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Henry Nicholson Ellacombe

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Title: The plant-lore & garden-craft of Shakespeare

Author: Henry Nicholson Ellacombe

Release Date: March 25, 2009 [EBook #28407]

Language: English

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Transcriber's Notes: Some typographical and punctuation errors have been
corrected. A complete list follows the text. Variations in spelling and
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_THE PLANT-LORE AND GARDEN-CRAFT OF SHAKESPEARE._




PRESS NOTICES OF FIRST EDITION.


"It would be hard to name a better commonplace book for summer
lawns. . . . The lover of poetry, the lover of gardening, and the lover
of quaint, out-of-the-way knowledge will each find something to please
him. . . . It is a delightful example of gardening literature."--_Pall
Mall Gazette._

"Mr. Ellacombe, with a double enthusiasm for Shakespeare and for his
garden, has produced a very readable and graceful volume on the
Plant-Lore of Shakespeare."--_Saturday Review._

"Mr. Ellacombe brings to his task an enthusiastic love of horticulture,
wedded to no inconsiderable practical and theoretical knowledge of it; a
mind cultivated by considerable acquaintance with the Greek and Latin
classics, and trained for this special subject by a course of extensive
reading among the contemporaries of his author: and a capacity for
patient and unwearied research, which he has shown by the stores of
learning he has drawn from a class of books rarely dipped into by the
student--Saxon and Early English herbals and books of leechcraft; the
result is a work which is entitled from its worth to a place in every
Shakesperian library."--_Spectator._

"The work has fallen into the hands of one who knows not only the
plants themselves, but also their literary history; and it may be
said that Shakespeare's flowers now for the first time find an
historian."--_Field._

"A delightful book has been compiled, and it is as accurate as it is
delightful."--_Gardener's Chronicle._

"Mr. Ellacombe's book well deserves a place on the shelves of both the
student of Shakespeare and the lover of plant lore."--_Journal of
Botany._

"By patient industry, systematically bestowed, Mr. Ellacombe has
produced a book of considerable interest; . . . full of facts, grouped
on principles of common sense about quotations from our great
poet."--_Guardian._

"Mr. Ellacombe is an old and faithful labourer in this field of
criticism. His 'Plant-lore and Garden-craft of Shakespeare' . . . is the
fullest and best book on the subject."--_The Literary World (American)._




                                 THE

                      PLANT-LORE & GARDEN-CRAFT

                                  OF

                             SHAKESPEARE.


                                  BY

                    REV. HENRY N. ELLACOMBE, M.A.,

                      OF ORIEL COLLEGE, OXFORD,
     VICAR OF BITTON, GLOUCESTERSHIRE, AND HON. CANON OF BRISTOL.


                           SECOND EDITION.


                             PRINTED FOR
                         W. SATCHELL AND CO.,
                             AND SOLD BY,
                     SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.,
                               LONDON.

                                1884.




     "My Herbale booke in Folio I unfold.
      I pipe of plants, I sing of somer flowers."

                               CUTWODE, _Caltha Poetarum_, st. 1.




TO THE READER.


"Faultes escaped in the Printing, correcte with your pennes; omitted by
my neglygence, overslippe with patience; committed by ignorance, remit
with favour."

                  LILY, _Euphues and his England_, Address to the
                                 gentlemen Readers.




CONTENTS.


     INTRODUCTION                                      1

     PLANT-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE                         7

     GARDEN-CRAFT OF SHAKESPEARE                     333

     APPENDIX--

         I. THE DAISY                                359

        II. THE SEASONS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS       379

       III. NAMES OF PLANTS                          391

     INDEX OF PLAYS                                  421

     GENERAL INDEX                                   431




PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.


Since the publication of the First Edition I have received many kind
criticisms both from the public critics and from private friends. For
these criticisms I am very thankful, and they have enabled me to correct
some errors and to make some additions, which I hope will make the book
more acceptable and useful.

For convenience of reference I have added the line numbers to the
passages quoted, taking both the quotations and the line numbers from
the Globe Shakespeare. In a few instances I have not kept exactly to the
text of the Globe Edition, but these are noted; and I have added the
"Two Noble Kinsmen," which is not in that Edition.

In other respects this Second Edition is substantially the same as the
First.

                                                         H. N. E.

     BITTON VICARAGE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE,
     _February, 1884_.




PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION.


The following Notes on the "Plant-lore and Garden-craft of Shakespeare"
were published in "The Garden" from March to September, 1877.

They are now republished with additions and with such corrections as the
altered form of publication required or allowed.

As the Papers appeared from week to week, I had to thank many
correspondents (mostly complete strangers to myself) for useful
suggestions and inquiries; and I would again invite any further
suggestions or remarks, especially in the way of correction of any
mistakes or omissions that I may have made, and I should feel thankful
to any one that would kindly do me this favour.

In republishing the Papers, I have been very doubtful whether I ought
not to have rejected the cultural remarks on several of the plants,
which I had added with a special reference to the horticultural
character of "The Garden" newspaper. But I decided to retain them, on
finding that they interested some readers, by whom the literary and
Shakespearean notices were less valued.

The weekly preparation of the Papers was a very pleasant study to
myself, and introduced me to much literary and horticultural information
of which I was previously ignorant. In republishing them I hope that
some of my readers may meet with equal pleasure, and with some little
information that may be new to them.

                                                         H. N. E.

     BITTON VICARAGE, GLOUCESTERSHIRE,
     _May, 1878_.




INTRODUCTION.


All the commentators on Shakespeare are agreed upon one point, that he
was the most wonderfully many-sided writer that the world has yet seen.
Every art and science are more or less noticed by him, so far as they
were known in his day; every business and profession are more or less
accurately described; and so it has come to pass that, though the main
circumstances of his life are pretty well known, yet the students of
every art and science, and the members of every business and profession,
have delighted to claim him as their fellow-labourer. Books have been
written at various times by various writers, which have proved (to the
complete satisfaction of the writers) that he was a soldier,[1:1] a
sailor, a lawyer,[1:2] an astronomer, a physician,[1:3] a divine,[1:4] a
printer,[1:5] an actor, a courtier, a sportsman, an angler,[2:1] and I
know not what else besides.

I also propose to claim him as a fellow-labourer. A lover of flowers and
gardening myself, I claim Shakespeare as equally a lover of flowers and
gardening; and this I propose to prove by showing how, in all his
writings, he exhibits his strong love for flowers, and a very fair,
though not perhaps a very deep, knowledge of plants; but I do not intend
to go further. That he was a lover of plants I shall have no difficulty
in showing; but I do not, therefore, believe that he was a professed
gardener, and I am quite sure he can in no sense be claimed as a
botanist, in the scientific sense of the term. His knowledge of plants
was simply the knowledge that every man may have who goes through the
world with his eyes open to the many beauties of Nature that surround
him, and who does not content himself with simply looking, and then
passing on, but tries to find out something of the inner meaning of the
beauties he sees, and to carry away with him some of the lessons which
they were doubtless meant to teach. But Shakespeare was able to go
further than this. He had the great gift of being able to describe what
he saw in a way that few others have arrived at; he could communicate to
others the pleasure that he felt himself, not by long descriptions, but
by a few simple words, a few natural touches, and a few well-chosen
epithets, which bring the plants and flowers before us in the freshest,
and often in a most touching way.

For this reason the study of the Plant-lore of Shakespeare is a very
pleasant study, and there are other things which add to this pleasure.
One especial pleasure arises from the thoroughly English character of
his descriptions. It has often been observed that wherever the scenes of
his plays are laid, and whatever foreign characters he introduces, yet
they really are all Englishmen of the time of Elizabeth, and the scenes
are all drawn from the England of his day. This is certainly true of the
plants and flowers we meet with in the plays; they are thoroughly
English plants that (with very few exceptions) he saw in the hedgerows
and woods of Warwickshire,[2:2] or in his own or his friends' gardens.
The descriptions are thus thoroughly fresh and real; they tell of the
country and of the outdoor life he loved, and they never smell of the
study lamp. In this respect he differs largely from Milton, whose
descriptions (with very few exceptions) recall the classic and Italian
writers. He differs, too, from his contemporary Spenser, who has
certainly some very sweet descriptions of flowers, which show that he
knew and loved them, but are chiefly allusions to classical flowers,
which he names in such a way as to show that he often did not fully know
what they were, but named them because it was the right thing for a
classical poet so to do. Shakespeare never names a flower or plant
unnecessarily; they all come before us, when they do come, in the most
natural way, as if the particular flower named was the only one that
could be named on that occasion. We have nothing in his writings, for
instance, like the long list of trees described (and in the most
interesting way) in the first canto of the First Book of the "Faerie
Queene," and indeed he is curiously distinct from all his
contemporaries. Chaucer, before him, spoke much of flowers and plants,
and drew them as from the life. In the century after him Herrick may be
named as another who sung of flowers as he saw them; but the real
contemporaries of Shakespeare are, with few exceptions,[3:1] very silent
on the subject. One instance will suffice. Sir Thomas Wyatt's poems are
all professedly about the country--they abound in woods and vales,
shepherds and swains--yet in all his poems there is scarcely a single
allusion to a flower in a really natural way. And because Shakespeare
only introduces flowers in their right place, and in the most purely
natural way, there is one necessary result. I shall show that the number
of flowers he introduces is large, but the number he omits, and which he
must have known, is also very large, and well worth noting.[4:1] He has
no notice, under any name, of such common flowers as the Snowdrop, the
Forget-me-Not, the Foxglove, the Lily of the Valley,[4:2] and many
others which he must have known, but which he has not named; because
when he names a plant or flower, he does so not to show his own
knowledge, but because the particular flower or plant is wanted in the
particular place in which he uses it.

Another point of interest in the Plant-lore of Shakespeare is the wide
range of his observation. He gathers flowers for us from all sorts of
places--from the "turfy mountains" and the "flat meads;" from the "bosky
acres" and the "unshrubbed down;" from "rose-banks" and "hedges
even-pleached." But he is equally at home in the gardens of the country
gentlemen with their "pleached bowers" and "leafy orchards." Nor is he a
stranger to gardens of a much higher pretension, for he will pick us
famous Strawberries from the garden of my Lord of Ely in Holborn; he
will pick us White and Red Roses from the garden of the Temple; and he
will pick us "Apricocks" from the royal garden of Richard the Second's
sad queen. I propose to follow Shakespeare into these many pleasant
spots, and to pick each flower and note each plant which he has thought
worthy of notice. I do not propose to make a selection of his plants,
for that would not give a proper idea of the extent of his knowledge,
but to note every tree, and plant, and flower that he has noted. And as
I pick each flower, I shall let Shakespeare first tell us all he has to
say about it; in other words, I shall quote every passage in which he
names the plant or flower; for here, again, it would not do to make a
selection from the passages, my object not being to give "floral
extracts," but to let him say all he can in his own choice words. There
is not much difficulty in this, but there is difficulty in determining
how much or how little to quote. On the one hand, it often seems cruel
to cut short a noble passage in the midst of which some favourite flower
is placed; but, on the other hand, to quote at too great a length would
extend the book beyond reasonable limits. The rule, therefore, must be
to confine the quotations within as small a space as possible, only
taking care that the space is not so small as entirely to spoil the
beauty of the description. Then, having listened to all that Shakespeare
has to say on each flower, I shall follow with illustrations (few and
short) from contemporary writers; then with any observations that may
present themselves in the identification of Shakespeare's plant with
their modern representatives, finishing each with anything in the
history or modern uses or cultivation of the plant that I think will
interest readers.

For the identification of the plants, we have an excellent and
trustworthy guide in John Gerard, who was almost an exact contemporary
of Shakespeare. Gerard's life ranged from 1545 to 1612, and
Shakespeare's from 1564 to 1616. Whether they were acquainted or not we
do not know, but it is certainly not improbable that they were; I should
think it almost certain that they must have known each other's published
works.[5:1]

My subject naturally divides itself into two parts--

     First, The actual plants and flowers named by Shakespeare;
     Second, His knowledge of gardens and gardening.

I now go at once to the first division, naming each plant in its
alphabetical order.


FOOTNOTES:

[1:1] "Was Shakespeare ever a Soldier?" by W. J. Thoms, F.S.A., 1865,
8vo.

[1:2] "Shakespeare's legal acquirements considered in a letter to J. P.
Collier," by John, Lord Campbell, 1859, 12mo. "Shakespeare a Lawyer," by
W. L. Rushton, 1858, 12mo.

[1:3] "Remarks on the Medical Knowledge of Shakespeare," by J. C.
Bucknill, 1860, 8vo.

[1:4] Eaton's "Shakespeare and the Bible," 1858, 8vo.

[1:5] "Shakespere and Typography; being an attempt to show Shakespere's
personal connection with, and technical knowledge of, the Art of
Printing," by William Blades, 1872, 8vo.

[2:1] "Was Shakespeare an Angler," by H. N. Ellacombe, 1883, 12mo.

[2:2] "The country around Stratford presents the perfection of quiet
English scenery; it is remarkable for its wealth of lovely wild flowers,
for its deep meadows on each side of the tranquil Avon, and for its
rich, sweet woodlands."--E. DOWDEN'S _Shakespeare in Literature
Primers_, 1877.

[3:1] The two chief exceptions are Ben Jonson (1574-1637) and William
Browne (1590-1645). Jonson, though born in London, and living there the
greatest part of his life, was evidently a real lover of flowers, and
frequently shows a practical knowledge of them. Browne was also a keen
observer of nature, and I have made several quotations from his
"Britannia's Pastorals."

[4:1] Perhaps the most noteworthy plant omitted is Tobacco--Shakespeare
must have been well acquainted with it, not only as every one in his day
knew of it, but as a friend and companion of Ben Jonson, he must often
have been in the company of smokers. Ben Jonson has frequent allusions
to it, and almost all the sixteenth-century writers have something to
say about it; but Shakespeare never names the herb, or alludes to it in
any way whatever.

[4:2] It seems probable that the Lily of the Valley was not recognized
as a British plant in Shakespeare's time, and was very little grown even
in gardens. Turner says, "Ephemerū is called in duch meyblumle, in
french Muguet. It groweth plentuously in Germany, but not in England
that ever I coulde see, savinge in my Lordes gardine at Syon. The
Poticaries in Germany do name it Lilium Cōvallium, it may be called
in englishe May Lilies."--_Names of Herbes_, 1548. Coghan in 1596 says
much the same: "I say nothing of them because they are not usuall in
gardens."--_Haven of Health._

[5:1] I may mention the following works as more or less illustrating the
Plant-lore of Shakespeare:--

     1.--"Shakspere's Garden," by Sidney Beisly, 1864. I have to
     thank this author for information on a few points, but on the
     whole it is not a satisfactory account of the plants of
     Shakespeare, and I have not found it of much use.

     2.--"Flowers from Stratford-on-Avon," and

     3.--"Girard's Flowers of Shakespeare and of Milton," 2 vols.
     These two works are pretty drawing-room books, and do not
     profess to be more.

     4.--"Natural History of Shakespeare, being Selections of
     Flowers, Fruits, and Animals," arranged by Bessie Mayou, 1877.
     This gives the greater number of the passages in which flowers
     are named, without any note or comment.

     5.--"Shakespeare's Bouquet--the Flowers and Plants of
     Shakespeare," Paisley, 1872. This is only a small pamphlet.

     6.--"The Rural Life of Shakespeare, as illustrated by his
     Works," by J. C. Roach Smith, 8vo, London, 1870. A pleasant
     but short pamphlet.

     7.--"A Brief Guide to the Gardens of Shakespeare," 1863, 12mo,
     12 pages, and

     8.--"Shakespeare's Home and Rural Life," by James Walter, with
     Illustrations. 1874, folio. These two works are rather
     topographical guides than accounts of the flowers of
     Shakespeare.

     9.--"The Flowers of Shakespeare," depicted by Viola, coloured
     plates, 4to, 1882. A drawing-room book of little merit.

     10.--"The Shakspere Flora," by Leo H. Grindon, 12mo, 1883. A
     collection of very pleasant essays on the poetry of
     Shakespeare, and his knowledge of flowers.




PART I.

_THE PLANT-LORE OF SHAKESPEARE._


     _Perdita._ Here's flowers for you.

                                  _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4.


     _Duke._ Away before me to sweet beds of flowers.

                                   _Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 1.




ACONITUM.


     _K. Henry._

     The united vessel of their blood,
     Mingled with venom of suggestion--
     As, force perforce, the age will pour it in--
     Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
     As Aconitum or rash gunpowder.

                         _2nd King Henry IV_, act iv, sc. 4 (44).

There is another place in which it is probable that Shakespeare alludes
to the Aconite; he does not name it, but he compares the effects of the
poison to gunpowder, as in the passage above.

     _Romeo._

                                   Let me have
     A dram of poison, such soon-speeding gear
     As will disperse itself through all the veins,
     That the life-weary taker may fall dead
     And that the trunk may be discharged of breath
     As violently as hasty powder fired
     Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act v, sc. 1 (59).

The plant here named as being as powerful in its action as gunpowder is
the Aconitum Napellus (the Wolf's bane or Monk's-hood). It is a member
of a large family, all of which are more or less poisonous, and the
common Monk's-hood as much so as any. Two species are found in America,
but, for the most part, the family is confined to the northern portion
of the Eastern Hemisphere, ranging from the Himalaya through Europe to
Great Britain. It is now found wild in a few parts of England, but it is
certainly not indigenous; it was, however, very early introduced into
England, being found in all the English vocabularies of plants from the
tenth century downwards, and frequently mentioned in the early English
medical recipes.

Its names are all interesting. In the Anglo-Saxon Vocabularies it is
called _thung_, which, however, seems to have been a general name for
any very poisonous plant;[10:1] it was then called Aconite, as the
English form of its Greek and Latin name, but this name is now seldom
used, being, by a curious perversion, solely given to the pretty little
early-flowering Winter Aconite (_Eranthis hyemalis_), which is not a
true Aconite, though closely allied; it then got the name of
Wolf's-bane, as the direct translation of the Greek _lycoctonum_, a name
which it had from the idea that arrows tipped with the juice, or baits
anointed with it, would kill wolves and other vermin; and, lastly, it
got the expressive names of Monk's-hood[10:2] and the Helmet-flower,
from the curious shape of the upper sepal overtopping the rest of the
flower.

As to its poisonous qualities, all authors agree that every species of
the family is very poisonous, the A. ferox of the Himalaya being
probably the most so. Every part of the plant, from the root to the
pollen dust, seems to be equally powerful, and it has the special bad
quality of being, to inexperienced eyes, so like some harmless plant,
that the poison has been often taken by mistake with deadly results.
This charge against the plant is of long standing, dating certainly from
the time of Virgil--_miseros fallunt aconita legentes_--and, no doubt,
from much before his time. As it was a common belief that poisons were
antidotes against other poisons, the Aconite was supposed to be an
antidote against the most deadly one--

                "I have heard that Aconite
     Being timely taken hath a healing might
     Against the scorpion's stroke."

                           BEN JONSON, _Sejanus_, act iii, sc. 3.

Yet, in spite of its poisonous qualities, the plant has always held, and
deservedly, a place among the ornamental plants of our gardens; its
stately habit and its handsome leaves and flowers make it a favourite.
Nearly all the species are worth growing, the best, perhaps, being A.
Napellus, both white and blue, A. paniculatum, A. japonicum, and A.
autumnale. All the species grow well in shade and under trees. In
Shakespeare's time Gerard grew in his London garden four species--A.
lycoctonum, A. variegatum, A. Napellus, and A. Pyrenaicum.


FOOTNOTES:

[10:1] "_Aconita_, thung." Ælfric's "Vocabulary," 10th century.

"_Aconitum_, thung." Anglo-Saxon Vocabulary, 11th century.

"_Aconita_, thung." "Durham Glossary of the names of Worts," 11th
century.

The ancient Vocabularies and Glossaries, to which I shall frequently
refer, are printed in

I. Wright's "Volume of Vocabularies," 1857.

II. "Leechdoms, Wortcunning, and Starcraft of Early England," by Rev. O.
Cockayne, published under the direction of the Master of the Rolls, 3
vols., 1866.

III. "Promptorium Parvulorum," edited by Albert Way, and published by
the Camden Society, 3 vols., 1843-65.

IV. "Catholicon Anglicum," edited by S. J. Hertage, and published by the
Early English Text Society, 1881, and by the Camden Society, 1882.

[10:2] This was certainly its name in Shakespeare's time--

     "And with the Flower Monk's-hood makes a coole."

                      CUTWODE, _Caltha Poetarum_, 1599 (st. 117).




ACORN, _see_ OAK.




ALMOND.


     _Thersites._

     The parrot will not do more for an Almond.

                      _Troilus and Cressida_, act v, sc. 2 (193).

