyr hardynes and boldnes, whyle they were in theyr bloudde.”
[900] “Illustrations of Shakspeare,” 1839, p. 156.
The absence of blood in the liver as the supposed property of a coward, originated, says Dr. Bucknill,[901] in the old theory of the circulation of the blood, which explains Sir Toby’s remarks on his dupe, in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 2): “For Andrew, if he were opened, and you find so much blood in his liver as will clog the foot of a flea, I’ll eat the rest of the anatomy.”
[901] “Medical Knowledge of Shakespeare,” p. 124.
We may quote here a notion referred to in “Lucrece” (1744-50), that, ever since the sad death of Lucrece, corrupted blood has watery particles:
“About the mourning and congealed face Of that black blood a watery rigol goes, Which seems to weep upon the tainted place: And ever since, as pitying Lucrece’ woes, Corrupted blood some watery token shows; And blood untainted still doth red abide, Blushing at that which is so putrefied.”
Brain. By old anatomists the brain was divided into three ventricles, in the hindermost of which they placed the memory. That this division was not unknown to Shakespeare is apparent from “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 2), where Holofernes says: “A foolish extravagant spirit, full of forms, figures, shapes, objects, ideas, apprehensions, motions, revolutions: these are begot in the ventricle of memory.” Again, Lady Macbeth (i. 7), speaking of Duncan’s two chamberlains, says:
“Will I with wine and wassail so convince, That memory, the warder of the brain, Shall be a fume, and the receipt of reason A limbeck only.”
The “third ventricle is the cerebellum, by which the brain is connected with the spinal marrow and the rest of the body; the memory is posted in the cerebellum, like a warder or sentinel, to warn the reason against attack. Thus, when the memory is converted by intoxication into a mere fume,[902] then it fills the brain itself—the receipt or receptacle of reason, which thus becomes like an alembic, or cap of a still.”[903]
[902] Cf. “Tempest,” v. 1:
“the ignorant fumes that mantle Their clearer reason.”
[903] Clark and Wright’s “Notes to Macbeth,” 1877, p. 101.
A popular nickname, in former times, for the skull, was “brain-pan;” to which Cade, in “2 Henry VI.” (iv. 10) refers: “many a time, but for a sallet, my brain-pan had been cleft with a brown bill.” The phrase “to beat out the brains” is used by Shakespeare metaphorically in the sense of defeat or destroy; just as nowadays we popularly speak of knocking a scheme on the head. In “Measure for Measure” (v. 1), the Duke, addressing Isabella, tells her:
“O most kind maid, It was the swift celerity of his death, Which I did think with slower foot came on, That brain’d my purpose.”
The expression “to bear a brain,” which is used by the Nurse in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 3),
“Nay, I do bear a brain,”
denoted “much mental capacity either of attention, ingenuity, or remembrance.”[904] Thus, in Marston’s “Dutch Courtezan” (1605), we read:
“My silly husband, alas! knows nothing of it, ’tis I that must beare a braine for all.”
[904] Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. viii. p. 123.
The notion of the brain as the seat of the soul is mentioned by Prince Henry, who, referring to King John (v. 7), says:
“his pure brain, Which some suppose the soul’s frail dwelling-house, Doth, by the idle comments that it makes, Foretell the ending of mortality.”
Ear. According to a well-known superstition, much credited in days gone by, and still extensively believed, a tingling of the right ear is considered lucky, being supposed to denote that a friend is speaking well of one, whereas a tingling of the left is said to imply the opposite. This notion, however, varies in different localities, as in some places it is the tingling of the left ear which denotes the friend, and the tingling of the right ear the enemy. In “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 1), Beatrice asks Ursula and Hero, who had been talking of her:
“What fire is in mine ears?”
the reference, no doubt, being to this popular fancy. Sir Thomas Browne[905] ascribes the idea to the belief in guardian angels, who touch the right or left ear according as the conversation is favorable or not to the person.
[905] “Vulgar Errors,” book v. chap. 23 (Bohn’s edition, 1852, vol. ii. p. 82).
In Shakespeare’s day it was customary for young gallants to wear a long lock of hair dangling by the ear, known as a “love-lock.” Hence, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 3), the Watch identifies one of his delinquents: “I know him; a’ wears a lock.”[906]
[906] Prynne attacked the fashion in his “Unloveliness of Love-locks.”
Again, further on (v. 1), Dogberry gives another allusion to this practice: “He wears a key in his ear, and a lock hanging by it.”
An expression of endearment current in years gone by was “to bite the ear.” In “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 4), Mercutio says:
“I will bite thee by the ear for that jest,”
a passage which is explained in Nares (“Glossary,” vol. i. p. 81) by the following one from Ben Jonson’s “Alchemist” (ii. 3):
“Mammon. Th’ hast witch’d me, rogue; take, go.
Face. Your jack, and all, sir.
Mammon. Slave, I could bite thine ear.... Away, thou dost not care for me!”
Gifford, in his notes on Jonson’s “Works” (vol. ii. p. 184), says the odd mode of expressing pleasure by biting the ear seems “to be taken from the practice of animals, who, in a playful mood, bite each other’s ears.”
While speaking of the ear, it may be noted that the so-called want of ear for music has been regarded as a sign of an austere disposition. Thus Cæsar says of Cassius (“Julius Cæsar,” i. 2):
“He hears no music Seldom he smiles.”
There is, too, the well-known passage in the “Merchant of Venice” (v. 1):
“The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not mov’d with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils.”
According to the Italian proverb: “Whom God loves not, that man loves not music.”[907]
[907] See Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” pp. 165, 166.
Elbow. According to a popular belief, the itching of the elbow denoted an approaching change of some kind or other.[908] Thus, in “1 Henry IV.” (v. 1), the king speaks of
“Fickle changelings, and poor discontents, Which gape, and rub the elbow, at the news Of hurlyburly innovation.”
[908] Ibid. p. 273.
With this idea we may compare similar ones connected with other parts of the body. Thus, in “Macbeth” (iv. 1), one of the witches exclaims:
“By the pricking of my thumbs, Something wicked this way comes.”
Again, in “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 1), Ajax says: “My fingers itch,”[909] and an itching palm was said to be an indication that the person would shortly receive money. Hence, it denoted a hand ready to receive bribes. Thus, in “Julius Cæsar” (iv. 3), Brutus says to Cassius:
“Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold To undeservers.”
[909] See “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 5), where Capulet says, “My fingers itch,” denoting anxiety.
So, in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 3), Shallow says: “If I see a sword out, my finger itches to make one.”
Again, in “Othello” (iv. 3), poor Desdemona says to Emilia:
“Mine eyes do itch; Doth that bode weeping?”
Grose alludes to this superstition, and says: “When the right eye itches, the party affected will shortly cry; if the left, they will laugh.” The itching of the eye, as an omen, is spoken of by Theocritus, who says:
“My right eye itches now, and I will see my love.”
Eyes. A good deal of curious folk-lore has, at one time or another, clustered round the eye; and the well-known superstition known as the “evil eye” has already been described in the chapter on Birth and Baptism. Blueness above the eye was, in days gone by, considered a sign of love, and as such is alluded to by Rosalind in “As You Like It” (iii. 2), where she enumerates the marks of love to Orlando: “A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye, and sunken, which you have not.”
The term “baby in the eye” was sportively applied by our forefathers to the miniature reflection of himself which a person may see in the pupil of another’s eye. In “Timon of Athens” (i. 2), one of the lords says:
“Joy had the like conception in our eyes, And, at that instant, like a babe sprung up,”
an allusion probably being made to this whimsical notion. It is often referred to by old writers, as, for instance, by Drayton, in his “Ideas:”
“But O, see, see! we need enquire no further, Upon your lips the scarlet drops are found, And, in your eye, the boy that did the murder.”[910]
[910] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 44.
We may compare the expression, “to look babies in the eyes,” a common amusement of lovers in days gone by. In Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Loyal Subject” (iii. 2), Theodore asks:
“Can ye look babies, sisters, In the young gallants’ eyes, and twirl their band-strings?”
And once more, to quote from Massinger’s “Renegado” (ii. 4), where Donusa says:
“When a young lady wrings you by the hand, thus, Or with an amorous touch presses your foot; Looks babies in your eyes, plays with your locks,” etc.