"An Almond for a parrot" seems to have been a proverb for the greatest
temptation that could be put before a man. The Almond tree is a native
of Asia and North Africa, but it was very early introduced into England,
probably by the Romans. It occurs in the Anglo-Saxon lists of plants,
and in the "Durham Glossary" (11th century) it has the name of the
"Easterne nutte-beam." The tree was always a favourite both for the
beauty of its flowers, which come very early in the year, and for its
Biblical associations, so that in Shakespeare's time the trees were "in
our London gardens and orchards in great plenty" (Gerard). Before
Shakespeare's time, Spenser had sung its praises thus--

     "Like to an Almond tree ymounted hye
      On top of greene Selinis all alone
      With blossoms brave bedecked daintily;
      Whose tender locks do tremble every one
      At everie little breath that under Heaven is blowne."

                                               _F. Q._, i. 7, 32.

The older English name seems to have been Almande--

     "And Almandres gret plente,"

                                           _Romaunt of the Rose_;


     "Noyz de l'almande, nux Phyllidis,"

                                                ALEXANDER NECKAM;

and both this old name and its more modern form of Almond came to us
through the French _amande_ (Provençal, _amondala_), from the Greek and
Latin _amygdalus_. What this word meant is not very clear, but the
native Hebrew name of the plant (_shaked_) is most expressive. The word
signifies "awakening," and so is a most fitting name for a tree whose
beautiful flowers, appearing in Palestine in January, show the wakening
up of Creation. The fruit also has always been a special favourite, and
though it is strongly imbued with prussic acid, it is considered a
wholesome fruit. By the old writers many wonderful virtues were
attributed to the fruit, but I am afraid it was chiefly valued for its
supposed virtue, that "five or six being taken fasting do keepe a man
from being drunke" (Gerard).[12:1] This popular error is not yet
extinct.

As an ornamental tree the Almond should be in every shrubbery, and, as
in Gerard's time, it may still be planted in town gardens with
advantage. There are several varieties of the common Almond, differing
slightly in the colour and size of the flowers; and there is one little
shrub (Amygdalus nana) of the family that is very pretty in the front
row of a shrubbery. All the species are deciduous.


FOOTNOTES:

[12:1] "Plutarch mentions a great drinker of wine who, by the use of
bitter almonds, used to escape being intoxicated."--_Flora Domestica_,
p. 6.




ALOES.


     And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears,
     The Aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears.

                                   _A Lover's Complaint_, st. 39.

Aloes have the peculiarity that they are the emblems of the most intense
bitterness and of the richest and most costly fragrance. In the Bible
Aloes are mentioned five times, and always with reference to their
excellence and costliness.[13:1] Juvenal speaks of it only as a bitter--

            "Animo corrupta superbo
     Plus Aloes quam mellis habet" (vi. 180).

Pliny describes it very minutely, and says, "Strong it is to smell unto,
and bitter to taste" (xxvii. 4, Holland's translation). Our old English
writers spoke of it under both aspects. It occurs in several recipes of
the Anglo-Saxon Leechdoms, as a strong and bitter purgative. Chaucer
notices its bitterness only--

     "The woful teres that they leten falle
      As bittre weren, out of teres kynde,
      For peyne, as is ligne Aloes or galle."

                                 _Troilus and Cryseide_, st. 159.

But the author of the "Remedie of Love," formerly attributed to Chaucer,
says--

     "My chambre is strowed with myrrhe and incense
      With sote savouring Aloes and sinnamone,
      Breathing an aromaticke redolence."

Shakespeare only mentions the bitter quality.

The two qualities are derived from two very different plants. The
fragrant ointment is the product of an Indian shrub, Aquilaria
agallochum; and the bitter purgative is from the true Aloes, A.
Socotrina, A. vulgaris, and others. These plants were well known in
Shakespeare's time, and were grown in England. Turner and Gerard
describe them as the Sea Houseleek; and Gerard tells us that they were
grown as vegetable curiosities, for "the herbe is alwaies greene, and
likewise sendeth forth branches, though it remaine out of the earth,
especially if the root be covered with lome, and now and then watered;
for so being hanged on the seelings and upper posts of dining-roomes, it
will not onely continue a long time greene, but it also groweth and
bringeth forth new leaves."[14:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[13:1] Numbers xxiv. 6; Psalms xlv. 8; Proverbs vii. 17; Canticles iv.
14; John xix. 39.

[14:1] In the emblems of Camerarius (No. 92) is a picture of a room with
an Aloe suspended.




ANEMONE.


     By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
     Was melted like a vapour from her sight,
     And in his blood that on the ground lay spill'd,
     A purple flower sprung up chequer'd with white.
     Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
     Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood.

                                       _Venus and Adonis_ (1165).

Shakespeare does not actually name the Anemone, and I place this passage
under that name with some doubt, but I do not know any other flower to
which he could be referring.

The original legend of the Anemone as given by Bion was that it sprung
from the tears of Venus, while the Rose sprung from Adonis' blood--

     ἆιμα ροδον τίκτει. τά δέ δάκρυα τάν ἀνεμώναν.

                                             _Bion Idyll_, i, 66.


     "Wide as her lover's torrent blood appears
      So copious flowed the fountain of her tears;
      The Rose starts blushing from the sanguine dyes,
      And from her tears Anemones arise."

                                  POLWHELE'S _Translation_, 1786.

But this legend was not followed by the other classical writers, who
made the Anemone to be the flower of Adonis. Theocritus compares the
Dog-rose (so called also in his day, κυνοσβατος) and the Anemone with
the Rose, and the Scholia comment on the passage thus--"Anemone, a
scentless flower, which they report to have sprung from the blood of
Adonis; and again Nicander says that the Anemone sprung from the blood
of Adonis."

The storehouse of our ancestors' pagan mythology was in Ovid, and his
well-known lines are--

             "Cum flos e sanguine concolor ortus
     Qualem, quæ; lento celant sub cortice granum
     Punica ferre solent; brevis est tamen usus in illis,
     Namque male hærentem, et nimiâ brevitate caducum
     Excutiunt idem qui præstant nomina, venti,"--

Thus translated by Golding in 1567, from whom it is very probable that
Shakespeare obtained his information--

     "Of all one colour with the bloud, a flower she there did find,
      Even like the flower of that same tree, whose fruit in tender rind
      Have pleasant graines enclosede--howbeit the use of them is short,
      For why, the leaves do hang so loose through lightnesse in such
          sort,
      As that the windes that all things pierce[15:1] with everie little
          blast
      Do shake them off and shed them so as long they cannot last."[15:2]

I feel sure that Shakespeare had some particular flower in view. Spenser
only speaks of it as a flower, and gives no description--

     "In which with cunning hand was pourtrahed
      The love of Venus and her Paramoure,
      The fayre Adonis, turned to a flowre."

                                             _F. Q._, iii, 1, 34.


     "When she saw no help might him restore
      Him to a dainty flowre she did transmew."

                                             _F. Q._, iii, 1, 38.

Ben Jonson similarly speaks of it as "Adonis' flower" (Pan's
Anniversary), but with Shakespeare it is different; he describes the
flower minutely, and as if it were a well-known flower, "purple
chequered with white," and considering that in his day Anemone was
supposed to be Adonis' flower (as it was described in 1647 by Alexander
Ross in his "Mystagogus Poeticus," who says that Adonis "was by Venus
turned into a red flower called Anemone"), and as I wish, if possible,
to link the description to some special flower, I conclude that the
evidence is in favour of the Anemone. Gerard's Anemone was certainly the
same as ours, and the "purple" colour is no objection, for "purple" in
Shakespeare's time had a very wide signification, meaning almost any
bright colour, just as _purpureus_ had in Latin,[16:1] which had so wide
a range that it was used on the one hand as the epithet of the blood and
the poppy, and on the other as the epithet of the swan ("purpureis ales
oloribus," Horace) and of a woman's white arms ("brachia purpurea
candidiora nive," Albinovanus). Nor was "chequered" confined to square
divisions, as it usually is now, but included spots of any size or
shape.

We have transferred the Greek name of Anemone to the English language,
and we have further kept the Greek idea in the English form of
"wind-flower." The name is explained by Pliny: "The flower hath the
propertie to open but when the wind doth blow, wherefore it took the
name Anemone in Greeke" ("Nat. Hist." xxi. 11, Holland's translation).
This, however, is not the character of the Anemone as grown in English
gardens; and so it is probable that the name has been transferred to a
different plant than the classical one, and I think no suggestion more
probable than Dr. Prior's that the classical Anemone was the Cistus, a
shrub that is very abundant in the South of Europe; that certainly opens
its flowers at other times than when the wind blows, and so will not
well answer to Pliny's description, but of which the flowers are
bright-coloured and most fugacious, and so will answer to Ovid's
description. This fugacious character of the Anemone is perpetuated in
Sir William Jones' lines ("Poet. Works," i, 254, ed. 1810)--

     "Youth, like a thin Anemone, displays
     His silken leaf, and in a morn decays;"

but the lines, though classical, are not true of the Anemone, though
they would well apply to the Cistus.[17:1]

Our English Anemones belong to a large family inhabiting cold and
temperate regions, and numbering seventy species, of which three are
British.[17:2] These are A. Nemorosa, the common wood Anemone, the
brightest spring ornament of our woods; A. Apennina, abundant in the
South of Europe, and a doubtful British plant; and A. pulsatilla, the
Passe, or Pasque flower, _i.e._, the flower of Easter, one of the most
beautiful of our British flowers, but only to be found on the chalk
formation.


FOOTNOTES:

[15:1] Golding evidently adopted the reading "qui perflant omnia,"
instead of the reading now generally received, "qui præstant nomina."

[15:2] Gerard thought that Ovid's Anemone was the Venice
Mallow--_Hibiscus trionum_--a handsome annual from the South of Europe.

[16:1] In the "Nineteenth Century" for October, 1877, is an interesting
article by Mr. Gladstone on the "colour-sense" in Homer, proving that
Homer, and all nations in the earlier stages of their existence, have a
very limited perception of colour, and a very limited and loosely
applied nomenclature of colours. The same remark would certainly apply
to the early English writers, not excluding Shakespeare.

[17:1] Mr. Leo Grindon also identifies the classical Anemone with the
Cistus. See a good account of it in "Gardener's Chronicle," June 3,
1876.

[17:2] The small yellow A. ranunculoides has been sometimes included
among the British Anemones, but is now excluded. It is a rare plant, and
an alien.




APPLE.


     (1) _Sebastian._

     I think he will carry this island home and give it his son for
       an Apple.

                                   _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (91).


     (2) _Malvolio._

     Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a
       Squash is before 'tis a Peascod, or a Codling when 'tis
       almost an Apple.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 5 (165).


     (3) _Antonio._

     An Apple, cleft in two, is not more twin
     Than these two creatures.

                                     _Ibid._, act 5, sc. 1 (230).


     (4) _Antonio._

     An evil soul producing holy witness
     Is like a villain with a smiling cheek,
     A goodly Apple rotten at the heart.

                        _Merchant of Venice_, act i, sc. 3 (100).


     (5) _Tranio._

     He in countenance somewhat doth resemble you.

     _Biondello._

     As much as an Apple doth an oyster, and all one.

                      _Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc. 2 (100).


     (6) _Orleans._

     Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian
       bear, and have their heads crushed like rotten Apples.

                                 _Henry V_, act iii, sc. 7 (153).


     (7) _Hortensio._

     Faith, as you say, there's small choice in rotten Apples.

                       _Taming of the Shrew_, act i, sc. 1 (138).


     (8) _Porter._

     These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse, and fight
       for bitten Apples.

                                 _Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 4 (63).


     (9) _Song of Winter._

     When roasted Crabs hiss in the bowl,
     Then nightly sings the staring owl.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (935).


     (10) _Puck._

     And sometime lurk I in a gossip's bowl
     In very likeness of a roasted Crab;
     And when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
     And on her wither'd dewlap pour the ale.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (47).


     (11) _Fool._

     Shal't see thy other daughter will use thee kindly; for though
       she's as like this as a Crab's like an Apple, yet I can tell
       what I can tell.

     _Lear._

     Why, what can'st thou tell, my boy?

     _Fool._

     She will taste as like this as a Crab does to a Crab.

                                  _King Lear_, act i, sc. 5 (14).


     (12) _Caliban._

     I prithee, let me bring thee where Crabs grow.

                                  _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 2 (171).


     (13) _Petruchio._

     Nay, come, Kate, come, you must not look so sour.

     _Katherine._

     It is my fashion, when I see a Crab.

     _Petruchio._

     Why, here's no Crab, and therefore look not sour.

                      _Taming of the Shrew_, act ii, sc. 1 (229).


     (14) _Menonius._

     We have some old Crab-trees here at home that will not
     Be grafted to your relish.

                               _Coriolanus_, act ii, sc. 1 (205).


     (15) _Suffolk._

                     Noble stock
     Was graft with Crab-tree slip.

                            _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (213).


     (16) _Porter._

     Fetch me a dozen Crab-tree staves, and strong ones.

                                  _Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 4 (7).


     (17) _Falstaff._

     My skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am
       withered like an old Apple-john.

                              _1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 3 (3).


     (18) _1st Drawer._

     What the devil hast thou brought there? Apple-johns? Thou
       knowest Sir John cannot endure an Apple-john.

     _2nd Drawer._

     Mass! thou sayest true; the prince once set a dish of
       Apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more
       Sir Johns; and putting off his hat, said, I will now take my
       leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.

                               _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (1).


     (19) _Shallow._

     Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will
       eat a last year's Pippin of my own graffing, with a dish of
       Caraways, and so forth.

            *       *       *       *       *

     _Davey._

     There's a dish of Leather-coats for you.

                                   _Ibid._, act v, sc. 3 (1, 44).


     (20) _Evans._

     I pray you be gone; I will make an end of my dinner. There's
       Pippins and cheese to come.

                     _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act i, sc. 2 (11).


     (21) _Holofernes._

     The deer was, as you know, _sanguis_, in blood; ripe as the
       Pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of
       _cœlo_--the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth
       like a Crab on the face of _terra_--the soil, the land, the
       earth.

                       _Love's Labour's Lost_, act iv, sc. 2 (3).


     (22) _Mercutio._

     Thy wit is a very Bitter Sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce.

     _Romeo._

     And is it not well served in to a sweet goose?

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 4 (83).


     (23) _Petruchio._

     What's this? A sleeve? 'Tis like a demi-cannon.
     What! up and down, carved like an Apple-tart?

                       _Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc. 3 (88).


     (24)

     How like Eve's Apple doth thy beauty grow,
     If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show!

                                                  _Sonnet_ xciii.

Here Shakespeare names the Apple, the Crab, the Pippin, the Pomewater,
the Apple-john, the Codling, the Caraway, the Leathercoat, and the
Bitter-Sweeting. Of the Apple generally I need say nothing, except to
notice that the name was not originally confined to the fruit now so
called, but was a generic name applied to any fruit, as we still speak
of the Love-apple, the Pine-apple,[20:1] &c. The Anglo-Saxon name for
the Blackberry was the Bramble-apple; and Sir John Mandeville, in
describing the Cedars of Lebanon, says: "And upon the hills growen Trees
of Cedre, that ben fulle hye, and they beren longe Apples, and als grete
as a man's heved"[20:2] (cap. ix.). In the English Bible it is the same.
The Apple is mentioned in a few places, but it is almost certain that it
never means the Pyrus malus, but is either the Orange, Citron, or
Quince, or is a general name for a tree fruit. So that when Shakespeare
(24) and the other old writers speak of Eve's Apple, they do not
necessarily assert that the fruit of the temptation was our Apple, but
simply that it was some fruit that grew in Eden. The Apple (_pomum_) has
left its mark in the language in the word "pomatum," which, originally
an ointment made of Apples, is now an ointment in which Apples have no
part.

The Crab was held in far more esteem in the sixteenth century than it is
with us. The roasted fruit served with hot ale (9 and 10) was a
favourite Christmas dish, and even without ale the roasted Crab was a
favourite, and this not for want of better fruit, for Gerard tells us
that in his time "the stocke or kindred of Apples was infinite," but
because they were considered pleasant food.[20:3] Another curious use of
Crabs is told in the description of Crab-wake, or "Crabbing the Parson,"
at Halesowen, Salop, on St. Kenelm's Day (July 17), in Brand's "Popular
Antiquities" (vol. i. p. 342, Bohn's edition). Nor may we now despise
the Crab tree, though we do not eat its fruit. Among our native trees
there is none more beautiful than the Crab tree, both in flower and in
fruit. An old Crab tree in full flower is a sight that will delight any
artist, nor is it altogether useless; its wood is very hard and very
lasting, and from its fruit verjuice is made, not, however, much in
England, as I believe nearly all the verjuice now used is made in
France.

The Pippin, from being originally a general name for any Apple raised
from pips and not from grafts, is now, and probably was in Shakespeare's
time, confined to the bright-coloured, long-keeping Apples (Justice
Shallow's was "last year's Pippin"), of which the Golden Pippin ("the
Pippin burnished o'er with gold," Phillips) is the type.

The Bitter-Sweeting (22) was an old and apparently a favourite Apple. It
is frequently mentioned in the old writers, as by Gower, "Conf. Aman."
viii. 174--

     "For all such time of love is lore,
      And like unto the Bitter-swete,[21:1]
      For though it think a man fyrst swete
      He shall well felen at laste
          That it is sower."

By Chaucer--

     "Yet of that art they conne nought wexe sadde,
      For unto hem it is a Bitter Swete."

                              _Prologue of the Chanoune's Yeman._

And by Ben Jonson--

     "That love's a Bitter-sweet I ne'er conceive
      Till the sour minute comes of taking leave,
      And then I taste it."[21:2]

                                                    _Underwoods._

Parkinson names it in his list of Apples, but soon dismisses it--"Twenty
sorts of Sweetings, and none good." The name is now given to an Apple of
no great value as a table fruit, but good as a cider apple, and for use
in silk dyeing.

It is not easy to identify the Pomewater (21). It was highly esteemed
both by Shakespeare ("it hangeth like a jewel in the ear of _cœlo_")
and many other writers. In Gerard's figure it looks like a Codling, and
its Latin name is _Malus carbonaria_, which probably refers to its good
qualities as a roasting Apple. The name Pomewater (or Water Apple) makes
us expect a juicy but not a rich Apple, and with this agrees Parkinson's
description: "The Pomewater is an excellent, good, and great whitish
Apple, full of sap or moisture, somewhat pleasant sharp, but a little
bitter withall; it will not last long, the winter frosts soon causing it
to rot and perish." It must have been very like the modern Lord Suffield
Apple, and though Parkinson says it will not last long, yet it is
mentioned as lasting till the New Year in a tract entitled "Vox
Graculi," 1623. Speaking of New Year's Day, the author says: "This day
shall be given many more gifts than shall be asked for; and apples,
egges, and oranges shall be lifted to a lofty rate; when a Pomewater
bestuck with a few rotten cloves shall be worth more than the honesty of
a hypocrite" (quoted by Brand, vol. i. 17, Bohn's edition).

We have no such difficulty with the "dish of Apple-johns" (17 and 18).
Hakluyt recommends "the Apple John that dureth two years to make show of
our fruit" to be carried by voyagers.[22:1] "The Deusan (_deux ans_) or
Apple-john," says Parkinson, "is a delicate fine fruit, well rellished
when it beginneth to be fit to be eaten, and endureth good longer than
any other Apple." With this description there is no difficulty in
identifying the Apple-john with an Apple that goes under many names, and
is figured by Maund as the Easter Pippin. When first picked it is of a
deep green colour, and very hard. In this state it remains all the
winter, and in April or May it becomes yellow and highly perfumed, and
remains good either for cooking or dessert for many months.

The Codling (2) is not the Apple now so called, but is the general name
of a young unripe Apple.

The "Leathercoats" (19) are the Brown Russets; and though the "dish of
Caraways" in the same passage may refer to the Caraway or Caraway-russet
Apple, an excellent little apple, that seems to be a variety of the
Nonpareil, and has long been cultivated in England, yet it is almost
certain that it means a dish of Caraway Seeds. (_See_ CARRAWAYS.)


FOOTNOTES:

[20:1] See PINE, p. 208.

[20:2] "A peche appulle." "The appulys of a peche tre."--_Porkington
MSS. in Early English Miscellany._ (Published by Warton Club.)

[20:3] "As for Wildings and Crabs . . . their tast is well enough liked,
and they carrie with them a quicke and a sharp smell; howbeit this gift
they have for their harsh sournesse, that they have many a foule word
and shrewd curse given them."--PHILEMON HOLLAND'S _Pliny_, book xv. c.
14.

[21:1] "Amor et melle et felle est fecundissimus."--PLAUTUS.

[21:2] Juliet describes leave-taking in almost the same words--"Parting
is such _sweet sorrow_."

[22:1] "Voyages," 1580, p. 466.




APRICOTS.


     (1) _Titania._

     Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
     Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;
     Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries,
     With purple Grapes, green Figs, and Mulberries.

                 _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (167).


     (2) _Gardener._

     Go, bind thou up yon dangling Apricocks,
     Which, like unruly children, make their sire
     Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.

                               _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 4 (29).


     (3) _Palamon._

                       Would I were,
     For all the fortunes of my life hereafter,
     Yon little tree, yon blooming Apricocke;
     How I would spread and fling my wanton armes
     In at her window! I would bring her fruit
     Fit for the gods to feed on.

                        _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act ii, sc. 2 (291).

Shakespeare's spelling of the word "Apricocks" takes us at once to its
derivation. It is derived undoubtedly from the Latin _præcox or
præcoquus_, under which name it is referred to by Pliny and Martial;
but, before it became the English Apricot it was much changed by
Italians, Spaniards, French, and Arabians. The history of the name is
very curious and interesting, but too long to give fully here; a very
good account of it may be found in Miller and in "Notes and Queries,"
vol. ii. p. 420 (1850). It will be sufficient to say here that it
acquired its name of "the precocious tree," because it flowered and
fruited earlier than the Peach, as explained in Lyte's "Herbal," 1578:
"There be two kinds of Peaches, whereof the one kinde is late ripe,
. . . the other kinds are soner ripe, wherefore they be called Abrecox
or Aprecox." Of its introduction into England we have no very certain
account. It was certainly grown in England before Turner's time (1548),
though he says, "We have very few of these trees as yet;"[23:1] but the
only account of its introduction is by Hakluyt, who states that it was
brought from Italy by one Wolf, gardener to King Henry the Eighth. If
that be its true history, Shakespeare was in error in putting it into
the garden of the queen of Richard the Second, nearly a hundred years
before its introduction.[24:1]

In Shakespeare's time the Apricot seems to have been grown as a
standard; I gather this from the description in Nos. 2 (see the entire
passage s.v. "Pruning" in Part II.) and 3, and from the following in
Browne's "Britannia's Pastorals"--

     "Or if from where he is[24:2] he do espy
      Some Apricot upon a bough thereby
      Which overhangs the tree on which he stands,
      Climbs up, and strives to take them with his hands."

                                                 Book ii. Song 4.


FOOTNOTES:

[23:1] "Names of Herbes," s.v. Malus Armeniaca.

[24:1] The Apricot has usually been supposed to have come from Armenia,
but there is now little doubt that its original country is the Himalaya
(M. Lavaillee).

[24:2] On a Cherry tree in an orchard.




ASH.


     _Aufidius._

                            Let me twine
     Mine arms about that body, where against
     My grained Ash an hundred times hath broke,
     And starr'd the moon with splinters.

                               _Coriolanus_, act iv, sc. 5 (112).

Warwickshire is more celebrated for its Oaks and Elms than for its Ash
trees. Yet considering how common a tree the Ash is, and in what high
estimation it was held by our ancestors, it is strange that it is only
mentioned in this one passage. Spenser spoke of it as "the Ash for
nothing ill;" it was "the husbandman's tree," from which he got the wood
for his agricultural implements; and there was connected with it a great
amount of mystic folk-lore, which was carried to its extreme limit in
the Yggdrasil, or legendary Ash of Scandinavia, which was almost looked
upon as the parent of Creation: a full account of this may be found in
Mallet's "Northern Antiquities" and other works on Scandinavia. It is an
English native tree,[24:3] and it adds much to the beauty of any
English landscape in which it is allowed to grow. It gives its name to
many places, especially in the South, as Ashdown, Ashstead, Ashford,
&c.; but to see it in its full beauty it must be seen in our northern
counties, though the finest in England is said to be at Woburn.

     "The Oak, the Ash, and the Ivy tree,
      O, they flourished best at hame, in the north countrie."

                                                    _Old Ballad._

In the dales of Yorkshire it is especially beautiful, and any one who
sees the fine old trees in Wharfdale and Wensleydale will confess that,
though it may not have the rich luxuriance of the Oaks and Elms of the
southern and midland counties, yet it has a grace and beauty that are
all its own, so that we scarcely wonder that Gilpin called it "the Venus
of the woods."


FOOTNOTES:

[24:3] It is called in the "Promptorium Parvulorum" "Esche," and the
seed vessels "Esche key."




ASPEN.


     (1) _Marcus._

     O, had the monster seen those lily hands
     Tremble, like Aspen leaves, upon a lute.

                           _Titus Andronicus_, act 2, sc. 4 (44).


     (2) _Hostess._

     Feel, masters, how I shake. . . . . Yea, in very truth do I an
       'twere an Aspen leaf.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (114).

The Aspen or Aspe[25:1] (_Populus tremula_) is one of our three native
Poplars, and has ever been the emblem of enforced restlessness, on
account of which it had in Anglo-Saxon times the expressive name of
quick-beam. How this perpetual motion in the "light quivering Aspen" is
produced has not been quite satisfactorily explained; and the mediæval
legend that it supplied the wood of the Cross, and has never since
ceased to tremble, is still told as a sufficient reason both in Scotland
and England.

                       "Oh! a cause more deep,
     More solemn far the rustic doth assign,
     To the strange restlessness of those wan leaves;
     The cross, he deems, the blessed cross, whereon
     The meek Redeemer bowed His head to death,
     Was formed of Aspen wood; and since that hour
     Through all its race the pale tree hath sent down
     A thrilling consciousness, a secret awe,
     Making them tremulous, when not a breeze
     Disturbs the airy thistle-down, or shakes
     The light lines of the shining gossamer."

                                                     MRS. HEMANS.

The Aspen has an interesting botanical history, as being undoubtedly,
like the Scotch fir, one of the primæval trees of Europe; while its grey
bark and leaves and its pleasant rustling sound make the tree acceptable
in our hedgerows, but otherwise it is not a tree of much use. In
Spenser's time it was considered "good for staves;" and before his time
the tree must have been more valued than it is now, for in the reign of
Henry V. an Act of Parliament was passed (4 Henry V. c. 3) to prevent
the consumption of Aspe, otherwise than for the making of arrows, with a
penalty of an Hundred Shillings if used for making pattens or clogs.
This Act remained in force till the reign of James I., when it was
repealed. In our own time the wood is valued for internal panelling of
rooms, and is used in the manufacture of gunpowder.

By the older writers the Aspen was the favourite simile for female
loquacity. The rude libel is given at full length in "The Schoole-house
of Women" (511-545), concluding thus--

     "The Aspin lefe hanging where it be,
      With little winde or none it shaketh;
      A woman's tung in like wise taketh
      Little ease and little rest;
      For if it should the hart would brest."

             HAZLITT'S _Popular English Poetry_, vol. iv, p. 126.

And to the same effect Gerard concludes his account of the tree thus:
"In English Aspe and Aspen tree, and may also be called Tremble, after
the French name, considering it is the matter whereof women's tongues
were made (as the poets and some others report), which seldom cease
wagging."


FOOTNOTES:

[25:1] "Espe" in "Promptorium Parvulorum." "Aspen" is the case-ending of
"Aspe."




BACHELOR'S BUTTON.


     _Hostess._

     What say you to young Master Fenton? he capers, he dances, he
       has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he
       smells April and May; he will carry't, he will carry't; 'tis
       in his Buttons; he will carry't.

                              _Merry Wives_, act iii, sc. 2 (67).

"Though the Bachelor's Button is not exactly named by Shakespeare, it is
believed to be alluded to in this passage; and the supposed allusion is
to a rustic divination by means of the flowers, carried in the pocket by
men and under the apron by women, as it was supposed to retain or lose
its freshness according to the good or bad success of the bearer's
amatory prospects."[27:1]

The true Bachelor's Button of the present day is the double Ranunculus
acris, but the name is applied very loosely to almost any small double
globular flowers. In Shakespeare's time it was probably applied still
more loosely to any flowers in bud (according to the derivation from the
French _bouton_). Button is frequently so applied by the old writers--

     "The more desire had I to goo
      Unto the roser where that grewe
      The freshe Bothum so bright of hewe.

            *       *       *       *       *

      But o thing lyked me right welle;
      I was so nygh, I myght fele
      Of the Bothom the swote odour
      And also see the fresshe colour;
      And that right gretly liked me."

                                           _Romaunt of the Rose._

And by Shakespeare--

     The canker galls the infants of the Spring
     Too oft before their Buttons be disclosed.

                                     _Hamlet_, act i, sc. 3 (54).


FOOTNOTES:

[27:1] Mr. J. Fitchett Marsh, of Hardwicke House, Chepstow, in "The
Garden." I have to thank Mr. Marsh for much information kindly given
both in "The Garden" and by letter.




BALM, BALSAM, OR BALSAMUM.


     (1) _K. Richard._

     Not all the water in the rough rude sea
     Can wash the Balm from an anointed king.

                               _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 2 (54).


     (2) _K. Richard._

     With mine own tears I wash away my Balm.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (207).


     (3) _K. Henry._

     'Tis not the Balm, the sceptre, and the ball.

                                  _Henry V_, act iv, sc. 1 (277).


     (4) _K. Henry._

     Thy place is fill'd, thy sceptre wrung from thee,
     Thy Balm wash'd off, wherewith thou wast anointed.

                             _3rd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 1 (16).


     (5) _K. Henry._

     My pity hath been Balm to heal their wounds.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 8 (41).


     (6) _Lady Anne._

     I pour the helpless Balm of my poor eyes.

                                _Richard III_, act i, sc. 2 (13).


     (7) _Troilus._

     But, saying thus, instead of oil and Balm,
     Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
     The knife that made it.

                       _Troilus and Cressida_, act i, sc. 1 (61).


     (8) _1st Senator._

     We sent to thee, to give thy rages Balm.

                            _Timon of Athens_, act v, sc. 4 (16).


     (9) _France._

                 Balm of your age,
     Most best, most dearest.

                                 _King Lear_, act i, sc. 1 (218).


     (10) _K. Henry._

     Let all the tears that should bedew my hearse
     Be drops of Balm to sanctify thy head.

                             _2nd Henry IV_, act iv, sc. 5 (114).


     (11) _Mowbray._

     I am disgraced, impeach'd, and baffled here:
     Pierced to the soul with slander's venom'd spear;
     The which no Balm can cure, but his heart-blood
     Which breathed this poison.

                                _Richard II_, act i, sc. 1 (170).


     (12) _Dromio of Syracuse._

                       Our fraughtage, Sir,
     I have conveyed aboard, and I have bought
     The oil, the Balsamum, and aqua vitæ.

                         _Comedy of Errors_, act iv, sc. 1 (187).


     (13) _Alcibiades._

     Is this the Balsam that the usuring Senate
     Pours into captains' wounds?

                         _Timon of Athens_, act iii, sc. 5 (110).


     (14) _Macbeth._

     Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleave of care,
     The death of each day's life, sore labour's bath,
     Balm of hurt minds, great Nature's second course,
     Chief nourisher in life's feast.

                                   _Macbeth_, act ii, sc. 2 (37).


     (15) _Quickly._

     The several chairs of order look you scour
     With juice of Balm and every precious flower.

                                _Merry Wives_, act v, sc. 5 (65).


     (16) _Cleopatra._

     As sweet as Balm, as soft as air, as gentle.

                      _Antony and Cleopatra_, act v, sc. 2 (314).


     (17)

     And trembling in her passion, calls it Balm,
     Earth's sovereign salve to do a goddess good.

                                         _Venus and Adonis_ (27).


     (18)

     And drop sweet Balm in Priam's painted wound.

                                                _Lucrece_ (1466).


     (19)

     With the drops of this most balmy time
     My love looks fresh.

                                                   _Sonnet_ cvii.

In all these passages, except the two last, the reference is to the Balm
or Balsam which was imported from the East, from very early times, and
was highly valued for its curative properties. The origin of Balsam was
for a long time a secret, but it is now known to have been the produce
of several gum-bearing trees, especially the Pistacia lentiscus and the
Balsamodendron Gileadense; and now, as then, the name is not strictly
confined to the produce of any one plant. But in Nos. 15 and 16 the
reference is no doubt to the Sweet Balm of the English gardens (_Melissa
officinalis_), a plant highly prized by our ancestors for its medicinal
qualities (now known to be of little value), and still valued for its
pleasant scent and its high value as a bee plant, which is shown by its
old Greek and Latin names, Melissa, Mellissophyllum, and Apiastrum. The
Bastard Balm (_Melittis melissophyllum_) is a handsome native plant,
found sparingly in Devonshire, Hampshire, and a few other places, and is
well worth growing wherever it can be induced to grow; but it is a very
capricious plant, and is apparently not fond of garden cultivation.
"Très jolie plante, mais d'une culture difficile" (Vilmorin). It
probably would thrive best in the shade, as it is found in copses.




BARLEY.


     (1) _Iris._

     Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
     Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (60).


     (2) _Constable._

                        Can sodden water,
     A drench for surrein'd jades, their Barley broth,
     Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?

                            _Henry V_, act iii, sc. 5 (18).[30:1]

These two passages require little note. The Barley (_Hordeum vulgare_)
of Shakespeare's time and our own is the same. We may note, however,
that the Barley broth (2) of which the French Constable spoke so
contemptuously as the food of English soldiers was probably beer, which
long before the time of Henry V. was so celebrated that it gave its name
to the plant (Barley being simply the Beer-plant), and in Shakespeare's
time, "though strangers never heard of such a word or such a thing, by
reason it is not everyewhere made," yet "our London Beere-Brewers would
scorne to learne to make beere of either French or Dutch" (Gerard).


FOOTNOTES:

[30:1] "Vires ordea prestant."--_Modus Cenandi_, 176. ("Babee's Book.")




BARNACLES.


     _Caliban._

                     We shall lose our time
     And all be turn'd to Barnacles.

                                  _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (248).

It may seem absurd to include Barnacles among plants; but in the time of
Shakespeare the Barnacle tree was firmly believed in, and Gerard gives a
plate of "the Goose tree, Barnacle tree, or the tree bearing Geese," and
says that he declares "what our eies have seene, and our hands have
touched."

A full account of the fable will be found in Harting's "Ornithology of
Shakespeare," p. 247, and an excellent account in Lee's "Sea Fables
Explained" (Fisheries Exhibition handbooks), p. 98. But neither of these
writers have quoted the testimony of Sir John Mandeville, which is,
however, well worth notice. When he was told in "Caldilhe" of a tree
that bore "a lytylle Best in Flessche in Bon and Blode as though it were
a lytylle Lomb, withouten Wolle," he did not refuse to believe them, for
he says, "I tolde hem of als gret a marveylle to hem that is amonges us;
and that was of the Bernakes. For I tolde hem, that in our Contree weren
Trees, that beren a Fruyt, that becomen Briddes fleeynge; and tho that
fallen in the Water lyven, and thei that fallen on the Erthe dyen anon;
and thei ben right gode to mannes mete. And here of had thei als gret
marvaylle that sume of hem trowed, it were an impossible thing to be"
("Voiage and Travaille," c. xxvi.).




BAY TREES.


     (1) _Captain._

     'Tis thought the King is dead; we will not stay.
     The Bay-trees in our country are all wither'd.

                                 _Richard II_, act ii, sc. 4 (7).


     (2) _Bawd._

     Marry come up, my dish of chastity with Rosemary and Bays!

                                 _Pericles_, act iv, sc. 6 (159).


     (3)

     _The Vision_--Enter, solemnly tripping one after another,
       six personages, clad in white robes, wearing on their
       heads garlands of Bays, and golden vizards on their faces,
       branches of Bays or Palms in their hands.

                                      _Henry VIII_, act iv, sc. 2

It is not easy to determine what tree is meant in these passages. In the
first there is little doubt that Shakespeare copied from some Italian
source the superstition that the Bay trees in a country withered and
died when any great calamity was approaching. We have no proof that such
an idea ever prevailed in England. In the second passage reference is
made to the decking of the chief dish at high feasts with garlands of
flowers and evergreens. But the Bay tree had been too recently
introduced from the South of Europe in Shakespeare's time to be so used
to any great extent, though the tree was known long before, for it is
mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Vocabularies by the name of Beay-beam,
that is, the Coronet tree;[32:1] but whether the Beay-beam meant our Bay
tree is very uncertain. We are not much helped in the inquiry by the
notice of the "flourishing green Bay tree" in the Psalms, for it seems
very certain that the Bay tree there mentioned is either the Oleander or
the Cedar, certainly not the Laurus nobilis.

The true Bay is probably mentioned by Spenser in the following lines--

     "The Bay, quoth she, is of the victours born,
      Yielded them by the vanquisht as theyr meeds,
      And they therewith doe Poetes heads adorne
      To sing the glory of their famous deeds."

                                         _Amoretti_--Sonnet xxix.

And in the following passage (written in the lifetime of Shakespeare)
the Laurel and the Bay are both named as the same tree--

     "And when from Daphne's tree he plucks more Baies
      His shepherd's pipe may chant more heavenly lays."

                            _Christopher Brooke_--_Introd. verses
                                        to_ BROWNE'S _Pastorals._

In the present day no garden of shrubs can be considered complete
without the Bay tree, both the common one and especially the Californian
Bay (_Oreodaphne Californica_), which, with its bright green lanceolate
foliage and powerful aromatic scent (to some too pungent), deserves a
place everywhere, and it is not so liable to be cut by the spring winds
as the European Bay.[32:2] Parkinson's high praise of the Bay tree
(forty years after Shakespeare's death) is too long for insertion, but
two short sentences may be quoted: "The Bay leaves are of as necessary
use as any other in the garden or orchard, for they serve both for
pleasure and profit, both for ornament and for use, both for honest
civil uses and for physic, yea, both for the sick and for the sound,
both for the living and for the dead; . . . so that from the cradle to
the grave we have still use of it, we have still need of it."

The Bay tree gives us a curious instance of the capriciousness of
English plant names. Though a true Laurel it does not bear the
name, which yet is given to two trees, the common (and Portugal)
Laurel, and the Laurestinus, neither of which are Laurels--the one
being a Cherry or Plum (_Prunus_ or _Cerasus_), the other a Guelder Rose
(_Viburnum_).[33:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[32:1] "The Anglo-Saxon Beay was not a ring only, or an armlet: it was
also a coronet or diadem. . . . The Bays, then, of our Poets and the Bay
tree were in reality the Coronet and the Coronet tree."--COCKAYNE,
_Spoon and Sparrow_, p. 21.

[32:2] The Californian Bay has not been established in England long
enough to form a timber tree, but in America it is highly prized as one
of the very best trees for cabinet work, especially for the ornamental
parts of pianos.

[33:1] For an interesting account of the Bay and the Laurels, giving the
history of the names, &c., see two papers by Mr. H. Evershed in
"Gardener's Chronicle," September, 1876.




BEANS.


     (1) _Puck._

     When I a fat and Bean-fed horse beguile.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (45).


     (2) _Carrier._

     Peas and Beans are as dank here as a dog; and that is the next
       way to give poor jades the bots.

                               _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 1 (9).

The Bean (_Faba vulgaris_), though an Eastern plant, was very early
introduced into England as an article of food both for men and horses.
As an article of human food opinions were divided, as now. By some it
was highly esteemed--

     "Corpus alit Faba; stringit cum cortice ventrem,
      Desiccat fleuma, stomacum lumenque relidit"--

is the description of the Bean in the "Modus Cenandi," l. 182 ("Babee's
Book," ii, 48). While H. Vaughan describes it as--

                           "The Bean
     By curious pallats never sought;"

and it was very generally used as a proverb of contempt--

     "None other lif, sayd he, is worth a Bene."[34:1]

     "But natheles I reche not a Bene."[34:2]

It is not apparently a romantic plant, and yet there is no plant round
which so much curious folk lore has gathered. This may be seen at full
length in Phillips' "History of Cultivated Vegetables." It will be
enough here to say that the Bean was considered as a sacred plant both
by the Greeks and Romans, while by the Egyptian priests it was
considered too unclean to be even looked upon; that it was used both for
its convenient shape and for its sacred associations in all elections by
ballot; that this custom lasted in England and in most Europeans
countries to a very recent date in the election of the kings and queens
at Twelfth Night and other feasts; and that it was of great repute in
all popular divinations and love charms. I find in Miller another use of
Beans, which we are thankful to note among the obsolete uses: "They are
bought up in great quantities at Bristol for Guinea ships, as food for
the negroes on their passage from Africa to the West Indies."

As an ornamental garden plant the Bean has never received the attention
it seems to deserve. A plant of Broad Beans grown singly is quite a
stately plant, and the rich scent is an additional attraction to many,
though to many others it is too strong, and it has a bad
character--"Sleep in a Bean-field all night if you want to have awful
dreams or go crazy," is a Leicestershire proverb:[34:3] and the Scarlet
Runner (which is also a Bean) is one of the most beautiful climbers we
have. In England we seldom grow it for ornament, but in France I have
seen it used with excellent effect to cover a trellis-screen, mixed with
the large blue Convolvulus major.


FOOTNOTES:

[34:1] Chaucer, "The Marchandes Tale," 19.

[34:2] Ibid., "The Man of Lawes Tale," prologue.

[34:3] Copied from the mediæval proverb: "Cum faba florescit, stultorum
copia crescit."