Another old term for the eyes was “crystal,” which is used by Pistol to his wife, Mrs. Quickly, in “Henry V.” (ii. 3):
“Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor. Go, clear thy crystals;”
that is, dry thine eyes.
In “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 2), the phrase is employed by Benvolio:
“Tut! you saw her fair, none else being by, Herself pois’d with herself in either eye: But in that crystal scales let there be weigh’d Your lady’s love against some other maid.”
It also occurs in Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Double Marriage” (v. 3), where Juliana exclaims:
“Sleep you, sweet glasses! An everlasting slumber crown those crystals.”
The expression “wall-eyed” denotes, says Dyce (“Glossary,” p. 486), “eyes with a white or pale-gray iris—glaring-eyed.” It is used by Lucius in “Titus Andronicus” (v. 1):
“Say, wall-ey’d slave, whither wouldst thou convey This growing image of thy fiend-like face?”
In “King John” (iv. 3), Salisbury speaks of “wall-eyed wrath.”
Brockett, in his “Glossary of North Country Words,” says: “In those parts of the north with which I am best acquainted, persons are said to be wall-eyed when the white of the eye is very large and to one side; on the borders ‘sic folks’ are considered lucky. The term is also occasionally applied to horses with similar eyes, though its wider general acceptation seems to be when the iris of the eye is white, or of a very pale color. A wall-eyed horse sees perfectly well.”
Face. A common expression “to play the hypocrite,” or feign, was “to face.” So, in “1 Henry VI.” (v. 3), Suffolk declares how:
“Fair Margaret knows That Suffolk doth not flatter, face, or feign.”
Hence the name of one of the characters in Ben Jonson’s “Alchemist.” So, in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1):
“Yet I have faced it with a card of ten.”
The phrase, also, “to face me down,” implied insisting upon anything in opposition. So, in the “Comedy of Errors” (iii. 1), Antipholus of Ephesus says:
“But here’s a villain that would face me down He met me on the mart.”
Feet. Stumbling has from the earliest period been considered ominous.[911] Thus, Cicero mentions it among the superstitions of his day; and numerous instances of this unlucky act have been handed down from bygone times. We are told by Ovid how Myrrha, on her way to Cinyra’s chamber, stumbled thrice, but was not deterred by the omen from an unnatural and fatal crime; and Tibullus (lib. I., eleg. iii. 20), refers to it:
“O! quoties ingressus iter, mihi tristia dixi, Offensum in porta signa dedisse pedem.”
[911] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 249; Jones’s “Credulities Past and Present,” pp. 529-531; “Notes and Queries,” 5th series, vol. viii. p. 201.
This superstition is alluded to by Shakespeare, who, in “3 Henry VI.” (iv. 7), makes Gloster say:
“For many men that stumble at the threshold Are well foretold that danger lurks within.”
In “Richard III.” (iii. 4), Hastings relates:[912]
“Three times to-day my foot-cloth horse did stumble, And started when he look’d upon the Tower, As loath to bear me to the slaughter-house.”
[912] The following is from Holinshed, who copies Sir Thomas More: “In riding toward the Tower the same morning in which he (Hastings) was beheaded his horse twice or thrice stumbled with him, almost to the falling; which thing, albeit each man wot well daily happeneth to them to whome no such mischance is toward; yet hath it beene of an olde rite and custome observed as a token oftentimes notablie foregoing some great misfortune.”
In the same way, stumbling at a grave has been regarded as equally unlucky; and in “Romeo and Juliet” (v. 3), Friar Laurence says:
“how oft to-night Have my old feet stumbled at graves.”
Hair. From time immemorial there has been a strong antipathy to red hair, which originated, according to some antiquarians, in a tradition that Judas had hair of this color. One reason, it may be, why the dislike to it arose, was that this color was considered ugly and unfashionable, and on this account a person with red hair would soon be regarded with contempt. It has been conjectured, too, that the odium took its rise from the aversion to the red-haired Danes. In “As You Like It” (iii. 4), Rosalind, when speaking of Orlando, refers to this notion:[913] “His very hair is of the dissembling colour,” whereupon Celia replies: “Something browner than Judas’s.”
[913] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 127; Dyce’s “Glossary,” pp. 61, 230.
Yellow hair, too, was in years gone by regarded with ill-favor, and esteemed a deformity. In ancient pictures and tapestries both Cain and Judas are represented with yellow beards, in allusion to which Simple, in the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 4), when interrogated, says of his master: “He hath but a little wee face, with a little yellow beard—a Cain-coloured beard.”[914]
[914] The quartos of 1602 read “a kane-coloured beard.”
In speaking of beards, it may be noted that formerly they gave rise to various customs. Thus, in Shakespeare’s day, dyeing beards was a fashionable custom, and so Bottom, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (i. 2), is perplexed as to what beard he should wear when acting before the duke. He says: “I will discharge it in either your straw-colour beard, your orange-tawny beard, your purple-in-grain beard, or your French-crown-colour beard, your perfect yellow.”[915]
[915] See Jaques’s Description of the Seven Ages in “As You Like It,” (ii. 6).
To mutilate a beard in any way was considered an irreparable outrage, a practice to which Hamlet refers (ii. 2):
“Who calls me villain? breaks my pate across? Plucks off my beard, and blows it in my face?”
And in “King Lear” (iii. 7), Gloster exclaims:
“By the kind gods, ’tis most ignobly done To pluck me by the beard.”
Stroking the beard before a person spoke was preparatory to favor. Hence in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 3), Ulysses, when describing how Achilles asks Patroclus to imitate certain of their chiefs, represents him as saying:
“‘Now play me Nestor; hem, and stroke thy beard, As he, being drest to some oration.’”
Again, the phrase “to beard” meant to oppose face to face in a hostile manner. Thus, in “1 Henry IV.” (iv. 1), Douglas declares:
“No man so potent breathes upon the ground, But I will beard him.”
And in “1 Henry VI.” (i. 3), the Bishop of Winchester says to Gloster:
“Do what thou dar’st; I’ll beard thee to thy face.”
It seems also to have been customary to swear by the beard, an allusion to which is made by Touchstone in “As You Like It” (i. 2): “stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave.”
We may also compare what Nestor says in “Troilus and Cressida” (iv. 5):
“By this white beard, I’d fight with thee to-morrow.”
Our ancestors paid great attention to the shape of their beards, certain cuts being appropriated to certain professions and ranks. In “Henry V.” (iii. 6), Gower speaks of “a beard of the general’s cut.” As Mr. Staunton remarks, “Not the least odd among the fantastic fashions of our forefathers was the custom of distinguishing certain professions and classes by the cut of the beard; thus we hear, inter alia, of the bishop’s beard, the judge’s beard, the soldier’s beard, the citizen’s beard, and even the clown’s beard.” Randle Holme tells us, “The broad or cathedral beard [is] so-called because bishops or gown-men of the church anciently did wear such beards.” By the military man, the cut adopted was known as the stiletto or spade. The beard of the citizen was usually worn round, as Mrs. Quickly describes it in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 4), “like a glover’s paring-knife.” The clown’s beard was left bushy or untrimmed. Malone quotes from an old ballad entitled “Le Prince d’ Amour,” 1660:
“Next the clown doth out-rush With the beard of the bush.”
According to an old superstition, much hair on the head has been supposed to indicate an absence of intellect, a notion referred to by Antipholus of Syracuse, in the “Comedy of Errors” (ii. 2): “there’s many a man hath more hair than wit.” In the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (iii. 1), the same proverbial sentence is mentioned by Speed. Malone quotes the following lines upon Suckling’s “Aglaura,” as an illustration of this saying:[916]
“This great voluminous pamphlet may be said To be like one that hath more hair than head; More excrement than body: trees which sprout With broadest leaves have still the smallest fruit.”
[916] “Parnassus Biceps,” 1656.
Steevens gives an example from “Florio:” “A tisty-tosty wag-feather, more haire than wit.”
Excessive fear has been said to cause the hair to stand on end: an instance of which Shakespeare records in “Hamlet” (iii. 4), in that celebrated passage where the Queen, being at a loss to understand her son’s strange appearance during his conversation with the Ghost, which is invisible to her, says:
“And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, Your bedded hair, like life in excrements, Starts up, and stands on end.”