BILBERRY.


     _Pistol._

     Where fires thou find'st unraked and hearths unswept,
     There pinch the maids as blue as Bilberry--
     Our radiant Queen hates sluts and sluttery.

                                _Merry Wives_, act v, sc. 5 (48).

The Bilberry is a common British shrub found on all mossy heaths, and
very pretty both in flower and in fruit. Its older English name was
Heathberry, and its botanical name is Vaccinium myrtillus. We have in
Britain four species of Vaccinium: the Whortleberry or Bilberry (_V.
myrtillus_), the Large Bilberry (_V. uliginosum_), the Crowberry (_V.
vitis idæa_), and the Cranberry (_V. oxycoccos_). These British species,
as well as the North American species (of which there are several), are
all beautiful little shrubs in cultivation, but they are very difficult
to grow; they require a heathy soil, moisture, and partial shade.




BIRCH.


     _Duke._

                                Fond fathers,
     Having bound up the threatening twigs of Birch,
     Only to stick it in their children's sight
     For terror, not to use, in time the rod
     Becomes more mock'd than fear'd.

                        _Measure for Measure_, act i, sc. 3 (23).

Shakespeare only mentions this one unpleasant use of the Birch tree, the
manufacture of Birch rods; and for such it seems to have been chiefly
valued in his day. "I have not red of any vertue it hath in physick,"
says Turner; "howbeit, it serveth for many good uses, and for none
better than for betynge of stubborn boys, that either lye or will not
learn." Yet the Birch is not without interest. The word "Birch" is the
same as "bark," meaning first the rind of a tree and then a barque or
boat (from which we also get our word "barge"), and so the very name
carries us to those early times when the Birch was considered one of
the most useful of trees, as it still is in most northern countries,
where it grows at a higher degree of latitude than any other tree. Its
bark was especially useful, being useful for cordage, and matting, and
roofing, while the tree itself formed the early British canoes, as it
still forms the canoes of the North American Indians, for which it is
well suited, from its lightness and ease in working.

In Northern Europe it is the most universal and the most useful of
trees. It is "the superlative tree in respect of the ground it covers,
and in the variety of purposes to which it is converted in Lapland,
where the natives sit in birchen huts on birchen chairs, wearing birchen
boots and breeches, with caps and capes of the same material, warming
themselves by fires of birchwood charcoal, reading books bound in birch,
and eating herrings from a birchen platter, pickled in a birchen cask.
Their baskets, boats, harness, and utensils are all of Birch; in short,
from cradle to coffin, the Birch forms the peculiar environment of the
Laplander."[36:1] In England we still admire its graceful beauty,
whether it grows in our woods or our gardens, and we welcome its
pleasant odour on our Russia leather bound books; but we have ceased to
make beer from its young shoots,[36:2] and we hold it in almost as low
repute (from the utilitarian point of view) as Turner and Shakespeare
seem to have held it.


FOOTNOTES:

[36:1] "Gardener's Chronicle."

[36:2] "Although beer is now seldom made from birchen twigs, yet it is
by no means an uncommon practice in some country districts to tap the
white trunks of Birches, and collect the sweet sap which exudes from
them for wine-making purposes. In some parts of Leicestershire this sap
is collected in large quantities every spring, and birch wine, when well
made, is a wholesome and by no means an unpleasant beverage."--B. in
_The Garden_, April, 1877. "The Finlanders substitute the leaves of
Birch for those of the tea-plant; the Swedes extract a syrup from the
sap, from which they make a spirituous liquor. In London they make
champagne of it. The most virtuous uses to which it is applied are
brooms and wooden shoes."--_A Tour Round My Garden_, Letter xix.




BITTER-SWEET, _see_ APPLE (22).




BLACKBERRIES.


     (1) _Falstaff._

     Give you a reason on compulsion!--if reasons were as plentiful
       as Blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon
       compulsion, I.[37:1]

                             _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (263).


     (2) _Falstaff._

     Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat
       Blackberries?

                                                   _Ibid._ (450).


     (3) _Thersites._

     That same dog-fox Ulysses is not proved worth a Blackberry.

                       _Troilus and Cressida_, act v, sc. 4 (12).


     (4) _Rosalind._

     There is a man . . . . hangs odes upon Hawthorns and elegies
       on Brambles.

                          _As You Like it_, act iii, sc. 2 (379).


     (5)

     The thorny Brambles and embracing bushes,
     As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (629).

I here join together the tree and the fruit, the Bramble (_Rubus
fruticosus_) and the Blackberry. There is not much to be said for a
plant that is the proverbial type of a barren country or untidy
cultivation, yet the Bramble and the Blackberry have their charms, and
we could ill afford to lose them from our hedgerows. The name Bramble
originally meant anything thorny, and Chaucer applied it to the Dog
Rose--

     "He was chaste and no lechour,
      And sweet as is the Bramble flower
        That bereth the red hepe."

But in Shakespeare's time it was evidently confined to the
Blackberry-bearing Bramble.

There is a quaint legend of the origin of the plant which is worth
repeating. It is thus pleasantly told by Waterton: "The cormorant was
once a wool merchant. He entered into partnership with the Bramble and
the bat, and they freighted a large ship with wool; she was wrecked, and
the firm became bankrupt. Since that disaster the bat skulks about till
midnight to avoid his creditors, the cormorant is for ever diving into
the deep to discover its foundered vessel, while the Bramble seizes
hold of every passing sheep to make up his loss by stealing the wool."

As a garden plant, the common Bramble had better be kept out of the
garden, but there are double pink and white-blossomed varieties, and
others with variegated leaves, that are handsome plants on rough
rockwork. The little Rubus saxatilis is a small British Bramble that is
pretty on rockwork, and among the foreign Brambles there are some that
should on no account be omitted where ornamental shrubs are grown. Such
are the R. leucodermis from Nepaul, with its bright silvery bark and
amber-coloured fruit; R. Nootkanus, with very handsome foliage, and pure
white rose-like flowers; R. Arcticus, an excellent rockwork plant from
Northern Europe, with very pleasant fruit, but difficult to establish;
R. Australis (from New Zealand), a most quaint plant, with leaves so
depauperated that it is apparently leafless, and hardy in the South of
England; and R. deliciosus, a very handsome plant from the Rocky
Mountains. There are several others well worth growing, but I mention
these few to show that the Bramble is not altogether such a villainous
and useless weed as it is proverbially supposed to be.


FOOTNOTES:

[37:1] _See_ RAISINS, p. 238.




BOX.


     _Maria._ Get ye all three into the Box tree.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act ii, sc. 5 (18).

The Box is a native British tree, and in the sixteenth century was
probably much more abundant as a wild tree than it is now. Chaucer notes
it as a dismal tree. He describes Palamon in his misery as--

                "Like was he to byholde,
     The Boxe tree or the Asschen deed and colde."

                                             _The Knightes Tale._

Spenser noted it as "The Box yet mindful of his olde offence," and in
Shakespeare's time there were probably more woods of Box in England than
the two which still remain at Box Hill, in Surrey, and Boxwell, in
Gloucestershire. The name remains, though the trees are gone, in Box in
Wilts, Boxgrove, Boxley, Boxmoor, Boxted, and Boxworth.[39:1] From its
wild quarters the Box tree was very early brought into gardens, and was
especially valued, not only for its rich evergreen colour, but because,
with the Yew, it could be cut and tortured into all the ungainly shapes
which so delighted our ancestors in Shakespeare's time, though one of
the most illustrious of them, Lord Bacon, entered his protest against
such barbarisms: "I, for my part, do not like images cut out in Juniper
or other garden stuff; they be for children" ("Essay of Gardens").

The chief use of the Box now is for blocks for wood-carving, for which
its close grain makes it the most suitable of all woods.[39:2]


FOOTNOTES:

[39:1] In Boxford, and perhaps in some of the other names, the word has
no connection with the tree, but marks the presence of water or a
stream.

[39:2] In some parts of Europe almost a sacred character is given to the
Box. For a curious record of blessing the Box, and of a sermon on the
lessons taught by the Box, see "Gardener's Chronicle," April 19, 1873.




BRAMBLE, _see_ BLACKBERRIES.




BRIER.


     (1) _Ariel._

                 So I charm'd their ears,
     That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through
     Tooth'd Briers, sharp Furzes, pricking Goss, and Thorns.

                                  _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (178).


     (2) _Fairy._

     Over hill, over dale,
     Thorough Bush, thorough Brier.

                    _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (2).


     (3) _Thisbe._

     Of colour like the red Rose on triumphant Brier.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 1 (90).


     (4) _Puck._

     I'll lead you about a round,
     Through bog, through bush, through Brake, through Brier.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (10).


     (5) _Puck._

     For Briers and Thorns at their apparel snatch.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 2 (29).


     (6) _Hermia._

         Never so weary, never so in woe,
     Bedabbled with the dew and torn with Briers.

                                   _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 2 (443).


     (7) _Oberon._

     Every elf and fairy sprite
     Hop as light as bird from Brier.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 1 (400).


     (8) _Adriana._

     If aught possess thee from me, it is dross,
     Usurping Ivy, Brier, or idle Moss.

                         _Comedy of Errors_, act ii, sc. 2 (179).


     (9) _Plantagenet._

     From off this Brier pluck a white Rose with me.

                              _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (30).


     (10) _Rosalind._

     O! how full of Briers is this working-day world!

                             _As You Like It_, act i, sc. 3 (12).


     (11) _Helena._

        The time will bring on summer,
     When Briers shall have leaves as well as Thorns,
     And be as sweet as sharp.

                                _All's Well_, act iv, sc. 4 (32).


     (12) _Polyxenes._

     I'll have thy beauty scratched with Briers.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (436).


     (13) _Timon._

     The Oaks bear mast, the Briers scarlet hips.

                          _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (422).


     (14) _Coriolanus._

              Scratches with Briers,
     Scars to move laughter only.

                               _Coriolanus_, act iii, sc. 3 (51).


     (15) _Quintus._

              What subtle hole is this,
     Whose mouth is cover'd with rude-growing Briers?

                        _Titus Andronicus_, act iii, sc. 3 (198).

In Shakespeare's time the "Brier" was not restricted to the Sweet Briar,
as it usually is now; but it meant any sort of wild Rose, and even it
would seem from No. 9 that it was applied to the cultivated Rose, for
there the scene is laid in the Temple Gardens. In some of the passages
it probably does not allude to any Rose, but simply to any wild thorny
plant. That this was its common use then, we know from many examples. In
"Le Morte Arthur," the Earl of Ascolot's daughter is described--

     "Hyr Rode was rede as blossom or Brere
      Or floure that springith in the felde" (179).

And in "A Pleasant New Court Song," in the Roxburghe Ballads--

     "I stept me close aside
      Under a Hawthorn Bryer."

It bears the same meaning in our Bibles, where "Thorns," "Brambles," and
"Briers," stand for any thorny and useless plant, the soil of Palestine
being especially productive of thorny plants of many kinds. Wickliffe's
translation of Matthew vii. 16, is--"Whether men gaderen grapis of
thornes; or figis of Breris?" and Tyndale's translation is much the
same--"Do men gaddre grapes of thornes, or figges of Bryeres?"[41:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[41:1] "Brere--Carduus, tribulus, vepres, veprecula."--_Catholicon
Anglicum._




BROOM.


     (1) _Iris._

           And thy Broom groves,
     Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves,
     Being lass-lorn.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (66).


     (2) _Puck._

     I am sent with Broom before
     To sweep the dust behind the door.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act v, sc. 1 (396).


     (3) _Man._

     I made good my place; at length they came to the Broomstaff
       with me.

                                 _Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 4 (56).

The Broom was one of the most popular plants of the Middle Ages. Its
modern Latin name is _Cytisus scoparius_, but under its then Latin name
of _Planta genista_ it gave its name to the Plantagenet family, either
in the time of Henry II., as generally reported, or probably still
earlier. As the favourite badge of the family it appears on their
monuments and portraits, and was embroidered on their clothes and
imitated in their jewels. Nor was it only in England that the plant was
held in such high favour; it was the special flower of the Scotch, and
it was highly esteemed in many countries on the Continent, especially in
Brittany. Yet, in spite of all this, there are only these three notices
of the plant in Shakespeare, and of those three, two (2 and 3) refer to
its uses when dead; and the third (1), though it speaks of it as living,
yet has nothing to say of the remarkable beauties of this favourite
British flower. Yet it has great beauties which cannot easily be
overlooked. Its large, yellow flowers, its graceful habit of growth, and
its fragrance--

     "Sweet is the Broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough"--

                                          SPENSER, _Sonnet_ xxvi.

at once arrest the attention of the most careless observer of Nature. We
are almost driven to the conclusion that Shakespeare could not have had
much real acquaintance with the Broom, or he would not have sent his
"dismissed bachelor" to "Broom-groves."[42:1] I should very much doubt
that the Broom could ever attain to the dimensions of a grove, though
Steevens has a note on the passage that "near Gamlingay, in
Cambridgeshire, it grows high enough to conceal the tallest cattle as
they pass through it; and in places where it is cultivated still
higher." Chaucer speaks of the Broom, but does not make it so much of a
tree--

     "Amid the Broom he basked in the sun."

And other poets have spoken of the Broom in the same way--thus Collins--

     "When Dan Sol to slope his wheels began
      Amid the Broom he basked him on the ground."

                                  _Castle of Indolence_, canto i.

And a Russian poet speaks of the Broom as a tree--

     "See there upon the Broom tree's bough
      The young grey eagle flapping now."

                                        _Flora Domestica_, p. 68.

As a garden plant it is perhaps seen to best advantage when mixed with
other shrubs, as when grown quite by itself it often has an untidy look.
There is a pure white variety which is very beautiful, but it is very
liable to flower so abundantly as to flower itself to death. There are a
few other sorts, but none more beautiful than the British.


FOOTNOTES:

[42:1] Yet Bromsgrove must be a corruption of Broom-grove, and there are
other places in England named from the Broom.




BULRUSH.


     _Wooer._

                Her careless tresses
     A wreake of Bulrush rounded.

                        _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 1 (104).

_See_ RUSH, p. 262.




BURDOCK AND BURS.


     (1) _Celia._

     They are but Burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday
       foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths our very
       petticoats will catch them.

     _Rosalind._

     I could shake them off my coat; these Burs are in my heart.

                             _As You Like It_, act i, sc. 3 (13).


     (2) _Lucio._

     Nay, friar, I am a kind of Bur; I shall stick.

                      _Measure for Measure_, act iv, sc. 3 (149).


     (3) _Lysander._

     Hang oft, thou cat, thou Burr.

                 _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 2 (260).


     (4) _Pandarus._

     They are Burs, I can tell you; they'll stick where
       they are thrown.

                    _Troilus and Cressida_, act iii, sc. 2 (118).


     (5) _Burgundy._

                  And nothing teems
     But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (51).


     (6) _Cordelia._

     Crown'd with rank Fumiter and Furrow-weeds,
     With Burdocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers.

                                  _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 4 (3).

The Burs are the unopened flowers of the Burdock (_Arctium lappa_), and
their clinging quality very early obtained for them expressive names,
such as _amor folia_, love leaves, and philantropium. This clinging
quality arises from the bracts of the involucrum being long and stiff,
and with hooked tips which attach themselves to every passing object.
The Burdock is a very handsome plant when seen in its native habitat by
the side of a brook, its broad leaves being most picturesque, but it is
not a plant to introduce into a garden.[44:1] There is another tribe of
plants, however, which are sufficiently ornamental to merit a place in
the garden, and whose Burs are even more clinging than those of the
Burdock. These are the Acænas; they are mostly natives of America and
New Zealand, and some of them (especially A. sarmentosa and A.
microphylla) form excellent carpet plants, but their points being
furnished with double hooks, like a double-barbed arrow, they have
double powers of clinging.




BURNET.


     _Burgundy._

     The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
     The freckled Cowslip, Burnet, and green Clover.

                                    _Henry V._ act v, sc. 2 (48).

The Burnet (_Poterium sanguisorba_) is a native plant of no great beauty
or horticultural interest, but it was valued as a good salad plant, the
leaves tasting of Cucumber, and Lord Bacon (contemporary with
Shakespeare) seems to have been especially fond of it. He says ("Essay
of Gardens"):

"Those flowers which perfume the air most delightfully, not passed by
as the rest, but being trodden upon and crushed, are three--that is,
Burnet, Wild Thyme, and Water Mints; therefore you are to set whole
alleys of them, to have the pleasure when you walk or tread." Drayton
had the same affection for it--

     "The Burnet shall bear up with this,
      Whose leaf I greatly fancy."

                                                     _Nymphal V._

It also was, and still is, valued as a forage plant that will grow and
keep fresh all the winter in dry barren pastures, thus often giving food
for sheep when other food was scarce. It has occasionally been
cultivated, but the result has not been very satisfactory, except on
very poor land, though, according to the Woburn experiments, as reported
by Sinclair, it contains a larger amount of nutritive matter in the
spring than most of the Grasses. It has brown flowers, from which it is
supposed to derive its name (Brunetto).[45:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[44:1]

     "A Clote-leef he had under his hood
      For swoot, and to keep his heed from hete."

                 CHAUCER, _Prologue of the Chanounes Yeman_ (25).

This Clote leaf is by many considered to be the Burdock leaf, but it was
more probably the name of the Water-lily.

[45:1] "Burnet colowre, Burnetum, burnetus."--_Promptorium Parvulorum._




CABBAGE.


     _Evans._

     _Pauca verba_, Sir John; good worts.

     _Falstaff._

     Good worts! good Cabbage.

                               _Merry Wives_, act i, sc. 1 (123).

The history of the name is rather curious. It comes to us from the
French _Chou cabus_, which is the French corruption of _Caulis
capitatus_, the name by which Pliny described it.

The Cabbage of Shakespeare's time was essentially the same as ours, and
from the contemporary accounts it seems that the sorts cultivated were
as good and as numerous as they are now. The cultivated Cabbage is the
same specifically as the wild Cabbage of our sea-shores (_Brassica
oleracea_) improved by cultivation. Within the last few years the
Cabbage has been brought from the kitchen garden into the flower garden
on account of the beautiful variegation of its leaves. This, however, is
no novelty, for Parkinson said of the many sorts of Cabbage in his day:
"There is greater diversity in the form and colour of the leaves of
this plant than there is in any other that I know groweth on the
ground. . . . Many of them being of no use with us for the table, but
for delight to behold the wonderful variety of the works of God herein."




CAMOMILE.


     _Falstaff._

     Though the Camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it
       grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears.

                             _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (443).

The low-growing Camomile, the emblem of the sweetness of humility, has
the lofty names of Camomile (_Chamæmelum_, _i.e._, Apple of the Earth)
and Anthemis nobilis. Its fine aromatic scent and bitter flavour
suggested that it must be possessed of much medicinal virtue, while its
low growth made it suitable for planting on the edges of flower-beds and
paths, its scent being brought out as it was walked upon. For this
purpose it was much used in Elizabethan gardens; "large walks, broad and
long, close and open, like the Tempe groves in Thessaly, raised with
gravel and sand, having seats and banks of Camomile; all this delights
the mind, and brings health to the body."[46:1] As a garden flower it is
now little used, though its bright starry flower and fine scent might
recommend it; but it is still to be found in herb gardens, and is still,
though not so much as formerly, used as a medicine.

Like many other low plants, the Camomile is improved by being pressed
into the earth by rolling or otherwise, and there are many allusions to
this in the old writers: thus Lily in his "Euphues" says: "The Camomile
the more it is trodden and pressed down, the more it spreadeth;" and in
the play, "The More the Merrier" (1608), we have--

     "The Camomile shall teach thee patience
      Which riseth best when trodden most upon."


FOOTNOTES:

[46:1] Lawson, "New Orchard," p. 54.




CARDUUS, _see_ HOLY THISTLE.




CARNATIONS.


     (1) _Perdita._

     The fairest flowers o' the season
     Are our Carnations and streak'd Gillyvors,
     Which some call Nature's bastards.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (81).


     (2) _Polyxenes._

     Then make your garden rich in Gillyvors,
     And do not call them bastards.

                                                    _Ibid._ (98).

There are two other places in which Carnation is mentioned, but they
refer to carnation colour--_i.e._, to pure flesh colour.

     (3) _Quickly._

     'A could never abide Carnation; 'twas a colour he never liked.

                                   _Henry V_, act ii, sc. 3 (35).


     (4) _Costard._

     Pray you, sir, how much Carnation riband may a man buy for a
       remuneration?

                    _Love's Labour's Lost_, act iii, sc. 1 (146).

Dr. Johnson and others have supposed that the flower is so named from
the colour, but that this is a mistake is made very clear by Dr. Prior.
He quotes Spenser's "Shepherd's Calendar"--

     "Bring Coronations and Sops-in-Wine
      Worn of Paramours."

and so it is spelled in Lyte's "Herbal," 1578, coronations or
cornations. This takes us at once to the origin of the name. The plant
was one of those used in garlands (_coronæ_), and was probably one of
the most favourite plants used for that purpose, for which it was well
suited by its shape and beauty. Pliny gives a long list of garland
flowers (_Coronamentorum genera_) used by the Romans and Athenians, and
Nicander gives similar lists of Greek garland plants (στεφανωματικὰ
ἄνθη), in which the Carnation holds so high a place that it was called
by the name it still has--Dianthus, or Flower of Jove.

Its second specific name, Caryophyllus--_i.e._, Nut-leaved--seems at
first very inappropriate for a grassy leaved plant, but the name was
first given to the Indian Clove-tree, and from it transferred to the
Carnation, on account of its fine clove-like scent. Its popularity as an
English plant is shown by its many names--Pink, Carnation,
Gilliflower[48:1] (an easily-traced and well-ascertained corruption from
Caryophyllus), Clove, Picotee,[48:2] and Sops-in-Wine, from the flowers
being used to flavour wine and beer.[48:3] There is an historical
interest also in the flowers. All our Carnations, Picotees, and Cloves
come originally from the single Dianthus caryophyllus; this is not a
true British plant, but it holds a place in the English flora, being
naturalized on Rochester and other castles. It is abundant in Normandy,
and I found it (in 1874) covering the old castle of Falaise in which
William the Conqueror was born. Since that I have found that it grows on
the old castles of Dover, Deal, and Cardiff, all of them of Norman
construction, as was Rochester, which was built by Gundulf, the special
friend of William. Its occurrence on these several Norman castles make
it very possible that it was introduced by the Norman builders, perhaps
as a pleasant memory of their Norman homes, though it may have been
accidentally introduced with the Normandy (Caen) stone, of which parts
of the castles are built. How soon it became a florist's flower we do
not know, but it must have been early, as in Shakespeare's time the
sorts of Cloves, Carnations, and Pinks were so many that Gerard says: "A
great and large volume would not suffice to write of every one at large
in particular, considering how infinite they are, and how every yeare,
every clymate and countrey, bringeth forth new sorts, and such as have
not heretofore bin written of;" and so we may certainly say now--the
description of the many kinds of Carnations and Picotees, with
directions for their culture, would fill a volume.


FOOTNOTES:

[48:1] This is the more modern way of spelling it. In the first folio it
is "Gillyvor." "Chaucer writes it Gylofre, but by associating it with
the the Nutmeg and other spices, appears to mean the Clove Tree, which
is, in fact, the proper signification."--_Flora Domestica._ In the
"Digby Mysteries" (Mary Magdalene, l. 1363) the Virgin Mary is addressed
as "the Jentyll Jelopher."

[48:2] Picotee is from the French word _picoté_ marked with little
pricks round the edge, like the "picots," on lace, _picot_ being the
technical term in France for the small twirls which in England are
called "purl" or "pearl."

[48:3] Wine thus flavoured was evidently a very favourite beverage.
"Bartholemeus Peytevyn tenet duas Caracutas terræ in Stony-Aston in Com.
Somerset de Domino Rege in capite per servitium unius[48:a] Sextarii
vini Gariophilati reddendi Domino Regi per annum ad Natale Domini. Et
valet dicta terra per ann. _xl._"

     [48:a] "A Sextary of July-flower wine, and a Sextary contained
     about a pint and a half, sometimes more."--BLOUNT'S _Antient
     Tenures_.




CARRAWAYS.


     _Shallow._

     Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour we will eat
       a last year's Pippin of my own graffing, with a dish of
       Caraways and so forth.

                                _2nd Henry IV_, act v, sc. 3 (1).

Carraways are the fruit of Carum carui, an umbelliferous plant of a
large geographical range, cultivated in the eastern counties, and
apparently wild in other parts of England, but not considered a true
native. In Shakespeare's time the seed was very popular, and was much
more freely used than in our day. "The seed," says Parkinson, "is much
used to be put among baked fruit, or into bread, cakes, &c., to give
them a rellish. It is also made into comfits and put into Trageas or (as
we call them in English) Dredges, that are taken for cold or wind in the
body, as also are served to the table with fruit."

Carraways are frequently mentioned in the old writers as an
accompaniment to Apples. In a very interesting bill of fare of 1626,
extracted from the account book of Sir Edward Dering, is the following--

     "Carowaye and comfites, 6d.

      A Warden py that the cooke
      Made--we fining y{e} Wardens. 2s. 4d.

          Second Course.

      A cold Warden pie.

          Complement.
      Apples and Carrawayes."--_Notes and Queries_, i, 99.

So in Russell's "Book of Nurture:" "After mete . . . pepyns Careaway in
comfyte," line 78, and the same in line 714; and in Wynkyn de Worde's
"Boke of Kervynge" ("Babee's Book," p. 266 and 271), and in F. Seager's
"Schoole of Vertue" ("Babee's Book," p. 343)--

     "Then cheese with fruite        On the table set,
      With Bisketes or Carowayes     As you may get."

The custom of serving roast Apples with a little saucerful of Carraway
is still kept up at Trinity College, Cambridge, and, I believe, at some
of the London Livery dinners.




CARROT.


     _Evans._

     Remember, William, focative is _caret_,

     _Quickly._

     And that's a good root.

                               _Merry Wives_, act iv, sc. 1 (55).

Dame Quickly's pun gives us our Carrot, a plant which, originally
derived from our wild Carrot (_Daucus Carota_), was introduced as a
useful vegetable by the Flemings in the time of Elizabeth, and has
probably been very little altered or improved since the time of its
introduction. In Shakespeare's time the name was applied to the "Yellow
Carrot" or Parsnep, as well as to the Red one. The name of Carrot comes
directly from its Latin or rather Greek name, Daucus Carota, but it
once had a prettier name. The Anglo-Saxons called it "bird's-nest," and
Gerard gives us the reason, and it is a reason that shows they were more
observant of the habits of plants than we generally give them credit
for: "The whole tuft (of flowers) is drawn together when the seed is
ripe, resembling a bird's nest; whereupon it hath been named of some
Bird's-nest."




CEDAR.


     (1) _Prospero._

             And by the spurs pluck'd up
     The Pine and Cedar.

                                    _Tempest_, act v, sc. 1 (47).


     (2) _Dumain._

     As upright as the Cedar.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act iv, sc. 3 (89).


     (3) _Warwick._

     As on a mountain top the Cedar shows,
     That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm.

                              _2nd Henry VI_, act v, sc. 1 (205).


     (4) _Warwick._

     Thus yields the Cedar to the axe's edge,
     Whose arms gave shelter to the princely eagle,
     Under whose shade the ramping lion slept,
     Whose top-branch o'erpeered Jove's spreading tree,
     And kept low shrubs from winter's powerful wind.

                               _3rd Henry VI_, act v, sc. 2 (11).


     (5) _Cranmer._

                 He shall flourish,
     And, like a mountain Cedar, reach his branches
     To all the plains about him.

                                _Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 5 (215).


     (6) _Posthumus._

     When from a stately Cedar shall be lopped branches, which,
       being dead many years, shall after revive.

         _Cymbeline_, act v, sc. 4 (140); and act v, sc. 5 (457).


     (7) _Soothsayer._

     The lofty Cedar, royal Cymbeline,
     Personates thee. Thy lopp'd branches
     . . . . . are now revived,
     To the majestic Cedar join'd.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 5 (453).


     (8) _Gloucester._

              But I was born so high,
     Our aery buildeth in the Cedar's top,
     And dallies with the wind and scorns the sun.

                               _Richard III_, act i, sc. 3 (263).


     (9) _Coriolanus._

                 Let the mutinous winds
     Strike the proud Cedars 'gainst the fiery sun.

                                 _Coriolanus_, act v, sc. 3 (59).


     (10) _Titus._

     Marcus, we are but shrubs, no Cedars we.

                          _Titus Andronicus_, act iv, sc. 3 (45).


     (11) _Daughter._

               I have sent him where a Cedar,
     Higher than all the rest, spreads like a Plane
     Fast by a brook.

                          _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act ii, sc. 6 (4).


     (12)

     The sun ariseth in his majesty;
     Who doth the world so gloriously behold
     That Cedar-tops and hills seem burnished gold.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (856).


     (13)

     The Cedar stoops not to the base shrub's foot,
     But low shrubs wither at the Cedar's root.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (664).

The Cedar is the classical type of majesty and grandeur, and superiority
to everything that is petty and mean. So Shakespeare uses it, and only
in this way; for it is very certain he never saw a living specimen of
the Cedar of Lebanon. But many travellers in the East had seen it and
minutely described it, and from their descriptions he derived his
knowledge of the tree; but not only, and probably not chiefly from
travellers, for he was well acquainted with his Bible, and there he
would meet with many a passage that dwelt on the glories of the Cedar,
and told how it was the king of trees, so that "the Fir trees were not
like his boughs, and the Chestnut trees were not like his branches, nor
any tree in the garden of God was like unto him in his beauty, fair by
the multitude of his branches, so that all the trees of Eden that were
in the garden of God envied him" (Ezekiel xxxi. 8, 9). It was such
descriptions as these that supplied Shakespeare with his imagery, and
which made our ancestors try to introduce the tree into England. But
there seems to have been much difficulty in establishing it. Evelyn
tried to introduce it, but did not succeed at first, and the tree is not
mentioned in his "Sylva" of 1664. It was, however, certainly introduced
in 1676, when it appears, from the gardeners' accounts, to have been
planted at Bretby Park, Derbyshire ("Gardener's Chronicle," January,
1877). I believe this is the oldest certain record of the planting of
the Cedar in England, the next oldest being the trees in Chelsea Botanic
Gardens, which were certainly planted in 1683. Since that time the tree
has proved so suitable to the English soil that it is grown everywhere,
and everywhere asserts itself as the king of evergreen trees, whether
grown as a single tree on a lawn, or mixed in large numbers with other
trees, as at Highclere Park, in Hampshire (Lord Carnarvon's). Among
English Cedar trees there are probably none that surpass the fine
specimens at Warwick Castle, which owe, however, much of their beauty to
their position on the narrow strip of land between the Castle and the
river. I mention these to call attention to the pleasant coincidence
(for it is nothing more) that the most striking descriptions of the
Cedar are given by Shakespeare to the then owner of the princely Castle
of Warwick (Nos. 3 and 4).

The mediæval belief about the Cedar was that its wood was imperishable.
"Hæc Cedrus, A{e} sydyretre, et est talis nature quod nunquam putrescet
in aqua nec in terra" (English Vocabulary--15th cent.); but as a timber
tree the English-grown Cedar has not answered to its old reputation, so
that Dr. Lindley called it "the worthless though magnificent Cedar of
Lebanon."




CHERRY.


     (1) _Helena._

                So we grew together,
     Like to a double Cherry, seeming parted,
     But yet a union in partition;
     Two lovely berries moulded on one stem.

                 _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 2 (208).


     (2) _Demetrius._

               O, how ripe in show
     Thy lips, those kissing Cherries, tempting grow!

                                   _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 2 (139).


     (3) _Constance._

                And it' grandam will
     Give it a Plum, a Cherry, and a Fig.

                                _King John_, act ii, sc. 1 (161).


     (4) _Lady._

               'Tis as like you
     As Cherry is to Cherry.

                                _Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 1 (170).


     (5) _Gower._

        She with her neeld composes
     Nature's own shape of bud, bird, branch, or berry;
     That even her art sisters the natural Roses,
     Her inkle, silk, twin with the rubied Cherry.

                                   _Pericles_, act v, chorus (5).


     (6) _Dromio of Syracuse._

     Some devils ask but the paring of one's nail,
     A Rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
     A Nut, a Cherry-stone.

                          _Comedy of Errors_, act iv, sc. 3 (72).


     (7) _Queen._

                Oh, when
     The twyning Cherries shall their sweetness fall
     Upon thy tasteful lips.

                         _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act i, sc. 1 (198).


     (8)

     When he was by, the birds such pleasure took,
     That some would sing, some other in their bills
     Would bring him Mulberries and ripe-red Cherries.
     He fed them with his sight, they him with berries.

                                       _Venus and Adonis_ (1101).

Besides these, there is mention of "cherry lips"[54:1] and
"cherry-nose,"[54:2] and the game of "cherry-pit."[54:3] We have the
authority of Pliny that the Cherry (_Prunus Cerasus_) was introduced
into Italy from Pontus, and by the Romans was introduced into Britain.
It is not, then, a true native, but it has now become completely
naturalized in our woods and hedgerows, while the cultivated trees are
everywhere favourites for the beauty of their flowers, and their rich
and handsome fruit. In Shakespeare's time there were almost as many, and
probably as good varieties, as there are now.


FOOTNOTES:

[54:1] _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act v, sc. 1; _Richard III_, act i,
sc. 1; _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 1.

[54:2] _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act v, sc. 1.

[54:3] _Twelfth Night_, act iii, sc. 4.




CHESTNUTS.


     (1) _Witch._

     A sailor's wife had Chestnuts in her lap,
     And munch'd, and munch'd, and munch'd.

                                     _Macbeth_, act i, sc. 3 (4).


     (2) _Petruchio._

     And do you tell me of a woman's tongue
     That gives not half so great a blow to hear
     As will a Chestnut in farmer's fire?

                       _Taming of the Shrew_, act i, sc. 2 (208).


     (3) _Rosalind._

     I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

     _Celia._

     An excellent colour; your Chestnut was ever the only colour.

                           _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 4 (11).

This is the Spanish or Sweet Chestnut, a fruit which seems to have been
held in high esteem in Shakespeare's time, for Lyte, in 1578, says of
it, "Amongst all kindes of wilde fruites the Chestnut is best and
meetest for to be eaten." The tree cannot be regarded as a true native,
but it has been so long introduced, probably by the Romans, that grand
specimens are to be found in all parts of England; the oldest known
specimen being at Tortworth, in Gloucestershire, which was spoken of as
an old tree in the time of King Stephen; while the tree that is said to
be the oldest and the largest in Europe is the Spanish Chestnut tree on
Mount Etna, the famous Castagni du Centu Cavalli, which measures near
the root 160 feet in circumference. It is one of our handsomest trees,
and very useful for timber, and at one time it was supposed that many of
our oldest buildings were roofed with Chestnut. This was the current
report of the grand roof at Westminster Hall, but it is now discovered
to be of Oak, and it is very doubtful whether the Chestnut timber is as
lasting as it has long been supposed to be.

The Horse Chestnut was probably unknown to Shakespeare. It is an Eastern
tree, and in no way related to the true Chestnut, and though the name
has probably no connection with horses or their food, yet it is curious
that the petiole has (especially when dry) a marked resemblance to a
horse's leg and foot, and that both on the parent stem and the petiole
may be found a very correct representation of a horseshoe with its
nails.[55:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[55:1] For an excellent description of the great differences between the
Spanish and Horse Chestnut, see "Gardener's Chronicle," Oct. 29, 1881.




CLOVER.


     (1) _Burgundy._

     The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
     The freckled Cowslip, Burnet, and green Clover.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (48).


     (2) _Tamora._

     I will enchant the old Andronicus
     With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,
     Than baits to fish, or Honey-stalks to sheep,
     When, as the one is wounded with the bait,
     The other rotted with delicious food.

                          _Titus Andronicus_, act iv, sc. 4 (89).

"Honey-stalks" are supposed to be the flower of the Clover. This seems
very probable, but I believe the name is no longer applied. Of the
Clover there are two points of interest that are worth notice. The
Clover is one of the plants that claim to be the Shamrock of St.
Patrick. This is not a settled point, and at the present day the
Woodsorrel is supposed to have the better claim to the honour. But it is
certain that the Clover is the "clubs" of the pack of cards. "Clover" is
a corruption of "Clava," a club. In England we paint the Clover on our
cards and call it "clubs," while in France they have the same figure,
but call it "trefle."




CLOVES.


     _Biron._

     A Lemon.

     _Longaville._

               Stuck with Cloves.

                _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (633).[56:1]

As a mention of a vegetable product, I could not omit this passage, but
the reference is only to the imported spice and not to the tree from
which then, as now, the Clove was gathered. The Clove of commerce is the
unexpanded flower of the Caryophyllus aromaticus, and the history of its
discovery and cultivation by the Dutch in Amboyna, with the vain
attempts they made to keep the monopoly of the profitable spice, is
perhaps the saddest chapter in all the history of commerce. See a full
account with description and plate of the plant in "Bot. Mag.," vol. 54,
No. 2749.


FOOTNOTES:

[56:1] "But then 'tis as full of drollery as ever it can hold; 'tis like
an orange stuck with Cloves as for conceipt."--_The Rehearsal_, 1671,
act iii, sc. 1.



COCKLE.


     (1) _Biron._

     Allons! allons! sowed Cockle reap'd no Corn.

                     _Love's Labour's Lost_, act iv, sc. 3 (383).


     (2) _Coriolanus._

                 We nourish 'gainst our senate
     The Cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition,
     Which we ourselves have plough'd for, sow'd, and scatter'd,
     By mingling them with us.

                               _Coriolanus_, act iii, sc. 1 (69).

In Shakespeare's time the word "Cockle" was becoming restricted to the
Corn-cockle (_Lychnis githago_), but both in his time, and certainly in
that of the writers before him, it was used generally for any noxious
weed that grew in corn-fields, and was usually connected with the Darnel
and Tares.[57:1] So Gower--

     "To sowe Cockel with the Corn
      So that the tilthe is nigh forlorn,
      Which Crist sew first his owne hond--
      Now stant the Cockel in the lond
      Where stood whilom the gode greine,
      For the prelats now, as men sain,
      For slouthen that they shoulden tille."

               _Confessio Amantis_, lib. quintus (2-190, Paulli).

Latimer has exactly the same idea: "Oh, that our prelates would bee as
diligent to sowe the corne of goode doctrine as Sathan is to sow Cockel
and Darnel." . . . "There was never such a preacher in England as he
(the devil) is. Who is able to tel his dylygent preaching? which every
daye and every houre laboreth to sowe Cockel and Darnel" (Latimer's
Fourth Sermon). And to the same effect Spenser--

     "And thus of all my harvest-hope I have
        Nought reaped but a weedie crop of care,
      Which when I thought have thresht in swelling sheave,
        Cockle for corn, and chaff for barley bare."

The Cockle or Campion is said to do mischief among the Wheat, not only,
as the Poppy and other weeds, by occupying room meant for the better
plant, but because the seed gets mixed with the corn, and then "what
hurt it doth among corne, the spoyle unto bread, as well in colour,
taste, and unwholsomness is better known than desired." So says Gerard,
but I do not know how far modern experience confirms him. It is a pity
the plant has so bad a character, for it is a very handsome weed, with a
fine blue flower, and the seeds are very curious objects under the
microscope, being described as exactly like a hedgehog rolled up.[58:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[57:1] "Cokylle--quædam aborigo, zazannia."--_Catholicon Anglicum._

[58:1] In Dorsetshire the Cockle is the bur of the Burdock. Barnes'
Glossary of Dorset.




COLOQUINTIDA.


     _Iago._

     The food that to him now is as luscious as Locusts, shall be
       to him shortly as bitter as Coloquintida.

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (354).

The Coloquintida, or Colocynth, is the dried fleshy part of the fruit of
the Cucumis or Citrullus colocynthis. As a drug it was imported in
Shakespeare's time and long before, but he may also have known the
plant. Gerard seems to have grown it, though from his describing it as a
native of the sandy shores of the Mediterranean, he perhaps confused it
with the Squirting Cucumber (_Momordica elaterium_). It is a native of
Turkey, but has been found also in Japan. It is also found in the East,
and we read of it in the history of Elisha: "One went out into the field
to gather herbs, and found a wild Vine, and gathered thereof wild
Gourds, his lap full."[59:1] It is not quite certain what species of
Gourd is here meant, but all the old commentators considered it to be
the Colocynth,[59:2] the word "vine" meaning any climbing plant, a
meaning that is still in common use in America.

All the tribe of Cucumbers are handsome foliaged plants, but they
require room. On the Continent they are much more frequently grown in
gardens than in England, but the hardy perennial Cucumber (_Cucumis
perennis_) makes a very handsome carpet where the space can be spared,
and the Squirting Cucumber (also hardy and perennial) is worth growing
for its curious fruit. (_See also_ PUMPION.)


FOOTNOTES:

[59:1] 2 Kings iv. 39.

[59:2] "Invenitque quasi vitem sylvestrem, et collegit ex ea
Colocynthidas agri."--_Vulgate._




COLUMBINE.


     (1) _Armado._

     I am that flower,

     _Dumain._

                       That Mint.

     _Longaville._

                                  That Columbine.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (661).


     (2) _Ophelia._

     There's Fennel for you and Columbines.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 5 (189).

This brings us to one of the most favourite of our old-fashioned English
flowers. It is very doubtful whether it is a true native, but from early
times it has been "carefully nursed up in our gardens for the delight
both of its forme and colours" (Parkinson); yet it had a bad character,
as we see from two passages quoted by Steevens--

     "What's that--a Columbine?
      No! that thankless flower grows not in my garden."