A further instance occurs in “The Tempest” (i. 2), where Ariel, describing the shipwreck, graphically relates how
“All, but mariners, Plunged in the foaming brine, and quit the vessel, Then all a-fire with me: the king’s son, Ferdinand, With hair up-staring—then like reeds, not hair— Was the first man that leap’d.”
Again, Macbeth says (i. 3):
“why do I yield to that suggestion Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair?”
And further on he says (v. 5):
“The time has been, my senses would have cool’d To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir As life were in’t.”
In “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 2) it is referred to by Suffolk as a sign of madness:
“My hair be fix’d on end, as one distract.”
And, once more, in “Richard III.” (i. 3), Hastings declares:
“My hair doth stand on end to hear her curses.”
Another popular notion mentioned by Shakespeare is, that sudden fright or great sorrow will cause the hair to turn white. In “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), Falstaff, in his speech to Prince Henry, tells him: “thy father’s beard is turned white with the news.”
Among the many instances recorded to establish the truth of this idea, it is said that the hair and beard of the Duke of Brunswick whitened in twenty-four hours upon his hearing that his father had been mortally wounded in the battle of Auerstadt. Marie Antoinette, the unfortunate queen of Louis XVI., found her hair suddenly changed by her troubles; and a similar change happened to Charles I., when he attempted to escape from Carisbrooke Castle. Mr. Timbs, in his “Doctors and Patients” (1876, p. 201), says that “chemists have discovered that hair contains an oil, a mucous substance, iron, oxide of manganese, phosphate and carbonate of iron, flint, and a large proportion of sulphur. White hair contains also phosphate of magnesia, and its oil is nearly colourless. When hair becomes suddenly white from terror, it is probably owing to the sulphur absorbing the oil, as in the operation of whitening woollen cloths.”
Hair was formerly used metaphorically for the color, complexion, or nature of a thing. In “1 Henry IV.” (iv. 1), Worcester says:
“I would your father had been here, The quality and hair of our attempt Brooks no division.”
In Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Nice Valour” it is so used:
“A lady of my hair cannot want pitying.”
Hands. Various superstitions have, at different times, clustered round the hand. Thus, in palmistry, a moist one is said to denote an amorous constitution. In “Othello” (iii. 4) we have the following allusion to this popular notion:
“Othello. Give me your hand. This hand is moist, my lady.
Desdemona. It yet has felt no age, nor known no sorrow.
Othello. This argues fruitfulness, and liberal heart.”
Again, in “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 2), Iras says: “There’s a palm presages chastity;” whereupon Charmian adds: “If an oily palm be not a fruitful prognostication, I cannot scratch mine ear.” And, in the “Comedy of Errors” (iii. 2), Dromio of Syracuse speaks of barrenness as “hard in the palm of the hand.”
A dry hand, however, has been supposed to denote age and debility. In “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2) the Lord Chief Justice enumerates this among the characteristics of such a constitution.[917]
[917] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. p. 179.
In the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 2), Launcelot, referring to the language of palmistry, calls the hand “the table,” meaning thereby the whole collection of lines on the skin within the hand: “Well, if any man in Italy have a fairer table, which doth offer to swear upon a book, I shall have good fortune.” He then alludes to one of the lines in the hand, known as the “line of life:” “Go to, here’s a simple line of life.”
In the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (iii. 5) palmistry is further mentioned:
“Gaoler’s Daughter. Give me your hand.
Gerrold. Why?
Gaoler’s Daughter. I can tell your fortune.”
It was once supposed that little worms were bred in the fingers of idle servants. To this notion Mercutio refers in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 4), where, in his description of Queen Mab, he says:
“Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Prick’d from the lazy finger of a maid.”
This notion is alluded to by John Banister, a famous surgeon in Shakespeare’s day, in his “Compendious Chyrurgerie” (1585, p. 465): “We commonly call them worms, which many women, sitting in the sunshine, can cunningly picke out with needles, and are most common in the handes.”
A popular term formerly in use for the nails on the ten fingers was the “ten commandments,” which, says Nares,[918] “doubtless led to the swearing by them, as by the real commandments.” Thus, in “2 Henry VI.” (i. 3), the Duchess of Gloster says to the queen:
“Could I come near your beauty with my nails I’d set my ten commandments in your face.”
[918] “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 871.
In the same way the fingers were also called the “ten bones,” as a little further on in the same play, where Peter swears “by these ten bones.”
The phrase “of his hands” was equivalent to “of his inches, or of his size, a hand being the measure of four inches.” So, in the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 4), Simple says: “Ay, forsooth: but he is as tall a man of his hands as any is between this and his head,” “the expression being used probably for the sake of a jocular equivocation in the word tall, which meant either bold or high.”[919]
[919] Ibid. vol. i. p. 402.
Again, in the “Winter’s Tale” (v. 2), the Clown tells the Shepherd: “I’ll swear to the prince, thou art a tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt not be drunk; but I know thou art no tall fellow of thy hands, and that thou wilt be drunk; but I’ll swear it, and I would thou wouldst be a tall fellow of thy hands.”
A proverbial phrase for being tall from necessity was “to blow the nail.” In “3 Henry VI.” (ii. 5) the king says:
“When dying clouds contend with growing light, What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails, Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.”
It occurs in the song at the end of “Love’s Labour’s Lost:”
“And Dick the shepherd blows his nail.”
“To bite the thumb” at a person implied an insult; hence, in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 1), Sampson says: “I will bite my thumb at them; which is a disgrace to them, if they bear it.”
The thumb, in this action, we are told, “represented a fig, and the whole was equivalent to a fig for you.”[920] Decker, in his “Dead Term” (1608), speaking of the various groups that daily frequented St. Paul’s Church, says: “What swearing is there, what shouldering, what justling, what jeering, what byting of thumbs, to beget quarrels?”
[920] See page 218.
Hare-lip. A cleft lip, so called from its supposed resemblance to the upper lip of a hare. It was popularly believed to be the mischievous act of an elf or malicious fairy. So, in “King Lear” (iii. 4), Edgar says of Gloster: “This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet: he ... squints the eye, and makes the hare-lip.” In “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (v. 2), Oberon, in blessing the bridal-bed of Theseus and Hippolyta, says:
“Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar,
* * * * *
Shall upon their children be.”
The expression “hang the lip” meant to drop the lip in sullenness or contempt. Thus, in “Troilus and Cressida” (iii. 1), Helen explains why her brother Troilus is not abroad by saying: “He hangs the lip at something.” We may compare, too, the words in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 4): “a foolish hanging of thy nether lip.”
Head. According to the old writers on physiognomy, a round head denoted foolishness, a notion to which reference is made in “Antony and Cleopatra” (iii. 3), in the following dialogue, where Cleopatra, inquiring about Octavia, says to the Messenger:
“Bear’st thou her face in mind? Is’t long, or round?
Messenger. Round, even to faultiness.
Cleopatra. For the most part, too, they are foolish that are so.”
In Hill’s “Pleasant History,” etc. (1613), we read: “The head very round, to be forgetful and foolish.” Again: “The head long, to be prudent and wary.”
Heart. The term “broken heart,” as commonly applied to death from excessive grief, is not a vulgar error, but may arise from violent muscular exertion or strong mental emotions. In “Macbeth” (iv. 3), Malcolm says:
“The grief, that does not speak, Whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.”
We may compare, too, Queen Margaret’s words to Buckingham, in “Richard III.” (i. 3), where she prophesies how Gloster
“Shall split thy very heart with sorrow.”
Mr. Timbs, in his “Mysteries of Life, Death, and Futurity” (1861, p. 149), has given the following note on the subject: “This affection was, it is believed, first described by Harvey; but since his day several cases have been observed. Morgagni has recorded a few examples: among them, that of George II., who died suddenly of this disease in 1760; and, what is very curious, Morgagni himself fell a victim to the same malady. Dr. Elliotson, in his Lumleyan Lectures on Diseases of the Heart, in 1839, stated that he had only seen one instance; but in the ‘Cyclopædia of Practical Medicine’ Dr. Townsend gives a table of twenty-five cases, collected from various authors.”
In olden times the heart was esteemed the seat of the understanding. Hence, in “Coriolanus” (i. 1), the Citizen speaks of “the counsellor heart.” With the ancients, also, the heart was considered the seat of courage, to which Shakespeare refers in “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 2):
“Servant. Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, They could not find a heart within the beast.