                                   _All Fools_, by CHAPMAN, 1605.

and again in the 15th Song of Drayton's "Polyolbion"--

     "The Columbine amongst they sparingly do set."

Spenser gave it a better character. Among his "gardyn of sweet floures,
that dainty odours from them threw around," he places--

     "Her neck lyke to a bounch of Cullambynes."

And, still earlier, Skelton (1463-1529) spoke of it with high praise--

     "She is the Vyolet,
      The Daysy delectable,
      The Columbine commendable,
      The Ielofer amyable."--_Phyllip Sparrow._

Both the English and the Latin names are descriptive of the plant.
Columbine, or the Dove-plant, calls our attention to the "resemblance of
its nectaries to the heads of pigeons in a ring round a dish, a
favourite device of ancient artists" (Dr. Prior); or to "the figure of a
hovering dove with expanded wings, which we obtain by pulling off a
single petal with its attached sepals" (Lady Wilkinson); though it may
also have had some reference to the colour, as the word is used by
Chaucer--

     "Come forth now with thin eyghen Columbine."

                                    _The Marchaundes Tale_ (190).

The Latin name, _Aquilegia_, is generally supposed to come from
_aquilegus_, a water-collector, alluding to the water-holding powers of
the flower; it may, however, be derived from _aquila_, an eagle, but
this seems more doubtful.

As a favourite garden flower, the Columbine found its way into heraldic
blazonry. "It occurs in the crest of the old Barons Grey of Vitten, as
may be seen in the garter coat of William Grey of Vitten" (Camden
Society 1847), and is thus described in the Painter's bill for the
ceremonial of the funeral of William Lord Grey of Vitten (MS. Coll. of
Arms, i, 13, fol. 35a): "Item, his creste with the favron, or, sette on
a leftehande glove, argent, out thereof issuyinge, caste over threade, a
braunch of Collobyns, blue, the stalk vert." Old Gwillim also enumerates
the Columbine among his "Coronary Herbs," as follows: "He beareth
argent, a chevron sable between three Columbines slipped proper, by the
name of Hall of Coventry. The Columbine is pleasing to the eye, as well
in respect of the seemly (and not vulgar) shape as in regard of the
azury colour thereof, and is holden to be very medicinable for the
dissolving of imposthumations or swellings in the throat."

As a garden plant the Columbine still holds a favourite place. Hardy,
handsome, and easy of cultivation, it commends itself to the most
ornamental as well as to the cottage garden, and there are so many
different sorts (both species and varieties) that all tastes may be
suited. Of the common species (A. vulgaris) there are double and single,
blue, white, and red; there is the beautiful dwarf A. Pyrenaica, never
exceeding six inches in height, but of a very rich deep blue; there are
the red and yellow ones (A. Skinneri and A. formosa) from North America;
and, to mention no more, there are the lovely A. cœrulea and the
grand A. chrysantha from the Rocky Mountains, certainly two of the most
desirable acquisitions to our hardy flowers that we have had in late
years.




CORK.


     (1) _Rosalind._

     I prythee take the Cork out of thy mouth, that I may hear thy
       tidings.

                          _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (213).


     (2) _Clown._

     As you'ld thrust a Cork into a hogshead.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iii, sc. 3 (95).


     (3) _Cornwall._

     Bind fast his Corky arms.

                                _King Lear_, act iii, sc. 7 (28).

It is most probable that Shakespeare had no further acquaintance with
the Cork tree than his use of Corks. The living tree was not introduced
into England till the latter part of the seventeenth century, yet is
very fairly described both by Gerard and Parkinson. The Cork, however,
was largely imported, and was especially used for shoes. Not only did
"shoemakers put it in shoes and pantofles for warmness sake," but for
its lightness it was used for the high-heeled shoes of the fashionable
ladies. I suppose from the following lines that these shoes were a
distinguishing part of a bride's trousseau--

     "Strip off my bride's array,
      My Cork-shoes from my feet,
      And, gentle mother, be not coy
      To bring my winding sheet."

                         _The Bride's Burial_--Roxburghe Ballads.

The Cork tree is a necessary element in all botanic gardens, but as an
ornamental tree it is not sufficiently distinct from the Ilex. Though a
native of the South of Europe it is hardy in England.




CORN.


     (1) _Gonzalo._

     No use of metal, Corn, or wine, or oil.

                                  _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (154).


     (2) _Duke._

     Our Corn's to reap, for yet our tithe's to sow.

                       _Measure for Measure_, act iv, sc. 1 (76).


     (3) _Titania._

     Playing on pipes of Corn, (67)

            *       *       *       *       *

     The green Corn
     Hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (94).


     (4) _K. Edward._

     What valiant foemen, like to autumn's Corn,
     Have we mowed down in tops of all their pride!

                                _3rd Henry VI_, act v, sc. 7 (3).


     (5) _Pucelle._

     Talk like the vulgar sort of market men
     That come to gather money for their Corn.

                              _1st Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (4).


     Poor market folks that come to sell their Corn.

                                                    _Ibid._ (14).


     Good morrow, gallants! want ye Corn for bread?

                                                    _Ibid._ (41).


     _Burgundy._

     I trust, ere long, to choke thee with thine own,
     And make thee curse the harvest of that Corn.

                                                    _Ibid._ (46).


     (6) _Duchess._

     Why droops my lord like over-ripened Corn
     Hanging the head at Ceres' plenteous load?

                               _2nd Henry VI_, act i, sc. 2. (1).


     (7) _Warwick._

     His well-proportioned beard made rough and ragged
     Like to the summer's Corn by tempest lodged.

                            _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (175).


     (8) _Mowbray._

     We shall be winnow'd with so rough a wind
     That even our Corn shall seem as light as chaff.

                             _2nd Henry IV_, act iv, sc. 1 (194).


     (9) _Macbeth._

     Though bladed Corn be lodged and trees blown down.

                                   _Macbeth_, act iv, sc. 1 (55).


     (10) _Longaville._

     He weeds the Corn, and still lets grow the weeding.

                       _Love's Labour's Lost_, act i, sc. 1 (96).


     (11) _Biron._

     Allons! allons! sowed Cockle reap'd no Corn.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc 3 (383).


     (12) _Edgar._

     Sleepest or wakest thou, jolly shepherd?
     Thy sheep be in the Corn.

                                _King Lear_, act iii, sc. 6 (43).


     (13) _Cordelia._

              All the idle weeds that grow
     In our sustaining Corn.

                                      _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 4 (6).


     (14) _Demetrius._

     First thrash the Corn, then after burn the straw.

                         _Titus Andronicus_, act ii, sc. 3 (123).


     (15) _Marcus._

     O, let me teach you how to knit again
     This scattered Corn into one mutual sheaf.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 3 (70).


     (16) _Pericles._

     Our ships are stored with Corn to make your needy bread.

                                   _Pericles_, act i, sc. 4 (95).


     (17) _Cleon._

     Your grace that fed my country with your Corn.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 3 (18).


     (18) _Menenius._

     For Corn at their own rates.

                                _Coriolanus_, act i, sc. 1 (193).


     _Marcus._

     The gods sent not Corn for the rich men only.

                                                   _Ibid._ (211).


     _Marcus._

     The Volsces have much Corn.

                                                   _Ibid._ (253).


     _Citizen._

     We stood up about the Corn.

                                     _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 3 (16).


     _Brutus._

     Corn was given them gratis.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 1 (43).


     _Coriolanus._

     Tell me of Corn!

                                                    _Ibid._ (61).


     The Corn of the storehouse gratis.

                                                   _Ibid._ (125).


     The Corn was not our recompense.

                                                   _Ibid._ (120).


              This kind of service
     Did not deserve Corn gratis.

                              _Coriolanus_, act iii, sc. 1 (124).


     (19) _Cranmer._

     I am right glad to catch this good occasion
     Most thoroughly to be winnow'd, where my chaff
     And Corn shall fly asunder.

                                _Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 1 (110).


     (20) _Cranmer._

     Her foes shake like a field of beaten Corn
     And hang their heads with sorrow.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 4 (32).


     (21) _K. Richard._

     We'll make foul weather with despised tears;
     Our sighs and they shall lodge the summer Corn.

                              _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 3 (161).


     (22) _Arcite._

                          And run
     Swifter then winde upon a field of Corne
     (Curling the wealthy eares) never flew.

                         _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act ii, sc. 3 (91).


     (23)

     As Corn o'ergrown by weeds, so heedful fear
     Is almost choked by unresisted lust.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (281).

I have made these quotations as short as possible. They could not be
omitted, but they require no comment.




COWSLIP.


     (1) _Burgundy._

     The even mead that erst brought sweetly forth
     The freckled Cowslip, Burnet, and green Clover.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (48).


     (2) _Queen._

     The Violets, Cowslips, and the Primroses,
     Bear to my closet.

                                  _Cymbeline_, act i, sc. 5 (83).


     (3) _Iachimo._

                 On her left breast
     A mole, cinque-spotted, like the crimson drops
     I' the bottom of a Cowslip.

                                     _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 2 (37).


     (4) _Ariel._

     Where the bee sucks there suck I,
     In a Cowslip's bell I lie.

                                    _Tempest_, act v, sc. 1 (88).


     (5) _Thisbe._

     Those yellow Cowslip cheeks.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act v, sc. 1 (339).


     (6) _Fairy._

     The Cowslips tall her pensioners be;
     In their gold coats spots you see;
     Those be rubies, fairy favours,
     In those freckles live their savours;
     I must go seek some dewdrops here,
     And hang a pearl in every Cowslip's ear.

             _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (10).[65:1]

"Cowslips! how the children love them, and go out into the fields on the
sunny April mornings to collect them in their little baskets, and then
come home and pick the pips to make sweet unintoxicating wine,
preserving at the same time untouched a bunch of the goodliest flowers
as a harvest-sheaf of beauty! and then the white soft husks are gathered
into balls and tossed from hand to hand till they drop to pieces, to be
trodden upon and forgotten. And so at last, when each sense has had its
fill of the flower, and they are thoroughly tired of their play, the
children rest from their celebration of the Cowslip. Blessed are such
flowers that appeal to every sense." So wrote Dr. Forbes Watson in his
very pretty and Ruskinesque little work "Flowers and Gardens," and the
passage well expresses one of the chief charms of the Cowslip. It is the
most favourite wild flower with children. It must have been also a
favourite with Shakespeare, for his descriptions show that he had
studied it with affection. The minute description in (6) should be
noticed. The upright golden Cowslip is compared to one of Queen
Elizabeth's Pensioners, who were splendidly dressed, and are frequently
noticed in the literature of the day. With Mrs. Quickly they were the
_ne plus ultra_ of grandeur--"And yet there has been earls, nay, which
is more, pensioners" ("Merry Wives," act ii, sc. 2). Milton, too, sings
in its praise--

     "Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
      Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
      The flowering May, who from her green lap throws
      The yellow Cowslip and the pale Primrose."

                                           _Song on May Morning._

     "Whilst from off the waters fleet,
      Then I set my printless feet
      O'er the Cowslip's velvet head
      That bends not as I tread."

                                       _Sabrina's Song in Comus._

But in "Lycidas" he associates it with more melancholy ideas--

     "With Cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
      And every flower that sad embroidery wears."

This association of sadness with the Cowslip is copied by Mrs. Hemans,
who speaks of "Pale Cowslips, meet for maiden's early bier;" but these
are exceptions. All the other poets who have written of the Cowslip (and
they are very numerous) tell of its joyousness, and brightness, and
tender beauty, and its "bland, yet luscious, meadow-breathing scent."

The names of the plant are a puzzle; botanically it is a Primrose, but
it is never so called. It has many names, but its most common are Paigle
and Cowslip. Paigle has never been satisfactorily explained, nor has
Cowslip. Our great etymologists, Cockayne and Dr. Prior and Wedgwood,
are all at variance on the name; and Dr. Prior assures us that it has
nothing to do with either "cows" or "lips," though the derivation, if
untrue, is at least as old as Ben Jonson, who speaks of "Bright
Dayes-eyes and the lips of Cowes." But we all believe it has, and,
without inquiring too closely into the etymology, we connect the flower
with the rich pastures and meadows of which it forms so pretty a spring
ornament, while its fine scent recalls the sweet breath of the
cow--"just such a sweet, healthy odour is what we find in cows; an odour
which breathes around them as they sit at rest on the pasture, and is
believed by many, perhaps with truth, to be actually curative of
disease" (Forbes Watson).

Botanically, the Cowslip is a very interesting plant. In all essential
points the Primrose, Cowslip, and Oxlip are identical; the Primrose,
however, choosing woods and copses and the shelter of the hedgerows, the
Cowslip choosing the open meadows, while the Oxlip is found in either.
The garden "Polyanthus of unnumbered dyes" (Thomson's "Seasons:" Spring)
is only another form produced by cultivation, and is one of the most
favourite plants in cottage gardens. It may, however, well be grown in
gardens of more pretension; it is neat in growth, handsome in flower, of
endless variety, and easy cultivation. There are also many varieties of
the Cowslip, of different colours, double and single, which are very
useful in the spring garden.


FOOTNOTES:

[65:1] Drayton also allotted the Cowslip as the special
Fairies' flower--

          "For the queene a fitting bower,
     (Quoth he) is that tall Cowslip flower."--_Nymphidia._




CRABS, _see_ APPLE.




CROCUS, _see_ SAFFRON.




CROW-FLOWERS.


     _Queen._

     There with fantastic garlands did she come
     Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purples.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 7 (169).

The Crow-flower is now the Buttercup,[67:1] but in Shakespeare's time it
was applied to the Ragged Robin (_Lychnis flos-cuculi_), and I should
think that this was the flower that poor Ophelia wove into her garland.
Gerard says, "They are not used either in medicine or in nourishment;
but they serve for garlands and crowns, and to deck up gardens." We do
not now use the Ragged Robin for the decking of our gardens, not that we
despise it, for it is a flower that all admire in the hedgerows, but
because we have other members of the same family as easy to grow and
more handsome, such as the double variety of the wild plant, L.
Chalcedonica, L. Lagascæ, L. fulgens, L. Haagena, &c. In Shakespeare's
time the name was also given to the Wild Hyacinth, which is so named by
Turner and Lyte; but this could scarcely have been the flower of
Ophelia's garland, which was composed of the flowers of early summer,
and not of spring. (See Appendix, p. 388.)


FOOTNOTES:

[67:1] In Scotland the Wild Hyacinth is still called the Crow-flower--

     "Sweet the Crow-flower's early bell
      Decks Gleniffer's dewy dell,
      Blooming like thy bonny sel,
      My young, my artless dearie, O."

                                      TANNAHILL, _Gloomy Winter_.




CROWN IMPERIAL.


     _Perdita._

              Bold Oxlips, and
     The Crown Imperial.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (125).

The Crown Imperial is a Fritillary (_F. imperialis_). It is a native of
Persia, Afghanistan, and Cashmere, but it was very early introduced into
England from Constantinople, and at once became a favourite. Chapman, in
1595, spoke of it as--

     "Fair Crown Imperial, Emperor of Flowers."

                                       OVID'S _Banquet of Sense_.

Gerard had it plentifully in his garden, and Parkinson gave it the
foremost place in his "Paradisus Terrestris." "The Crown Imperial," he
says, "for its stately beautifulnesse deserveth the first place in this
our garden of delight, to be here entreated of before all other
Lillies." George Herbert evidently admired it much--

     "Then went I to a garden, and did spy
              A gallant flower,
      The Crown Imperial."

                                                    _Peace_ (13).

And if not in Shakespeare's time, yet certainly very soon after, there
were as many varieties as there are now. The plant, as a florist's
flower, has stood still in a very remarkable way. Though it is
apparently a plant that invites the attention of the hybridizing
gardener, yet we still have but the two colours, the red and the yellow
(a pure white would be a great acquisition), with single and double
flowers, flowers in tiers, and with variegated leaves. And all these
varieties have existed for more than two hundred years.

As a stately garden plant it should be in every garden. It flowers
early, and then dies down. But it should be planted rather in the
background, as the whole plant has an evil smell, especially in
sunshine. Yet it should have a close attention, if only to study and
admire the beautiful interior of the flower. I know of no other flower
that is similarly formed, and it cannot be better described than in
Gerard's words: "In the bottome of each of the bells there is placed six
drops of most cleere shining sweet water, in taste like sugar,
resembling in shew faire Orient pearles, the which drops if you take
away, there do immediately appeare the like; notwithstanding, if they
may be suffered to stand still in the floure according to his owne
nature, they wil never fall away, no, not if you strike the plant untill
it be broken." How these drops are formed, and what service they perform
in the economy of the flower, has not been explained, as far as I am
aware; but there is a pretty German legend which tells how the flower
was originally white and erect, and grew in its full beauty in the
garden of Gethsemane, where it was often noticed and admired by our
Lord; but in the night of the agony, as our Lord passed through the
garden, all the other flowers bowed their head in sorrowful adoration,
the Crown Imperial alone remaining with its head unbowed, but not for
long--sorrow and shame took the place of pride, she bent her proud[69:1]
head, and blushes of shame, and tears of sorrow soon followed, and so
she has ever continued, with bent head, blushing colour, and
ever-flowing tears. It is a pretty legend, and may be found at full
length in "Good Words for the Young," August, 1870.


FOOTNOTES:

[69:1] The bent head of the Crown Imperial could not well escape
notice--

     "The Polyanthus, and with prudent head,
      The Crown Imperial, ever bent on earth,
      Favouring her secret rites, and pearly sweets."--FORSTER.




CUCKOO-BUDS AND FLOWERS.


     (1) _Song of Spring._

     When Daisies pied, and Violets blue,
       And Lady-smocks all silver-white,
     And Cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,
       Do paint the meadows with delight.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (904).


     (2) _Cordelia._

                    He was met even now
     As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;
     Crown'd with rank Fumiter and Furrow-weeds,
     With Burdocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers,
     Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
     In our sustaining Corn.

                                  _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 4 (1).

There is a difficulty in deciding what flower Shakespeare meant by
Cuckoo-buds. We now always give the name to the Meadow Cress (_Cardamine
pratensis_), but it cannot be that in either of these passages, because
that flower is mentioned under its other name of Lady-smocks in the
previous line (No. 1), nor is it "of yellow hue;" nor does it grow among
Corn, as described in No. 2. Many plants have been suggested, and the
choice seems to me to lie between two. Mr. Swinfen Jervis[70:1] decides
without hesitation in favour of Cowslips, and the yellow hue painting
the meadows in spring time gives much force to the decision; Schmidt
gives the same interpretation; but I think the Buttercup, as suggested
by Dr. Prior, will still better meet the requirements.


FOOTNOTES:

[70:1] "Dictionary of the Language of Shakespeare," 1868.




CUPID'S FLOWER, _see_ PANSIES.




CURRANTS.


     (1) _Clown._

     What am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of
       Sugar, five pound of Currants.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (39).


     (2) _Theseus._

     I stamp this kisse upon thy Currant lippe.

                         _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act i, sc. 1 (241).

The Currants of (1) are the Currants of commerce, the fruit of the Vitis
Corinthiaca, whence the fruit has derived its name of Corans, or
Currants.

The English Currants are of an entirely different family; and are
closely allied to the Gooseberry. The Currants--black, white, and
red--are natives of the northern parts of Europe, and are probably wild
in Britain. They do not seem to have been much grown as garden fruit
till the early part of the sixteenth century, and are not mentioned by
the earlier writers; but that they were known in Shakespeare's time we
have the authority of Gerard, who, speaking of Gooseberries, says: "We
have also in our London gardens another sort altogether without prickes,
whose fruit is very small, lesser by muche than the common kinde, but of
a perfect red colour." This "perfect red colour" explains the "currant
lip" of No. 2.




CYME, _see_ SENNA.




CYPRESS.[71:1]


     (1) _Suffolk._

     Their sweetest shade, a grove of Cypress trees!

                             _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (322).


     (2) _Aufidius._

     I am attended at the Cypress grove.

                                 _Coriolanus_, act i, sc. 10 (30).


     (3) _Gremio._

     In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns,
     In Cypress chests my arras counterpoints.

                      _Taming of the Shrew_, act ii, sc. 1 (351).

The Cypress (_Cupressus sempervirens_), originally a native of Mount
Taurus, is found abundantly through all the South of Europe, and is said
to derive its name from the Island of Cyprus. It was introduced into
England many years before Shakespeare's time, but is always associated
in the old authors with funerals and churchyards; so that Spenser calls
it the "Cypress funereal," which epithet he may have taken from Pliny's
description of the Cypress: "Natu morosa, fructu supervacua, baccis
torva, foliis amara, odore violenta, ac ne umbrâ quidem gratiosa--Diti
sacra, et ideo funebri signo ad domos posita" ("Nat. Hist.," xvi. 32).