Cæsar. The gods do this in shame of cowardice: Cæsar should be a beast without a heart, If he should stay at home to-day for fear.”
Liver. By a popular notion, the liver was anciently supposed to be the seat of love, a superstition to which Shakespeare frequently alludes. Thus, in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 3), Biron, after listening to Longaville’s sonnet, remarks:
“This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity, A green goose, a goddess; pure, pure idolatry.”
In “Much Ado About Nothing” (iv. 1), Friar Francis says:
“If ever love had interest in his liver.”
Again, in “As You Like It” (iii. 2), Rosalind, professing to be able to cure love, which, he says, is “merely a madness,” says to Orlando, “will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep’s heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in’t.” In “Twelfth Night” (ii. 4), the Duke, speaking of women’s love, says:
“Their love may be call’d appetite, No motion of the liver, but the palate,” etc.
And Fabian (ii. 5), alluding to Olivia’s supposed letter to Malvolio, says: “This wins him, liver and all.”
Once more, in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 1), Pistol alludes to the liver as being the inspirer of amorous passions, for, speaking of Falstaff, he refers to his loving Ford’s wife “with liver burning hot.”[921] Douce says, “there is some reason for thinking that this superstition was borrowed from the Arabian physicians, or at least adopted by them; for, in the Turkish tales, an amorous tailor is made to address his wife by the titles of ‘thou corner of my liver, and soul of my love;’ and, in another place, the King of Syria, who had sustained a temporary privation of his mistress, is said to have had ‘his liver, which had been burnt up by the loss of her, cooled and refreshed at the sight of her.’”[922] According to an old Latin distich:
“Cor sapit, pulmo loquitur, fel commoret iras Splen ridere facit, cogit amare jecur.”
[921] Cf. “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 2):
“Soothsayer. You shall be more beloving, than belov’d.
Charmian. I had rather heat my liver with drinking.”
[922] “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, pp. 38, 39.
Bartholomæus, in his “De Proprietatibus Rerum” (lib. v. 39), informs us that “the liver is the place of voluptuousness and lyking of the flesh.”
Moles. These have, from time immemorial, been regarded as ominous, and special attention has been paid by the superstitious to their position on the body.[923] In “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (v. 1), a mole on a child is spoken of by Oberon as a bad omen, who, speaking of the three couples who had lately been married, says:
“And the blots of Nature’s hand Shall not in their issue stand; Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, Nor mark prodigious, such as are Despised in nativity, Shall upon their children be.”
[923] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 252-255.
Iachimo (“Cymbeline,” ii. 2) represents Imogen as having
“On her left breast A mole cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops I’ the bottom of a cowslip.”
And we may also compare the words of Cymbeline (v. 5):
“Guiderius had Upon his neck a mole, a sanguine star; It was a mark of wonder.”
Spleen. This was once supposed to be the cause of laughter, a notion probably referred to by Isabella in “Measure for Measure” (ii. 2), where, telling how the angels weep over the follies of men, she adds:
“who, with our spleens, Would all themselves laugh mortal.”
In “Taming of the Shrew” (Induction, sc. i.), the Lord says:
“haply my presence May well abate the over-merry spleen, Which otherwise would grow into extremes.”
And Maria says to Sir Toby, in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 2): “If you desire the spleen, and will laugh yourselves into stitches, follow me.”
Wits. With our early writers, the five senses were usually called the “five wits.” So, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1), Beatrice says: “In our last conflict four of his five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one.” In Sonnet cxli., Shakespeare makes a distinction between wits and senses:
“But my five wits, nor my five senses can Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee.”
The five wits, says Staunton, are “common wit, imagination, fantasy, estimation, memory.” Johnson says, the “wits seem to have been reckoned five, by analogy to the five senses, or the five inlets of ideas.” In “King Lear” (iii. 4) we find the expression, “Bless thy five wits.”
According to a curious fancy, eating beef was supposed to impair the intellect, to which notion Shakespeare has several allusions. Thus, in “Twelfth Night” (i. 3), Sir Andrew says: “Methinks sometimes I have no more wit than a Christian, or an ordinary man has: but I am a great eater of beef, and I believe that does harm to my wit.” In “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 1), Thersites says to Ajax: “The plague of Greece upon thee, thou mongrel beef-witted lord!”
XXI. FISHES
Although it has been suggested that Shakespeare found but little recreation in fishing,[924] rather considering, as he makes Ursula say, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 1):
“The pleasant’st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, And greedily devour the treacherous bait,”
and that it would be difficult to illustrate a work on angling with quotations from his writings, the Rev. H. N. Ellacombe, in his interesting papers[925] on “Shakespeare as an Angler,” has not only shown the strong probability that he was a lover of this sport, but further adds, that “he may be claimed as the first English poet that wrote of angling with any freedom; and there can be little doubt that he would not have done so if the subject had not been very familiar to him—so familiar, that he could scarcely write without dropping the little hints and unconscious expressions which prove that the subject was not only familiar, but full of pleasant memories to him.” His allusions, however, to the folk-lore associated with fishes are very few; but the two or three popular notions and proverbial sayings which he has quoted in connection with them help to embellish this part of our subject.
[924] See Harting’s “Ornithology of Shakespeare,” 1871, p. 3.
[925] “The Antiquary,” 1881, vol. iv. p. 193.
Carp. This fish was, proverbially, the most cunning of fishes, and so “Polonius’s comparison of his own worldly-wise deceit to the craft required for catching a carp” is most apt (“Hamlet,” ii. 1):[926]
“See you now; Your bait of falsehood takes this carp of truth.”
[926] Ibid.
This notion is founded on fact, the brain of the carp being six times as large as the average brain of other fishes.
Cockle. The badge of a pilgrim was, formerly, a cockle-shell, which was worn usually in the front of the hat. “The habit,” we are told,[927] “being sacred, this served as a protection, and therefore was often assumed as a disguise.” The escalop was sometimes used, and either of them was considered as an emblem of the pilgrim’s intention to go beyond the sea. Thus, in Ophelia’s ballad (“Hamlet,” iv. 5, song), the lover is to be known:
“By his cockle hat and staff, And his sandal shoon.”
[927] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. i. p. 175.
In Peele’s “Old Wives’ Tale,” 1595, we read, “I will give thee a palmer’s staff of ivory, and a scallop-shell of beaten gold.” Nares, too, quotes from Green’s “Never Too Late” an account of the pilgrim’s dress:
“A hat of straw, like to a swain, Shelter for the sun and rain, With a scallop-shell before.”
Cuttle. A foul-mouthed fellow was so called, says Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps,[928] because this fish is said to throw out of its mouth, upon certain occasions, an inky and black juice that fouls the water; and, as an illustration of its use in this sense, he quotes Doll Tearsheet’s words to Pistol, “2 Henry IV.” ii. 4: “By this wine, I’ll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me.” Dyce says that the context would seem to imply that the term is equivalent to “culter, swaggerer, bully.”[929]
[928] “Handbook Index to the Works of Shakespeare,” 1866, p. 119.
[929] See a note in Dyce’s “Glossary,” p. 112.
Gudgeon. This being the bait for many of the larger fish, “to swallow a gudgeon” was sometimes used for to be caught or deceived. More commonly, however, the allusion is to the ease with which the gudgeon itself is caught, as in the “Merchant of Venice” (i. 1), where Gratiano says:
“But fish not, with this melancholy bait, For this fool-gudgeon.”
Gurnet. The phrase “soused gurnet” was formerly a well-known term of reproach, in allusion to which Falstaff, in “1 Henry IV.” (iv. 2), says, “If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused gurnet.” The gurnet, of which there are several species, was probably thought a very coarse and vulgar dish when soused or pickled.
Loach. A small fish, known also as “the groundling.” The allusion to it by one of the carriers, in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 1), who says, “Your chamber-lie breeds fleas like a loach,” has much puzzled the commentators. It appears, however, from a passage in Holland’s translation of Pliny’s “Natural History” (bk. ix. c. xlvii.), that anciently fishes were supposed to be infested with fleas: “Last of all some fishes there be which of themselves are given to breed fleas and lice; among which the chalcis, a kind of turgot, is one.” Malone suggests that the passage may mean, “breeds fleas as fast as a loach breeds loaches;” this fish being reckoned a peculiarly prolific one. It seems probable, however, that the carrier alludes to one of those fanciful notions which make up a great part of natural history among the common people.[930] At the present day there is a fisherman’s fancy on the Norfolk coast that fish and fleas come together. “Lawk, sir!” said an old fellow, near Cromer, to a correspondent of “Notes and Queries” (Oct. 7th, 1865), “times is as you may look in my flannel-shirt, and scarce see a flea, and then there ain’t but a very few herrin’s; but times that’ll be right alive with ’em, and then there’s sartin to be a sight o’ fish.”
[930] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 518.
Mr. Houghton, writing in the Academy (May 27th, 1882) thinks that in the above passage the small river loach (Cobitis barbatula) is the fish intended. He says, “At certain times of the year, chiefly during the summer months, almost all fresh-water fish are liable to be infested with some kind of Epizoa. There are two kinds of parasitic creatures which are most commonly seen on various fish caught in the rivers and ponds of this country; and these are the Argulus foliaccus, a crustacean, and the Piscicola piscium, a small, cylindrical kind of leech.”
Mermaids. From the earliest ages mermaids have had a legendary existence—the sirens of the ancients evidently belonging to the same remarkable family. The orthodox mermaid is half woman, half fish, the fishy half being sometimes depicted as doubly-tailed. Shakespeare frequently makes his characters talk about mermaids, as in the “Comedy of Errors” (iii. 2), where Antipholus of Syracuse says:
“O, train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister’s flood of tears; Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote: Spread o’er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And as a bed I’ll take them and there lie, And, in that glorious supposition, think He gains by death, that hath such means to die.”
And, again, further on, he adds:
“I’ll stop mine ears against the mermaid’s song.”
Staunton considers that in these passages the allusion is obviously to the long-current opinion that the siren, or mermaid, decoyed mortals to destruction by the witchery of her songs. This superstition has been charmingly illustrated by Leyden, in his poem, “The Mermaid” (see Scott’s “Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,” vol. iv. p. 294):
“Thus, all to soothe the chieftain’s woe, Far from the maid he loved so dear, The song arose, so soft and slow, He seem’d her parting sigh to hear.
* * * * *
That sea-maid’s form of pearly light Was whiter than the downy spray, And round her bosom, heaving bright, Her glossy, yellow ringlets play.
Borne on a foaming, crested wave, She reached amain the bounding prow, Then, clasping fast the chieftain brave, She, plunging, sought the deep below.”
This tradition gave rise to a curious custom in the Isle of Man, which, in Waldron’s time, was observed on the 24th of December, though afterwards on St. Stephen’s Day. It is said that, once upon a time, a fairy of uncommon beauty exerted such undue influence over the male population that she induced, by the enchantment of her sweet voice, numbers to follow her footsteps, till, by degrees, she led them into the sea, where they perished. This barbarous exercise of power had continued for a great length of time, till it was apprehended that the island would be exhausted of its defenders. Fortunately, however, a knight-errant sprang up, who discovered a means of counteracting the charms used by this siren—even laying a plot for her destruction, which she only escaped by taking the form of a wren. Although she evaded instant annihilation, a spell was cast upon her, by which she was condemned, on every succeeding New Year’s Day, to reanimate the same form, with the definite sentence that she must ultimately perish by human hand. Hence, on the specified anniversary, every effort was made to extirpate the fairy; and the poor wrens were pursued, pelted, fired at, and destroyed without mercy, their feathers being preserved as a charm against shipwreck for one year. At the present day there is no particular time for pursuing the wren; it is captured by boys alone, who keep up the old custom chiefly for amusement. On St. Stephen’s Day, a band of boys go from door to door with a wren suspended by the legs, in the centre of two hoops crossing each other at right angles, decorated with evergreens and ribbons, singing lines called “Hunt the Wren.”[931]
[931] See “British Popular Customs,” pp. 494, 495.
In “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1), Oberon speaks of hearing “a mermaid on a dolphin’s back;” and in “Hamlet,” the Queen, referring to Ophelia’s death, says (iv. 7):
“Her clothes spread wide; And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up.”
In two other passages Shakespeare alludes to this legendary creature. Thus, in “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 2) Gloster boasts that he will “drown more sailors than the mermaid shall,” and in “Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 2), Enobarbus relates how
“Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i’ the eyes, And made their bends adornings: at the helm A seeming mermaid steers.”
In all these cases Shakespeare,[932] as was his wont, made his characters say what they were likely to think, in their several positions and periods of life. It has been suggested,[933] however, that the idea of the mermaid, in some of the passages just quoted, seems more applicable to the siren, especially in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream,” where the “mermaid on a dolphin’s back” could not easily have been so placed, had she had a fish-like tail instead of legs.
[932] See “Book of Days,” vol. ii. pp. 612-614.
[933] Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 565; see Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 411-414.
Notices of mermaids are scattered abundantly in books of bygone times. Mermen and mermaids, men of the sea, and women of the sea, having been as “stoutly believed in as the great sea-serpent, and on very much the same kind of evidence.” Holinshed gives a detailed account of a merman caught at Orford, in Suffolk, in the reign of King John. He was kept alive on raw meal and fish for six months, but at last “gledde secretelye to the sea, and was neuer after seene nor heard off.” Even in modern times we are told how, every now and then, a mermaid has made her appearance. Thus, in the Gentleman’s Magazine (Jan., 1747), we read: “It is reported from the north of Scotland that some time this month a sea creature, known by the name of mermaid, which has the shape of a human body from the trunk upwards, but below is wholly fish, was carried some miles up the water of Dévron.” In 1824 a mermaid or merman made its appearance, when, as the papers of that day inform us, “upwards of 150 distinguished fashionables” went to see it.
The “Mermaid” was a famous tavern, situated in Bread Street.[934] As early as the fifteenth century, we are told it was one of the haunts of the pleasure-seeking Sir John Howard, whose trusty steward records, anno 1464: “Paid for wyn at the Mermayd in Bred Street, for my mastyr and Syr Nicholas Latimer, xd. ob.” In 1603 Sir Walter Raleigh established a Literary Club in this house, among its members being Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, Beaumont and Fletcher, Selden, Carew, Martin, Donne, etc. It is often alluded to by Beaumont and Fletcher.
[934] “History of Sign-boards,” 1866, p. 226.
Minnow. This little fish, from its insignificant character, is used by “Coriolanus” (iii. 1) as a term of contempt: “Hear you this Triton of the minnows?” and, again, in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (i. 1), it occurs: “‘that base minnow of thy mirth.’”
Pike. An old name for this fish was luce. In the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 1) we are told that “The luce is the fresh fish.” There can be no doubt, too, that there is in this passage an allusion to the armorial bearings of Shakespeare’s old enemy, Sir Thomas Lucy. Among the various instances of the use of this term we may quote Isaac Walton, who says: “The mighty luce or pike is taken to be the tyrant, as the salmon is the king, of the fresh waters.” Stow, in his “Survey of London,” describes a procession of the Fishmongers’ Company in 1298, as having horses painted like sea-luce: “Then four salmons of silver on foure horses, and after them sixe and fortie armed knightes riding on horses made like luces of the sea.”
Porpoise. According to sailors, the playing of porpoises round a ship is a certain prognostic of a violent gale of wind; hence the allusion in “Pericles” (ii. 1), where one of the fishermen says, speaking of the storm: “Nay, master, said not I as much, when I saw the porpus, how he bounced and tumbled?” Thus, too, in the “Canterbury Guests, or a Bargain Broken,” by Ravenscroft, we read: “My heart begins to leap and play, like a porpice before a storm.” And a further reference occurs in Wilsford’s “Nature’s Secrets:” “Porpoises, or sea-hogs, when observed to sport and chase one another about ships, expect then some stormy weather.”