Sir John Mandeville mentions the Cypress in a very curious way: "The
Cristene men, that dwellen beyond the See, in Grece, seyn that the tree
of the Cros, that we callen Cypresse, was of that tree that Adam ete the
Appule of; and that fynde thei writen" ("Voiage," &c., cap. 2). And the
old poem of the "Squyr of lowe degre," gives the tree a sacred
pre-eminence--

     "The tre it was of Cypresse,
      The fyrst tre that Iesu chese."

                  RITSON'S _Ear. Eng. Met. Romances_, viii. (31).

"In the Arundel MS. 42 may be found an alphabet of plants. . . . The
author mentions his garden 'by Stebenhythe by syde London,' and relates
that he brought a bough of Cypress with its Apples from Bristol 'into
Estbritzlond,' fresh in September, to show that it might be propagated
by slips."--_Promptorium Parvulorum_, app. 67.

The Cypress is an ornamental evergreen, but stiff in its growth till it
becomes of a good age; and for garden purposes the European plant is
becoming replaced by the richer forms from Asia and North America, such
as C. Lawsoniana, macrocarpa, Lambertiana, and others.


FOOTNOTES:

[71:1] Cypress, or Cyprus (for the word is spelt differently in the
different editions), is also mentioned by Shakespeare in the following--

     (1) _Clown._

     In sad Cypress let me be laid.

                                  _Twelfth Night_, act ii, sc. 4.


     (2) _Olivia._

            To one of your receiving
     Enough is shown; and Cyprus, not a bosom,
     Hides my poor heart.

                                         _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 1.


     (3) _Autolycus._

     Lawn as white as driven snow,
     Cyprus, black as e'er was crow.

                                  _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3.

But in all these cases the Cypress is not the name of the plant, but is
the fabric which we now call crape, the "sable stole of Cypre's lawn" of
Milton's "Penseroso."




DAFFODILS.[73:1]


     (1) _Autolycus._

     When Daffodils begin to peer,
       With heigh! the doxy o'er the dale,
     Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year.

                              _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (1).


     (2) _Perdita._

                         Daffodils
     That come before the swallow dares, and take
     The winds of March with beauty.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 4 (118).


     (3) _Wooer._

     With chaplets on their heads of Daffodillies.

                         _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 1 (94).

_See also_ NARCISSUS, p. 175.

Of all English plants there have been none in such constant favour as
the Daffodil, whether known by its classical name of Narcissus, or by
its more popular names of Daffodil, or Daffadowndilly, and Jonquil. The
name of Narcissus it gets from being supposed to be the same as the
plant so named by the Greeks first and the Romans afterwards. It is a
question whether the plants are the same, and I believe most authors
think they are not; but I have never been able to see very good reasons
for their doubts. The name Jonquil comes corrupted through the French,
from _juncifolius_ or "rush-leaf," and is properly restricted to those
species of the family which have rushy leaves. "Daffodil" is commonly
said to be a corruption of Asphodel ("Daffodil is Ασφοδελον, and has
capped itself with a letter which eight hundred years ago did not belong
to it."--COCKAYNE, _Spoon and Sparrow_, 19), with which plant it was
confused (as it is in Lyte's "Herbal"), but Lady Wilkinson says very
positively that "it is simply the old English word 'affodyle,'[73:2]
which signifies 'that which cometh early.'" "Daffadowndilly," again is
supposed to be but a playful corruption of "Daffodil," but Dr. Prior
argues (and he is a very safe authority) that it is rather a corruption
of "Saffron Lily." Daffadowndilly is not used by Shakespeare, but it is
used by his contemporaries, as by Spenser frequently, and by H.
Constable, who died in 1604--

     "Diaphenia, like the Daffadowndilly,
      White as the sun, fair as the Lilly,
          Heigh, ho! how I do love thee!"

But however it derived its pretty names, it was the favourite flower of
our ancestors as a garden flower, and especially as the flower for
making garlands, a custom very much more common then than it is now. It
was the favourite of all English poets. Gower describes the Narcissus--

     "For in the winter fresh and faire
      The flowres ben, which is contraire
      To kind, and so was the folie
      Which fell of his surquedrie"--_i.e._, of Narcissus.

                      _Confes. Aman._ lib. prim. (1. 121 Paulli).

Shakespeare must have had a special affection for it, for in all his
descriptions there is none prettier or more suggestive than Perdita's
short but charming description of the Daffodil (No. 2). A small volume
might be filled with the many poetical descriptions of this "delectable
and sweet-smelling flower," but there are some which are almost
classical, and which can never be omitted, and which will bear
repetition, however well we know them. Milton says, "The Daffodillies
fill their cups with tears."[74:1] There are Herrick's well-known
lines--

     "Fair Daffodils, we weep to see
      You haste away so soon,
        As yet the early-rising sun
      Has not attained his noon;
                  Stay, stay,
      Until the hastening day
                  Has run
      But to the even-song;
      And having prayed together, we
        Will go with you along.

      We have short time to stay as you,
        We have as short a spring,
      As quick a growth to meet decay,
        As you or anything.
                  We die,
      As your hours do, and dry
                  Away,
      Like to the summer's rain,
        Or as the pearls of morning dew,
      Ne'er to be found again."

And there are Keats' and Shelley's well-known and beautiful lines which
bring down the praises of the Daffodil to our own day. Keats says--

     "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,
      Its loveliness increases, it will never
      Pass into nothingness.  .  .  .  .  .
      .  .  .  .  .  In spite of all
      Some shape of beauty moves away the pale
      From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
      Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
      For simple sheep; and such are Daffodils
      With the green world they live in."

Shelley is still warmer in his praise--

     "Narcissus, the fairest among them all,
      Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's recess,
      Till they die of their own dear loveliness."

                                     _The Sensitive Plant_, p. 1.

Nor must Wordsworth be left out when speaking of the poetry of
Daffodils. His stanzas are well known, while his sister's prose
description of them is the most poetical of all: "They grew among the
mossy stones; . . . some rested their heads on these stones as on a
pillow, the rest tossed and reeled and danced, and seemed as if they
verily laughed with the wind, they looked so gay and glancing."[76:1]

But it is time to come to prose. The Daffodil of Shakespeare is the Wild
Daffodil (_Narcissus pseudo-Narcissus_) that is found in abundance in
many parts of England. This is the true English Daffodil, and there is
only one other species that is truly native--the N. biflorus, chiefly
found in Devonshire. But long before Shakespeare's time a vast number
had been introduced from different parts of Europe, so that Gerard was
able to describe twenty-four different species, and had "them all and
every of them in our London gardens in great abundance." The family, as
at present arranged by Mr. J. G. Baker, of the Kew Herbarium, consists
of twenty-one species, with several sub-species and varieties; all of
which should be grown. They are all, with the exception of the Algerian
species, which almost defy cultivation in England, most easy of
cultivation--"Magnâ curâ non indigent Narcissi." They only require after
the first planting to be let alone, and then they will give us their
graceful flowers in varied beauty from February to May. The first will
usually be the grand N. maximus, which may be called the King of
Daffodils, though some authors have given to it a still more illustrious
name. The "Rose of Sharon" was the large yellow Narcissus, common in
Palestine and the East generally, of which Mahomet said: "He that has
two cakes of bread, let him sell one of them for some flower of the
Narcissus, for bread is the food of the body, but Narcissus is the food
of the soul." From these grand leaders of the tribe we shall be led
through the Hoop-petticoats, the many-flowered Tazettas, and the sweet
Jonquils, till we end the Narcissus season with the Poets' Narcissus
(Ben Jonson's "chequ'd and purple-ringed Daffodilly"), certainly one of
the most graceful flowers that grows, and of a peculiar fragrance that
no other flower has; so beautiful is it, that even Dr. Forbes Watson's
description of it is scarcely too glowing: "In its general expression
the Poets' Narcissus seems a type of maiden purity and beauty, yet
warmed by a love-breathing fragrance; and yet what innocence in the
large soft eye, which few can rival amongst the whole tribe of flowers.
The narrow, yet vivid fringe of red, so clearly seen amidst the
whiteness, suggests again the idea of purity, gushing passion--purity
with a heart which can kindle into fire."


FOOTNOTES:

[73:1] This account of the Daffodil, and the accounts of some other
flowers, I have taken from a paper by myself on the common English names
of plants read to the Bath Field Club in 1870, and published in the
"Transactions" of the Club, and afterwards privately printed.--H. N. E.

[73:2]

     "Herbe orijam and Thyme and Violette
      Eke Affodyle and savery thereby sette."

                         _Palladius on Husbandrie_, book i, 1014.
                                                (E. E. Text Soc.)

[74:1] "The cup in the centre of the flower is supposed to contain the
tears of Narcissus, to which Milton alludes; . . . and Virgil in the
following--

                      'Pars intra septa domorum
     Narcissi lacrymas . . . ponunt.'"--_Flora Domestica_, 268.

[76:1] The "Quarterly Review," quoting this description, says that "few
poets ever lived who could have written a description so simple and
original, so vivid and descriptive." Yet it is an unconscious imitation
of Homer's account of the Narcissus--

     "νάρκισσόν θ' . . .
      θαυμαστὸν γανόωντα; σέβας δέ τε πᾶσιν ἰδέσθαι
      ἀθανάτοις τε θεοῖς ἠδὲ θνητοῖς ἀνθρώποις;
      τοῦ καὶ ἀπὸ ῥίζης ἑκατὸν κάρα ἐξεπεφύκει;
      κηώδει τ' ὀδμῆ πᾶς τ' οὐρανὸς εὐρὺς ὕπερθεν,
      γαῖά τε πᾶσ' ἐγέλασσε, καὶ ἁλμυρὸν οἶδμα θαλάσσης."

                                         _Hymn to Demeter_, 8-14.




DAISIES.


     (1) _Song of Spring._

     When Daisies pied, and Violets, &c.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (904).
                                             (_See_ CUCKOO-BUDS.)


     (2) _Lucius._

                                 Let us
     Find out the prettiest Daisied plot we can,
     And make him with our pikes and partizans
     A grave.

                                _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (397).


     (3) _Ophelia._

     There's a Daisy.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 5 (183).


     (4) _Queen._

     There with fantastic garlands did she come
     Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purples.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 7 (169).


     (5)

     Without the bed her other faire hand was
     On the green coverlet; whose perfect white
     Show'd like an April Daisy on the Grass.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (393).


     (6)

     Daisies smel-lesse, yet most quaint.

                               _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Introd. song.

_See_ APPENDIX. I., p. 359.




DAMSONS, _see_ PLUMS.




DARNEL.


     (1) _Cordelia._

     Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
     In our sustaining Corn.

                                  _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 4 (5).
                                          (_See_ CUCKOO-FLOWERS.)


     (2) _Burgundy._

                      Her fallow leas,
     The Darnel, Hemlock, and rank Fumitory
     Doth root upon.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (44).


     (3) _Pucelle._

     Good morrow, Gallants! want ye Corn for bread?
     I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast,
     Before he'll buy again at such a rate;
     'Twas full of Darnel; do you like the taste?

                             _1st Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (41).

Virgil, in his Fifth Eclogue, says--

     "Grandia sæpe quibus mandavimus hordea solcis
      Infelix lolium et steriles dominantur avenæ."

Thus translated by Thomas Newton, 1587--

     "Sometimes there sproutes abundant store
        Of baggage, noisome weeds,
      Burres, Brembles, Darnel, Cockle, Dawke,
        Wild Oates, and choaking seedes."

And the same is repeated in the first Georgic, and in both places
_lolium_ is always translated Darnel, and so by common consent Darnel is
identified with the Lolium temulentum or wild Rye Grass. But in
Shakespeare's time Darnel, like Cockle (which see), was the general name
for any hurtful weed. In the old translation of the Bible, the Zizania,
which is now translated Tares, was sometime translated Cockle,[78:1] and
Newton, writing in Shakespeare's time, says--"Under the name of Cockle
and Darnel is comprehended all vicious, noisom and unprofitable graine,
encombring and hindring good corne."--_Herball to the Bible._ The Darnel
is not only injurious from choking the corn, but its seeds become mixed
with the true Wheat, and so in Dorsetshire--and perhaps in other
parts--it has the name of "Cheat" (Barnes' Glossary), from its false
likeness to Wheat. It was this false likeness that got for it its bad
character. "Darnell or Juray," says Lyte ("Herball," 1578), "is a
vitious graine that combereth or anoyeth corne, especially Wheat, and in
his knotten straw, blades, or leaves is like unto Wheate." Yet Lindley
says that "the noxious qualities of Darnel or Lolium temulentum seem to
rest upon no certain proof" ("Vegetable Kingdom," p. 116).


FOOTNOTES:

[78:1] "When men were a sleepe, his enemy came and oversowed Cockle
among the wheate, and went his way."--_Rheims Trans._, 1582. For further
early references to Cockle or Darnel see note on "Darnelle" in the
"Catholicon Anglicum," p. 90, and Britten's "English Plant Names," p.
143.




DATES.


     (1) _Clown._

     I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies--Mace--Dates?
       none; that's out of my note.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (48).


     (2) _Nurse._

     They call for Dates and Quinces in the pastry.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act iv, sc. 4 (2).


     (3) _Parolles._

     Your Date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your
       cheek.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act i, sc. 1 (172).


     (4) _Pandarus._

     Do you know what a man is? Is not birth, beauty, good shape,
       discourse, manhood, learning, gentleness, virtue, youth,
       liberality, and such like, the spice and salt that season a
       man?

     _Cressida._

     Ay, a minced man; and then to be baked with no Date in the
       pye; for then the man's date's out.

                      _Troilus and Cressida_, act i, sc. 2 (274).

The Date is the well-known fruit of the Date Palm (_Phœnix
dactylifera_), the most northern of the Palms. The Date Palm grows over
the whole of Southern Europe, North Africa, and South-eastern Asia; but
it is not probable that Shakespeare ever saw the tree, though Neckam
speaks of it in the twelfth century, and Lyte describes it, and Gerard
made many efforts to grow it; he tried to grow plants from the seed,
"the which I have planted many times in my garden, and have grown to the
height of three foot, but the first frost hath nipped them in such sort
that they perished, notwithstanding mine industrie by covering them, or
what else I could do for their succour." The fruit, however, was
imported into England in very early times, and was called by the
Anglo-Saxons Finger-Apples, a curious name, but easily explained as the
translation of the Greek name for the fruit, δακτυλοι which was also the
origin of the word date, of which the olden form was dactylle.[80:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[80:1] "A dactylle frute dactilis."--_Catholicon Anglicum._




DEAD MEN'S FINGERS.


     _Queen._

     Our cold maids do Dead Men's Fingers call them.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 7 (172).

_See_ LONG PURPLES, p. 148.




DEWBERRIES.


     _Titania._

     Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries.

                 _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (169).

The Dewberry (_Rubus cæsius_) is a handsome fruit, very like the
Blackberry, but coming earlier. It has a peculiar sub-acid flavour,
which is much admired by some, as it must have been by Titania, who
joins it with such fruits as Apricots, Grapes, Figs, and Mulberries. It
may be readily distinguished from the Blackberry by the fruit being
composed of a few larger drupes, and being covered with a glaucous
bloom.




DIAN'S BUD.


     _Oberon._

     Be, as thou wast wont to be
                   (touching her eyes with an herb),
     See, as thou wast wont to see;
     Dian's Bud o'er Cupid's flower
     Hath such force and blessed power.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (76).

The same herb is mentioned in act iii, sc. 2 (366)--

     Then crush this herb into Lysander's eye,
     Whose liquor hath this virtuous property,
     To take from thence all error, with his might,
     And make his eyeballs roll with wonted sight.

But except in these two passages I believe the herb is not mentioned by
any author. It can be nothing but Shakespeare's translation of
Artemisia, the herb of Artemis or Diana, a herb of wonderful virtue
according to the writers before Shakespeare's day. (_See_ WORMWOOD.)




DOCKS.


     (1) _Burgundy._

                   And nothing teems
     But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (51).


     (2) _Antonio._

     He'd sow it with Nettle seed,

     _Sebastian._

       Or Docks, or Mallows.

                                  _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (145).

The Dock may be dismissed with little note or comment, merely remarking
that the name is an old one, and is variously spelled as dokke, dokar,
doken, &c. An old name for the plant was "Patience;" the "bitter
patience" of Spenser, which is supposed by Dr. Prior to be a corruption
of Passions.




DOGBERRY.


(_Dramatis personæ_ in _Much Ado About Nothing._)

The Dogberry is the fruit either of the Cornus sanguinea or of the
Euonymus Europæus. Parkinson limits the name to the Cornus, and says:
"We for the most part call it the _Dogge berry tree_, because the
berries are not fit to be eaten, or to be given to a dogge." The plant
is only named by Shakespeare as a man's name, but it could scarcely be
omitted, as I agree with Mr. Milner that it was "probable that our
dramatist had the tree in his mind when he gave a name to that fine
fellow for a 'sixth and lastly,' Constable, Dogberry of the Watch"
("Country Pleasures," p. 229).




EBONY.


     (1) _King._

     The Ebon-coloured ink.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act i, sc. 1 (245).


     (2) _King._

     By heaven, thy love is black as Ebony.

     _Biron._

     Is Ebony like her? O wood divine!
     A wife of such wood were felicity.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 3 (247).


     (3) _Clown._

     The clearstores towards the south north are as lustrous as
       Ebony.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act iv, sc. 2 (41).


     (4) _Pistol._

     Rouse up revenge from Ebon den.

                               _2nd Henry IV_, act v, sc. 5 (39).


     (5) Death's Ebon dart, to strike him dead.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (948).

The Ebony as a tree was unknown in England in the time of Shakespeare.
The wood was introduced, and was the typical emblem of darkness. The
timber is the produce of more than one species, but comes chiefly from
Diospyros Ebenum, Ebenaster, Melanoxylon, Mabola, &c. (Lindley), all
natives of the East.




EGLANTINE.


     (1) _Oberon._

     I know a bank where the wild Thyme blows,
     Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows;
     Quite over-canopied with luscious Woodbine,
     With sweet Musk-Roses and with Eglantine.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (249).


     (2) _Arviragus._

                           Thou shalt not lack
     The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose, nor
     The azured Harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
     The leaf of Eglantine, whom not to slander,
     Out-sweeten'd not thy breath.

                                _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (220).

If Shakespeare had only written these two passages they would
sufficiently have told of his love for simple flowers. None but a dear
lover of such flowers could have written these lines. There can be no
doubt that the Eglantine in his time was the Sweet Brier--his notice of
the sweet leaf makes this certain. Gerard so calls it, but makes some
confusion--which it is not easy to explain--by saying that the flowers
are white, whereas the flowers of the true Sweet Brier are pink. In the
earlier poets the name seems to have been given to any wild Rose, and
Milton certainly did not consider the Eglantine and the Sweet Brier to
be identical. He says ("L'Allegro")--

     "Through the Sweet Briar or the Vine,
        Or the twisted Eglantine."

But Milton's knowledge of flowers was very limited. Herrick has some
pretty lines on the flower, in which it seems most probable that he was
referring to the Sweet Brier--

     "From this bleeding hand of mine
      Take this sprig of Eglantine,
      Which, though sweet unto your smell,
      Yet the fretful Briar will tell,
      He who plucks the sweets shall prove
      Many Thorns to be in love."

It was thus the emblem of pleasure mixed with pain--

     "Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere."

                                          SPENSER, _Sonnet_ xxvi.

And so its names pronounced it to be; it was either the Sweet Brier, or
it was Eglantine, the thorny plant (Fr., _aiglentier_). There was also
an older name for the plant, of which I can give no explanation. It was
called Bedagar. "Bedagar dicitur gallice aiglentier" (John de
Gerlande). "_Bedagrage_, spina alba, wit-thorn" (Harl. MS., No. 978 in
"Reliquiæ Antiquæ," i, 36).[84:1] The name still exists, though not in
common use; but only as the name of a drug made from "the excrescences
on the branches of the Rose, and particularly on those of the wild
varieties" (Parsons on the Rose).

It is a native of Britain, but not very common, being chiefly confined
to the South of England. I have found it on Maidenhead Thicket. As a
garden plant it is desirable for the extremely delicate scent of its
leaves, but the flower is not equal to others of the family. There is,
however, a double-flowered variety, which is handsome. The fruit of the
single flowered tree is large, and of a deep red colour, and is said to
be sometimes made into a preserve. In modern times this is seldom done,
but it may have been common in Shakespeare's time, for Gerard says
quaintly: "The fruit when it is ripe maketh most pleasant meats and
banqueting dishes, as tarts and such like, the making whereof I commit
to the cunning cooke, and teeth to eat them in the rich man's mouth."
And Drayton says--

     "They'll fetch you conserve from the hip,
      And lay it softly on your lip."

                                                    _Nymphal II._

Eglantine has a further interest in being one of the many thorny trees
from which the sacred crown of thorns was supposed to be made--"And
afterwards he was led into a garden of Cayphas, and there he was crowned
with Eglantine" (Sir John Mandeville).