Sea-monster. The reference in “King Lear” (i. 4), to the “sea-monster”—
“Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, More hideous, when thou show’st thee in a child, Than the sea-monster!”—
is generally supposed to be the hippopotamus, which, according to Upton, was the hieroglyphical symbol of impiety and ingratitude.[935] Sandys[936] gives a picture said to be portrayed in the porch of the temple of Minerva, at Sais, in which is the figure of a river-horse, denoting “murder, impudence, violence, and injustice; for they say that he killeth his sire and ravisheth his own dam.” His account is, no doubt, taken from Plutarch’s “Isis and Osiris;” and Shakespeare may have read it in Holland’s translation (p. 1300), but why he should call the river-horse a “sea-monster” is not very clear. It is more likely, however, that the whale is meant.[937]
[935] Wright’s “Notes to King Lear,” 1877, p. 133.
[936] “Travels,” 1673, p. 105.
[937] Cf. “King Lear,” iv. 2; “Troilus and Cressida,” v. 5; “All’s Well that End’s Well,” iv. 3.
XXII. SUNDRY SUPERSTITIONS
Almanacs. In Shakespeare’s day these were published under this title: “An Almanack and Prognostication made for the year of our Lord God, 1595.” So, in the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 3), Autolycus says: “the hottest day prognostication proclaims;” that is, the hottest day foretold in the almanac. In Sonnet xiv. the prognostications in almanacs are also noticed:
“Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck; And yet methinks I have astronomy, But not to tell of good or evil luck, Of plagues, of dearths, or season’s quality; Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell, Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind: Or say with princes if it shall go well, By oft predict that I in heaven find.”
In “Antony and Cleopatra” (i. 2) Enobarbus says: “They are greater storms and tempests than almanacs can report;” and in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), Prince Henry says: “Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what says the almanac to that?”
Amulets. A belief in the efficacy of an amulet or charm to ward off diseases and to avert contagion has prevailed from a very early period. The use of amulets was common among the Greeks and Romans, whose amulets were principally formed of gems, crowns of pearls, necklaces of coral, shells, etc. The amulet of modern times has been of the most varied kinds; objects being selected either from the animal, vegetable, or mineral kingdom, pieces of old rags or garments, scraps of writing in legible or illegible characters, in fact, of anything to which any superstitious property has been considered to belong.[938] This form of superstition is noticed in “1 Henry VI.” (v. 3), in the scene laid at Angiers, where La Pucelle exclaims:
“The regent conquers, and the Frenchmen fly. Now help, ye charming spells and periapts”
—periapts being charms which were worn as preservatives against diseases or mischief. Thus Cotgrave[939] explains the word as “a medicine hanged about any part of the bodie.”
[938] Pettigrew’s “Medical Superstitions,” p. 48.
[939] “French and English Dictionary;” see Dyce’s “Glossary to Shakespeare,” p. 316; Nares describes it as “a bandage, tied on for magical purposes, from περιάπτω;” see Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 324-326; Douce’s “Illustrations of Shakespeare,” 1839, pp. 305-307.
Ceremonies. These, says Malone, were “omens or signs deduced from sacrifices or other ceremonial rites.” Thus, in “Julius Cæsar” (ii. 1), Cassius says of Cæsar, that—
“he is superstitious grown of late, Quite from the main opinion he held once Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.”
And in the next scene Calpurnia adds:
“Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me.”
Charms. These, as Mr. Pettigrew[940] has pointed out, differ little from amulets, the difference consisting in the manner in which they are used rather than in their nature. Thus, whereas the amulet was to be suspended on the person when employed, the charm was not necessarily subjected to such a method of application. In days gone by, and even at the present day, in country districts, so universal has been the use of this source of supposed magical power that there is scarcely a disease for which a charm has not been given. It is not only to diseases of body and mind that the superstitious practice has been directed; having been in popular request to avert evil, and to counteract supposed malignant influences. As might be expected, Shakespeare has given various allusions to this usage, as, for example, in “Cymbeline” (v. 3), where Posthumus says:
“To day, how many would have given their honours To have sav’d their carcases! took heel to do’t, And yet died too! I, in mine own woe charm’d, Could not find death where I did hear him groan, Nor feel him where he struck”
—this passage referring to the notion of certain charms being powerful enough to keep men unhurt in battle.
[940] “Medical Superstitions,” p. 55.
Othello (iii. 4), speaking of the handkerchief which he had given to Desdemona, relates:
“That handkerchief Did an Egyptian to my mother give; She was a charmer, and could almost read The thoughts of people.”
And in the same play (i. 1), Brabantio asks:
“Is there not charms, By which the property of youth and maidhood May be abus’d?”
Again, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (iii. 2), Benedick, who is represented as having the toothache, after listening to the banter of his comrades, replies: “Yet is this no charm for the toothache.”
Perfect silence seems to have been regarded as indispensable for the success of any charm; and Pliny informs us that “favete linguis” was the usual exclamation employed on such an occasion. From this circumstance it has been suggested that the well-known phrase “to charm a tongue” may have originated. Thus we have the following dialogue in “Othello” (v. 2):
“Iago. Go to, charm your tongue.
Emilia. I will not charm my tongue; I am bound to speak.”
Thus, on the appearance, amid thunder, of the first apparition to Macbeth, after the witches have performed certain charms (iv. 1), Shakespeare introduces the following dialogue:
“Macbeth. Tell me, thou unknown power—
First Witch. He knows thy thought: Hear his speech, but say thou nought.”
Again, in “The Tempest” (iv. 1), Prospero says:
“hush, and be mute, Or else our spell is marr’d.”
Metrical Charms. There was a superstition long prevalent that life might be taken away by metrical charms.[941] Reginald Scot, in his “Discovery of Witchcraft” (1584), says: “The Irishmen addict themselves, etc.; yea, they will not sticke to affirme that they can rime a man to death.” In “1 Henry VI.” (i. 1), the Duke of Exeter, referring to the lamented death of Henry V., says:
“Shall we think the subtle-witted French Conjurers and sorcerers, that, afraid of him, By magic verses have contrived his end?”
[941] See, under Rat, a similar superstition noticed.
These “magic verses,” to which the death of Henry V. is here attributed, were not required to be uttered in his presence; their deadly energy existing solely in the words of the imprecation and the malevolence of the reciter, which were supposed to render them effectual at any distance.
Again, the alphabet was called the Christ-cross-row; either because a cross was prefixed to the alphabet in the old primers, or, more probably, from a superstitious custom of writing the alphabet in the form of a cross by way of a charm. In “Richard III.” (i. 1), Clarence relates how King Edward—
“Hearkens after prophecies and dreams; And from the cross-row plucks the letter G.”
Dreams. These, considered as prognostics of good or evil, are frequently introduced by Shakespeare. In “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 3), Andromache exclaims:
“My dreams will, sure, prove ominous to the day.”
While Romeo (“Romeo and Juliet,” v. 1) declares:
“My dreams presage some joyful news at hand.”
It is chiefly as precursors of misfortune that the poet has availed himself of their supposed influence as omens of future fate. Thus, there are few passages in his dramas more terrific than the dreams of Richard III. and Clarence; the latter especially, as Mr. Drake says,[942] “is replete with the most fearful imagery, and makes the blood run chill with horror.”
[942] “Shakespeare and his Times,” p. 355.
Dreaming of certain things has generally been supposed to be ominous either of good or ill luck;[943] and at the present day the credulous pay oftentimes no small attention to their dreams, should these happen to have referred to what they consider unlucky things. In the same way Shylock, in the “Merchant of Venice” (ii. 5), is a victim to much superstitious dread:
“Jessica, my girl, Look to my house. I am right loath to go: There is some ill a brewing towards my rest, For I did dream of money-bags to-night.”
[943] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 127-141.
In “Julius Cæsar,” dreaming of banquet is supposed to presage misfortune.
It was also supposed that malicious spirits took advantage of sleep to torment their victims;[944] hence Macbeth (ii. 1) exclaims:
“Merciful powers, Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature Gives way to in repose!”[945]
[944] See p. 283.
[945] See Malone’s “Variorum Shakespeare,” 1821, vol. ii. p. 90.
Duels. The death of the vanquished person was always considered a certain evidence of his guilt. Thus, in “2 Henry VI.” (ii. 3), King Henry, speaking of the death of Horner in the duel with Peter, says:[946]
“Go, take hence that traitor from our sight; For, by his death, we do perceive his guilt: And God in justice hath reveal’d to us The truth and innocence of this poor fellow, Which he had thought to have murder’d wrongfully.— Come, fellow, follow us for thy reward.”
[946] See Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. vi. p. 167.
We may also compare what Arcite says to Palamon in the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (iii. 6):
“If I fall, curse me, and say I was a coward; For none but such dare die in these just trials.”
Among the customs connected with duelling, it appears that, according to an old law, knights were to fight with the lance and the sword, as those of inferior rank fought with an ebon staff or baton, to the farther end of which was fixed a bag crammed hard with sand.[947] Thus Shakespeare, in “2 Henry VI.” (ii. 3), represents Horner entering “bearing his staff with a sand-bag fastened to it.” Butler, in his “Hudibras,” alludes to this custom:
“Engag’d with money-bags, as bold As men with sand-bags did of old.”
[947] See Nares’s “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 765.
Steevens adds that “a passage in St. Chrysostom very clearly proves the great antiquity of this practice.”
Fortune-tellers. A common method of fortune-tellers, in pretending to tell future events, was by means of a beryl or glass. In an extract from the “Penal Laws against Witches,” it is said, “they do answer either by voice, or else set before their eyes, in glasses, chrystal stones, etc., the pictures or images of the persons or things sought for.” It is to this kind of juggling prophecy that Angelo, in “Measure for Measure” (ii. 2), refers, when he tells how the law—
“like a prophet, Looks in a glass, that shows what future evils, Either new, or by remissness new-conceiv’d.”
Again, Macbeth (iv. 1), when “a show of eight kings” is presented to him, exclaims, after witnessing the seventh:
“I’ll see no more:— And yet the eighth appears, who bears a glass, Which shows me many more.”
Spenser[948] has given a circumstantial account of the glass which Merlin made for King Ryence. A mirror of the same kind was presented to Cambuscan, in the “Squier’s Tale” of Chaucer; and we are also told how “a certain philosopher did the like to Pompey, the which showed him in a glass the order of his enemies’ march.”[949] Brand, in his “Popular Antiquities,”[950] gives several interesting accounts of this method of fortune-telling; and quotes the following from Vallancey’s “Collectanea de Rebus Hibernicis:” “In the Highlands of Scotland, a large chrystal, of a figure somewhat oval, was kept by the priests to work charms by; water poured upon it at this day is given to cattle against diseases; these stones are now preserved by the oldest and most superstitious in the country; they were once common in Ireland.”
[948] “Fairy Queen,” bk. iii. c. 2; see Singer’s “Shakespeare,” vol. ix. p. 82.
[949] Boisteau’s “Theatrum Mundi,” translated by John Alday (1574).
[950] 1849, vol. iii. pp. 60, 61.
Further allusions to fortune-tellers occur in “Comedy of Errors” (v. 1), and “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iv. 2).
It appears, too, that the trade of fortune-telling was, in Shakespeare’s day, as now, exercised by the wandering hordes of gypsies. In “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv. 12), the Roman complains that Cleopatra
“Like a right gipsy, hath, at fast and loose, Beguil’d me to the very heart of loss.”
Giants. The belief in giants and other monsters was much credited in olden times, and, “among the legends of nearly every race or tribe, few are more universal than those relating to giants or men of colossal size and superhuman power.”[951] That such stories were current in Shakespeare’s day, is attested by the fact that the poet makes Othello (i. 3), in his eloquent defence before the Senate of Venice, when explaining his method of courtship, allude to
“the Cannibals that each other eat, The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads Do grow beneath their shoulders.”
[951] See Hardwick’s “Traditions, Superstitions, and Folk-Lore,” 1872, pp. 197, 224.
In “The Tempest” (iii. 3), Gonzalo relates how—
“When we were boys, Who would believe that there were mountaineers Dew-lapp’d like bulls, whose throats had hanging at ’em Wallets of flesh? or that there were such men, Whose heads stood in their breasts?”
And after the appearance of Prospero’s magic repast, Sebastian says:
“Now I will believe That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phœnix’ throne; one phœnix At this hour reigning there.”
Among the numerous references to giants by Shakespeare, we may quote the following. In “2 Henry VI.” (ii. 3), Horner says: “Peter, have at thee with a downright blow [as Bevis of Southampton fell upon Ascapart].”[952]
[952] The addition in brackets is rejected by the editors of the Globe edition.
Ascapart, according to the legend, was “ful thyrty fote longe,” and was conquered by Sir Bevis of Southampton.
In “Cymbeline” (iii 3), Belarius says:
“the gates of monarchs Are arch’d so high, that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on, without Good morrow to the sun.”
In the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 1), Mrs. Page says: “I had rather be a giantess, and lie under Mount Pelion.”[953]
[953] Cf. “Measure for Measure,” ii. 2, iii. 1; “Much Ado About Nothing,” v. 1; “Loves Labour’s Lost,” iii. 1.
Lucky Days. From the most remote period certain days have been supposed to be just as lucky as others are the reverse, a notion which is not confined to any one country. In Shakespeare’s day great attention was paid to this superstitious fancy, which is probably alluded to in the “Winter’s Tale” (iii. 3), where the Shepherd says to the Clown, “’Tis a lucky day, boy; and we’ll do good deeds on’t.”
In “King John” (iii. 1) Constance exclaims:
“What hath this day deserv’d? what hath it done, That it in golden letters should be set Among the high tides in the calendar? Nay, rather turn this day out of the week, This day of shame, oppression, perjury: Or, if it must stand still, let wives with child Pray that their burthens may not fall this day, Lest that their hopes prodigiously be cross’d: But on this day let seamen fear no wreck; No bargains break that are not this day made: This day, all things begun come to ill end, Yea, faith itself to hollow falsehood change!”
Again, Macbeth (iv. 1) says:
“Let this pernicious hour Stand aye accursed in the calendar!”
In the old almanacs the days supposed to be favorable or unfavorable are enumerated, allusion to which occurs in Webster’s “Duchess of Malfy,” 1623:
“By the almanack, I think, To choose good days and shun the critical.”
At the present day this superstition still retains its hold on the popular mind, and in the transactions of life exerts an important influence.[954]
[954] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1879, vol. i. pp. 44-51; Jones’s “Credulities Past and Present,” pp. 493-507; Hampson’s “Œvi Medii Kalendarium,” vol. i. p. 210; see an article on “Day Fatality” in John Aubrey’s “Miscellanies.”
Magic. The system of magic, which holds such a prominent place in “The Tempest,” was formerly an article in the popular creed, and as such is frequently noticed by the writers of Shakespeare’s time. Thus, in describing Prospero, Shakespeare has given him several of the adjuncts, besides the costume, of the popular magician, much virtue being inherent in his very garments. So Prospero, when addressing his daughter (i. 2), says:
“Lend thy hand, And pluck my magic garment from me.—So; Lie there, my art.”
A similar importance is assigned to his staff, for he tells Ferdinand (i. 2):
“I can here disarm thee with this stick, And make thy weapon drop.”
And when he abjures the practice of magic, one of the requisites is “to break his staff,” and to (v. 1)
“Bury it certain fathoms in the earth.”
The more immediate instruments of power were books, by means of which spells were usually performed. Hence, in the old romances, the sorcerer is always furnished with a book, by reading certain parts of which he is enabled to summon to his aid what demons or spirits he has occasion to employ. When he is deprived of his book his power ceases. Malone quotes, in illustration of this notion, Caliban’s words in “The Tempest” (iii. 2):
“Remember, First to possess his books; for without them He’s but a sot, as I am, nor hath not One spirit to command.”
Prospero, too, declares (iii. 1):
“I’ll to my book; For yet, ere supper time, must I perform Much business appertaining.”
And on his relinquishing his art he says that:
“Deeper than did ever plummet sound I’ll drown my book.”
Those who practise nocturnal sorcery are styled, in “Troilus and Cressida” (iv. 2), “venomous wights.”
Merlin’s Prophecies. In Shakespeare’s day there was an extensive belief in strange and absurd prophecies, which were eagerly caught up and repeated by one person to another. This form of superstition is alluded to in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 1), where, after Owen Glendower has been descanting on the “omens and portents dire” which heralded his nativity, and Hotspur’s unbelieving and taunting replies to the chieftain’s assertions, the poet makes Hotspur, on Mortimer’s saying,
“Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father!”
thus reply:
“I cannot choose: sometime he angers me, With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies; And of a dragon and a finless fish.”
In “King Lear” (iii. 2) the Fool says
“I’ll speak a prophecy ere I go: When priests are more in word than matter; When brewers mar their malt with water; When nobles are their tailors’ tutors; No heretics burn’d, but wenches’ suitors; When every case in law is right; No squire in debt, nor no poor knight; When slanders do not live in tongues. Nor cutpurses come not to throngs; When usurers tell their gold i’ the field; And bawds and whores do churches build;— Then shall the realm of Albion Come to great confusion: Then comes the time, who lives to see’t, That going shall be us’d with feet. This prophecy Merlin shall make; for I live before his time.”
This witty satire was probably against the prophecies attributed to Merlin, which were then prevalent among the people.[955]
[955] See Kelly’s “Notices Illustrative of the Drama and Other Amusements at Leicester,” 1865, pp. 116, 118.
Formerly, too, prophecies of apparent impossibilities were common in Scotland; such as the removal of one place to another. So in “Macbeth” (iv. 1), the apparition says:
“Macbeth shall never vanquish’d be, until Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill Shall come against him.”
Portents and Prodigies. In years gone the belief in supernatural occurrences was a common article of faith; and our ancestors made use of every opportunity to prove the truth of this superstitious belief. The most usual monitions of this kind were, “lamentings heard in the air; shakings and tremblings of the earth; sudden gloom at noon-day; the appearance of meteors; the shooting of stars; eclipses of the sun and moon; the moon of a bloody hue; the shrieking of owls; the croaking of ravens; the shrilling of crickets; night-howlings of dogs; the death-watch; the chattering of pies; wild neighing of horses; blood dropping from the nose; winding-sheets; strange and fearful noises, etc.,” many of which Shakespeare has used, introducing them as the precursors of murder, sudden death, disasters, and superhuman events.[956] Thus in “Richard II.” (ii. 4), the following prodigies are selected as the forerunners of the death or fall of kings:
“’Tis thought, the king is dead: we will not stay. The bay-trees in our country are all wither’d, And meteors fright the fixed stars of heaven; The pale-fac’d moon looks bloody on the earth, And lean-look’d prophets whisper fearful change; Rich men look sad, and ruffians dance and leap, The one in fear to lose what they enjoy, The other to enjoy by rage and war: These signs forerun the death or fall of kings.”
[956] Drake’s “Shakespeare and his Times,” p. 352.
Previous to the assassination of Julius Cæsar, we are told, in “Hamlet” (i. 1), how:
“In the most high and palmy state of Rome, A little ere the mightiest Julius fell, The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets; As stars with trains of fire and dews of blood, Disasters in the sun; and the moist star, Upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands, Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.”
More appalling still are the circumstances which preceded and accompanied the murder of Duncan (“Macbeth,” ii. 3). We may also compare the omens which marked the births of Owen Glendower and Richard III. Indeed, the supposed sympathy of the elements with human joy or sorrow or suffering is evidently a very ancient superstition; and this presumed sensitiveness, not only of the elements, but of animated nature, to the perpetration of deeds of darkness and blood by perverted nature, has in all ages been extensively believed. It is again beautifully illustrated in the lines where Shakespeare makes Lenox, on the morning following the murder of Duncan by his host (“Macbeth,” ii. 3), give the following narrative:
“The night has been unruly; where we lay, Our chimneys were blown down; and, as they say, Lamentings heard i’ the air; strange screams of death; And prophesying with accents terrible Of dire combustion, and confus’d events, New hatch’d to the woeful time: the obscure bird Clamour’d the livelong night: some say, the earth Was feverous and did shake.”
This idea is further illustrated in the dialogue which follows, between Ross and an old man:
“Old Man. Threescore and ten I can remember well: Within the volume of which time I have seen Hours dreadful, and things strange: but this sore night Hath trifled former knowings.
Ross. Ah, good father, Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man’s act, Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, ’tis day, And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp: Is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame, That darkness does the face of earth entomb, When living light should kiss it?”
Supernatural Authority of Kings. The belief in the supernatural authority of monarchs is but a remnant of the long-supposed “divine right” of kings to govern, which resulted from a conviction that they could trace their pedigrees back to the deities themselves.[957] Thus Shakespeare even puts into the mouth of the murderer and usurper Claudius, King of Denmark, the following sentence:
“Let him go, Gertrude: do not fear our person: There’s such divinity doth hedge a king, That treason can but peep to what it would, Acts little of his will.”
[957] “Traditions, Superstitions, and Folk-Lore,” p. 81.
This notion is by no means confined to either civilized or semi-civilized nations. It is, says Mr. Hardwick, “a universal feeling among savage tribes.” The ignorant serf of Russia believed, and, indeed, yet believes, that if the deity were to die the emperor would succeed to his power and authority.
Sympathetic Indications. According to a very old tradition the wounds of a murdered person were supposed to bleed afresh at the approach or touch of the murderer. This effect, though impossible, remarks Nares,[958] except it were by miracle, was firmly believed, and almost universally, for a very long period. Poets, therefore, were fully justified in their use of it. Thus Shakespeare, in “Richard III.” (i. 2) makes Lady Anne, speaking of Richard, Duke of Gloster, say:
“O, gentlemen, see, see! dead Henry’s wounds Open their congeal’d mouths, and bleed afresh!— Blush, blush, thou lump of foul deformity; For ’tis thy presence that exhales this blood From cold and empty veins, where no blood dwells; Thy deed, inhuman and unnatural, Provokes this deluge most unnatural.”
[958] “Glossary,” vol. ii. p. 974.
Stow alludes to this circumstance in his “Annals” (p. 424). He says the king’s body “was brought to St. Paul’s in an open coffin, barefaced, where he bled; thence he was carried to the Blackfriars, and there bled.” Matthew Paris also states that after Henry II.’s death his son Richard came to view the body—“Quo superveniente, confestim erupit sanguis ex naribus regis mortui; ac si indignaretur spiritus in adventue ejus, qui ejusdem mortis causa esse credebatur, ut videretur sanguis clamare ad Deum.”[959] In the “Athenian Oracle” (i. 106), this supposed phenomenon is thus accounted for: “The blood is congealed in the body for two or three days, and then becomes liquid again, in its tendency to corruption. The air being heated by many persons coming about the body, is the same thing to it as motion is. ’Tis observed that dead bodies will bleed in a concourse of people, when murderers are absent, as well as present, yet legislators have thought fit to authorize it, and use this trial as an argument, at least to frighten, though ’tis no conclusive one to condemn them.” Among other allusions to this superstition may be mentioned one by King James in his “Dæmonology,” where we read: “In a secret murder, if the dead carkasse be at any time thereafter handled by the murderer, it will gush out of blood, as if the blood were crying to heaven for revenge of the murderer.” It is spoken of also in a note to chapter v. of the “Fair Maid of Perth,” that this bleeding of a corpse was urged as an evidence of guilt in the High Court of Justiciary at Edinburgh as late as the year 1668. An interesting survival of this curious notion exists in Durham, where, says Mr. Henderson,[960] “touching of the corpse by those who come to look at it is still expected by the poor on the part of those who come to their house while a dead body is lying in it, in token that they wished no ill to the departed, and were in peace and amity with him.”
[959] See Brand’s “Pop. Antiq.,” 1849, vol. iii. pp. 229-231.
[960] “Folk-Lore of Northern Counties,” 1849, p. 57.
We may also compare the following passage, where Macbeth (iii. 4), speaking of the Ghost, says:
“It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood: Stones have been known to move, and trees to speak; Augurs and understood relations have By magot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth The secret’st man of blood.”
Shakespeare perhaps alludes to some story in which the stones covering the corpse of a murdered man were said to have moved of themselves, and so revealed the secret. The idea of trees speaking probably refers to the story of the tree which revealed to Æneas the murder of Polydorus (Verg., “Æneid,” iii. 22, 599). Indeed, in days gone by, this superstition was carried to such an extent that we are told, in D’Israeli’s “Curiosities of Literature,” “by the side of the bier, if the slightest change was observable in the eyes, the mouth, feet, or hands of the corpse, the murderer was conjectured to be present, and many an innocent spectator must have suffered death. This practice forms a rich picture in the imagination of our old writers; and their histories and ballads are labored into pathos by dwelling on this phenomenon.”