FOOTNOTES:

[84:1] "Est et cynosrodos, rosa camina, ung eglantier, folia myrti
habens, sed paulo majora; recta assurgens in mediam altitudinem inter
arborem et fruticem; fert spongiolas, quibus utuntur medici, ad malefica
capitis ulcera, la malle tigne, vocatur antem vulgo in officinis
pharmacopolarum, bedegar."--_Stephani de re Hortensi Libellus_, p. 17,
1536.




ELDER.


     (1) _Arviragus._

     And let the stinking Elder, grief, untwine
     His perishing root with the increasing Vine!

                                 _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (59).


     (2) _Host._

     What says my Æsculapius? my Galen? my heart of Elder?

                               _Merry Wives_, act ii, sc. 3 (29).


     (3) _Saturninus._

               Look for thy reward
     Among the Nettles at the Elder tree,

            *       *       *       *       *

     This is the pit and this the Elder tree.

                         _Titus Andronicus_, act ii, sc. 3 (271).


     (4) _Williams._

     That's a perilous shot out of an Elder gun, that a poor and
       private displeasure can do against a monarch.

                                  _Henry V_, act iv, sc. 1 (200).


     (5) _Holofernes._

     Begin, sir, you are my Elder.

     _Biron._

     Well followed; Judas was hanged on an Elder.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (608).

There is, perhaps, no tree round which so much of contradictory
folk-lore has gathered as the Elder tree.[85:1] With many it was simply
"the stinking Elder," of which nothing but evil could be spoken. Biron
(No. 5) only spoke the common mediæval notion that "Judas was hanged on
an Elder;" and so firm was this belief that Sir John Mandeville was
shown the identical tree at Jerusalem, "and faste by is zit, the Tree of
Eldre that Judas henge himself upon, for despeyr that he hadde, when he
solde and betrayed oure Lord." This was enough to give the tree a bad
fame, which other things helped to confirm--the evil smell of its
leaves, the heavy narcotic smell of its flowers, its hard and heartless
wood,[85:2] and the ugly drooping black fungus that is almost
exclusively found on it (though it occurs also on the Elm), which was
vulgarly called the Ear of Judas (_Hirneola auricula Judæ_). This was
the bad character; but, on the other hand, there were many who could
tell of its many virtues, so that in 1644 appeared a book entirely
devoted to its praises. This was "The Anatomie of the Elder, translated
from the Latin of Dr. Martin Blockwich by C. de Iryngio" (_i.e._,
Christ. Irvine), a book that, in its Latin and English form, went
through several editions. And this favourable estimate of the tree is
still very common in several parts of the Continent. In the South of
Germany it is believed to drive away evil spirits, and the name
"'Holderstock' (Elder Stock) is a term of endearment given by a lover to
his beloved, and is connected with Hulda, the old goddess of love, to
whom the Elder tree was considered sacred." In Denmark and Norway it is
held in like esteem, and in the Tyrol an "Elder bush, trained into the
form of a cross, is planted on the new-made grave, and if it blossoms
the soul of the person lying beneath it is happy." And this use of the
Elder for funeral purposes was, perhaps, also an old English custom; for
Spenser, speaking of Death, says--

     "The Muses that were wont greene Baies to weare,
      Now bringen bittre Eldre braunches seare."

                                 _Shepherd's Calendar--November._

Nor must we pass by the high value that was placed on the wood both by
the Jews and Greeks. It was the wood chiefly used for musical
instruments, so that the name Sambuke was applied to several very
different instruments, from the fact that they were all made of Elder
wood. The "sackbut," "dulcimer," and "pipe" of Daniel iii. are all
connected together in this manner.

As a garden plant the common Elder is not admissible, though it forms a
striking ornament in the wild hedgerows and copses, while its flowers
yield the highly perfumed Elder-flower water, and its fruits give the
Elder wine; but the tree runs into many varieties, several of which are
very ornamental, the leaves being often very finely divided and jagged,
and variegated both with golden and silver blotches. There is a handsome
species from Canada (Sambucus Canadensis), which is worth growing in
shrubberies, as it produces its pure white flowers in autumn.


FOOTNOTES:

[85:1] Called also Eldern in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries,
and still earlier, Eller or Ellyr ("Catholicon Anglicum"). "The Ellern
is a tree with long bowes, ful sounde and sad wythout, and ful holowe
within, and ful of certayne nesshe pyth."--_Clanvil de prop._

[85:2] From the facility with which the hard wood can be hollowed out,
the tree was from very ancient times called the Bore-tree. See
"Catholicon Anglicum," s.v. Bur-tre.




ELM.


     (1) _Adriana._

     Thou art an Elm, my husband, I a Vine,
     Whose weakness married to thy stronger state
     Makes me with thy strength to communicate.

                         _Comedy of Errors_, act ii, sc. 2 (176).


     (2) _Titania._

                     The female Ivy so
     Enrings the barky fingers of the Elm.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (48).


     (3) _Poins._

     Answer, thou dead Elm, answer![87:1]

                             _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc, 4 (358).

Though Vineyards were more common in England in the sixteenth century
than now, yet I can nowhere find that the Vines were ever trained, in
the Italian fashion, to Elms or Poplars. Yet Shakespeare does not stand
alone in thus speaking of the Elm in its connection with the Vine.
Spenser speaks of "the Vine-prop Elme," and Milton--

                       "They led the Vine
     To wed her Elm; she spoused, about him twines
     Her marriageable arms, and with her brings
     Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn
     His barren leaves."

And Browne--

                       "She, whose inclination
     Bent all her course to him-wards, let him know
     He was the Elm, whereby her Vine did grow."

                         _Britannia's Pastorals_, book i, song 1.


                            "An Elm embraced by a Vine,
     Clipping so strictly that they seemed to be
     One in their growth, one shade, one fruit, one tree;
     Her boughs his arms; his leaves so mixed with hers,
     That with no wind he moved, but straight she stirs."

                                                  _Ibid._, ii, 4.

But I should think that neither Shakespeare, nor Browne, nor Milton ever
saw an English Vine trained to an Elm; they were simply copying from the
classical writers.

The Wych Elm is probably a true native, but the more common Elm of our
hedgerows is a tree of Southern Europe and North Africa, and is of such
modern introduction into England that in Evelyn's time it was rarely
seen north of Stamford. It was probably introduced into Southern England
by the Romans.


FOOTNOTES:

[87:1] Why Falstaff should be called a dead Elm is not very apparent;
but the Elm was associated with death as producing the wood for coffins.
Thus Chaucer speaks of it as "the piler Elme, the cofre unto careyne,"
_i.e._, carrion ("Parliament of Fowles," 177).




ERINGOES.


     _Falstaff._

     Let the sky rain Potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green
       Sleeves, hail kissing-comfits, and snow Eringoes.

                                _Merry Wives_, act v, sc. 5 (20).

Gerard tells us that Eringoes are the candied roots of the Sea Holly
(_Eryngium maritimum_), and he gives the recipe for candying them. I am
not aware that the Sea Holly is ever now so used, but it is a very
handsome plant as it is seen growing on the sea shore, and its fine
foliage makes it an ornamental plant for a garden. But as used by
Falstaff I am inclined to think that the vegetable he wished for was the
Globe Artichoke, which is a near ally of the Eryngium, was a favourite
diet in Shakespeare's time, and was reputed to have certain special
virtues which are not attributed to the Sea Holly, but which would more
accord with Falstaff's character.[88:1] I cannot, however, anywhere find
that the Artichoke was called Eringoes.


FOOTNOTES:

[88:1] For these supposed virtues of the Artichoke see Bullein's "Book
of Simples."




FENNEL.


     (1) _Ophelia._

     There's Fennel for you and Columbines.

                                    _Hamlet_, act iv, sc 5 (189).


     (2) _Falstaff._

     And a' plays at quoits well, and eats conger and Fennel.

                             _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (266).

The Fennel was always a plant of high reputation. The Plain of Marathon
was so named from the abundance of Fennel (μαραθρον) growing on
it.[89:1] And like all strongly scented plants, it was supposed by the
medical writers to abound in "virtues." Gower, describing the star
Pleiades, says--

     "Eke his herbe in speciall
      The vertuous Fenel it is."

                      _Conf. Aman._, lib. sept. (3, 129. Paulli.)

These virtues cannot be told more pleasantly than by Longfellow--

     "Above the lowly plants it towers,
      The Fennel with its yellow flowers,
      And in an earlier age than ours
      Was gifted with the wondrous powers--
          Lost vision to restore.
      It gave men strength and fearless mood,
      And gladiators fierce and rude
      Mingled it with their daily food:
      And he who battled and subdued
          A wreath of Fennel wore."

"Yet the virtues of Fennel, as thus enumerated by Longfellow, do not
comprise either of those attributes of the plant which illustrate the
two passages from Shakespeare. The first alludes to it as an emblem of
flattery, for which ample authority has been found by the
commentators.[89:2] Florio is quoted for the phrase 'Dare finocchio,'
_to give fennel_, as meaning _to flatter_. In the second quotation the
allusion is to the reputation of Fennel as an inflammatory herb with
much the same virtues as are attributed to Eringoes."--Mr. J. F. MARSH
in _The Garden_.

The English name was directly derived from its Latin name
_Fœniculum_, which may have been given it from its hay-like smell
(_fœnum_), but this is not certain. We have another English word
derived from the Giant Fennel of the South of Europe (_ferula_); this is
the ferule, an instrument of punishment for small boys, also adopted
from the Latin, the Roman schoolmaster using the stalks of the Fennel
for the same purpose as the modern schoolmaster uses the cane.

The early poets looked on the Fennel as an emblem of the early summer--

     "Hyt befell yn the month of June
      When the Fenell hangeth yn toun."

                                        _Libæus Diaconus._(1225).

As a useful plant, the chief use is as a garnishing and sauce for fish.
Large quantities of the seed are said to be imported to flavour gin, but
this can scarcely be called useful. As ornamental plants, the large
Fennels (F. Tingitana, F. campestris, F. glauca, &c.) are very desirable
where they can have the necessary room.


FOOTNOTES:

[89:1] "Fennelle or Fenkelle, feniculum maratrum."--_Catholicon
Anglicum._

[89:2]

     "_Christophers._

      No, my _good lord_.

      _Count._

      Your _good lord_! O, how this smells of Fennel."

                   BEN JONSON, _The Case Altered_, act ii, sc. 2.




FERN.


     _Gadshill._

     We have the receipt of Fern-seed--we walk invisible.

     _Chamberlain._

     Now, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night
       than to Fern-seed for your walking invisible.

                              _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 1 (95).

There is a fashion in plants as in most other things, and in none is
this more curiously shown than in the estimation in which Ferns are and
have been held. Now-a-days it is the fashion to admire Ferns, and few
would be found bold enough to profess an indifference to them. But it
was not always so. Theocritus seems to have admired the Fern--

     "Like Fern my tresses o'er my temples streamed."

                                       _Idyll_ xx. (_Calverley._)


     "Come here and trample dainty Fern and Poppy blossom."

                                        _Idyll_ v. (_Calverley._)

But Virgil gives it a bad character, speaking of it as "filicem
invisam." Horace is still more severe, "neglectis urenda filix
innascitur agris." The Anglo-Saxon translation of Boethius spoke
contemptuously of the "Thorns, and the Furzes, and the Fern, and all the
weeds" (Cockayne). And so it was in Shakespeare's time. Butler spoke of
it as the--

     "Fern, that vile, unuseful weed,
      That grows equivocably without seed."

Cowley spoke the opinion of his day as if the plant had neither use nor
beauty--

     "Nec caulem natura mihi, nec Floris honorem,
        Nec mihi vel semen dura Noverca dedit--
      Nec me sole fovet, nec cultis crescere in hortis
        Concessum, et Foliis gratia nulla meis--
      Herba invisa Deis poteram cœloque videri,
        Et spurio Terræ nata puerperio."

                                             _Plantarum_, lib. i.

And later still Gilpin, who wrote so much on the beauties of country
scenery at the close of the last century, has nothing better to say for
Ferns than that they are noxious weeds, to be classed with "Thorns and
Briers, and other ditch trumpery." The fact, no doubt, is that Ferns
were considered something "uncanny and eerie;" our ancestors could not
understand a plant which seemed to them to have neither flower nor seed,
and so they boldly asserted it had neither. "This kinde of Ferne," says
Lyte in 1587, "beareth neither flowers nor sede, except we shall take
for sede the black spots growing on the backsides of the leaves, the
whiche some do gather thinking to worke wonders, but to say the trueth
it is nothing els but trumperie and superstition." A plant so strange
must needs have strange qualities, but the peculiar power attributed to
it of making persons invisible arose thus:--It was the age in which the
doctrine of signatures was fully believed in; according to which
doctrine Nature, in giving particular shapes to leaves and flowers, had
thereby plainly taught for what diseases they were specially
useful.[91:1] Thus a heart-shaped leaf was for heart disease, a
liver-shaped for the liver, a bright-eyed flower was for the eyes, a
foot-shaped flower or leaf would certainly cure the gout, and so on; and
then when they found a plant which certainly grew and increased, but of
which the organs of fructification were invisible, it was a clear
conclusion that properly used the plant would confer the gift of
invisibility. Whether the people really believed this or not we cannot
say,[92:1] but they were quite ready to believe any wonder connected
with the plant, and so it was a constant advertisement with the quacks.
Even in Addison's time "it was impossible to walk the streets without
having an advertisement thrust into your hand of a doctor who had
arrived at the knowledge of the Green and Red Dragon, and had discovered
the female Fern-seed. Nobody ever knew what this meant" ("Tatler," No.
240). But to name all the superstitions connected with the Fern would
take too much space.

The name is expressive; it is a contraction of the Anglo-Saxon _fepern_,
and so shows that some of our ancestors marked its feathery form; and
its history as a garden plant is worth a few lines. So little has it
been esteemed as a garden plant that Mr. J. Smith, the ex-Curator of the
Kew Gardens, tells us that in the year 1822 the collection of Ferns at
Kew was so extremely poor that "he could not estimate the entire Kew
collection of exotic Ferns at that period at more than forty species"
(Smith's "Ferns, British and Exotic," introduction). Since that time the
steadily increasing admiration of Ferns has caused collectors to send
them from all parts of the world, so that in 1866 Mr. Smith was enabled
to describe about a thousand species, and now the number must be much
larger; and the closer search for Ferns has further brought into notice
a very large number of most curious varieties and monstrosities, which
it is still more curious to observe are, with very few exceptions,
confined to the British species.


FOOTNOTES:

[91:1] See Brown's "Religio Medici," p. ii. 2.

[92:1] It probably was the real belief, as we find it so often mentioned
as a positive fact; thus Browne--

     "Poor silly fool! thou striv'st in vain to know
      If I enjoy or love where thou lov'st so;
      Since my affection ever secret tried
      Blooms like the Fern, and seeds still unespied."

                     _Poems_, p. 26 (Sir E. Brydges' edit. 1815).




FIGS.


     (1) _Titania._

     Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries,
     With purple Grapes, green Figs, and Mulberries.

                 _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (169).


     (2) _Constance._

               And its grandam will
     Give it a Plum, a Cherry, and a Fig.

                                _King John_, act ii, sc. 1 (161).


     (3) _Guard._

                Here is a rural fellow
     That will not be denied your Highness's presence,
     He brings you Figs.

                      _Antony and Cleopatra_, act v, sc. 2 (233).


     (4) _1st Guard._

     A simple countryman that brought her Figs.

                                                   _Ibid._ (342).


     _Ditto._

                  These Fig-leaves
     Have slime upon them.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 2 (354).


     (5) _Pistol._

     When Pistol lies, do this; and Fig me, like
     The bragging Spaniard.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act v, sc. 3 (123).


     (6) _Pistol._

     Die and be damned, and Figo for thy friendship.

     _Fluellen._

     It is well.

     _Pistol._

                 The Fig of Spain.

                                  _Henry V_, act iii, sc. 6 (60).


     (7) _Pistol._

     The Figo for thee, then.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (60).


     (8) _Iago._

     Virtue! a Fig!

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (322).


     (9) _Iago._

     Blessed Fig's end!

                                    _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 1 (256).


     (10) _Horner._

     I'll pledge you all, and a Fig for Peter.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 3 (66).


     (11) _Pistol._

     "Convey," the wise it call; "steal!" foh! a Fico
       for the phrase!

                                _Merry Wives_, act i, sc. 3 (32).


     (12) _Charmian._

     O excellent! I love long life better than Figs.

                       _Antony and Cleopatra_, act i, sc. 2 (32).

In some of these passages (as 5, 6, 7, and perhaps in more) the
reference is to a grossly insulting and indecent gesture called "making
the fig." It was a most unpleasant custom, which largely prevailed
throughout Europe in Shakespeare's time, and on which I need not dwell.
It is fully described in Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," i, 492.

In some of the other quotations the reference is simply to the
proverbial likeness of a Fig to a matter of the least importance.[94:1]
But in the others the dainty fruit, the green Fig, is noticed.

The Fig tree, celebrated from the earliest times for the beauty of its
foliage and for its "sweetness and good fruit" (Judges ix. 11), is said
to have been introduced into England by the Romans; but the more
reliable accounts attribute its introduction to Cardinal Pole, who is
said to have planted the Fig tree still living at Lambeth Palace.
Botanically, the Fig is of especial interest. The Fig, as we eat it, is
neither fruit nor flower, though partaking of both, being really the
hollow, fleshy receptacle enclosing a multitude of flowers, which never
see the light, yet come to full perfection and ripen their seed. The Fig
stands alone in this peculiar arrangement of its flowers, but there are
other plants of which we eat the unopened or undeveloped flowers, as the
Artichoke, the Cauliflower, the Caper, the Clove, and the Pine Apple.


FOOTNOTES:

[94:1] This proverbial worthlessness of the Fig is of ancient date.
Theocritus speaks of συκινοι ανδρες, useless men; Horace, "Olim
truncus eram ficulnus, inutile lignum;" and Juvenal, "Sterilis mala
robora ficus."




FILBERTS.


     _Caliban._

     I'll bring thee to clustering Filberds.

                                   _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 2(174).
                                                   (_See_ HAZEL.)




FLAGS.


     _Cæsar._

                  This common body
     Like to a vagabond Flag upon the stream
     Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide,
     To rot itself with motion.

                       _Antony and Cleopatra_, act i, sc. 4 (44).

We now commonly call the Iris a Flag, and in Shakespeare's time the Iris
pseudoacorus was called the Water Flag, and so this passage might,
perhaps, have been placed under Flower-de-luce. But I do not think that
the Flower-de-luce proper was ever called a Flag at that time, whereas
we know that many plants, especially the Reeds and Bulrushes, were
called in a general way Flags. This is the case in the Bible, the
language of which is always a safe guide in the interpretation of
contemporary literature. The mother of Moses having placed the infant in
the ark of Bulrushes, "laid it in the Flags by the river's brink," and
the daughter of Pharaoh "saw the ark among the Flags." Job asks, "Can
the Flag grow without water?" and Isaiah draws the picture of desolation
when "the brooks of defence shall be emptied and dried up, and the Reeds
and the Flags shall wither." But in these passages, not only is the
original word very loosely translated, but the original word itself was
so loosely used that long ago Jerome had said it might mean any marsh
plant, _quidquid in palude virens nascitur_. And in the same way I
conclude that when Shakespeare named the Flag he meant any long-leaved
waterside plant that is swayed to and fro by the stream, and that
therefore this passage might very properly have been placed under
Rushes.




FLAX.


     (1) _Ford._

     What, a hodge-pudding? a bag of Flax?

                               _Merry Wives_, act v, sc. 5 (159).


     (2) _Clifford._

     Beauty that the tyrant oft reclaims
     Shall to my flaming wrath be oil and Flax.

                               _2nd Henry VI_, act v, sc. 2 (54).


     (3) _Sir Toby._

     Excellent; it hangs like Flax in a distaff.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 3 (108).


     (4) _3rd Servant._

     Go thou: I'll fetch some Flax and white of eggs
     To apply to his bleeding face.[95:1]

                               _King Lear_, act iii, sc. 7 (106).


     (5) _Ophelia._

     His beard was as white as snow,
     All Flaxen was his poll.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 5 (195).


     (6) _Leontes._

     My wife deserves a name
     As rank as any Flax-wench.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act i, sc. 2 (276).


     (7) _Emilia._

                     It could
     No more be hid in him, than fire in Flax.

                         _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act v, sc. 3 (113).

The Flax of commerce (_Linum usitatissimum_) is not a true native,
though Turner said: "I have seen flax or lynt growyng wilde in Sommerset
shyre" ("Herbal," part ii. p. 39); but it takes kindly to the soil, and
soon becomes naturalized in the neighbourhood of any Flax field or mill.
We have, however, three native Flaxes in England, of which the smallest,
the Fairy Flax (_L. catharticum_), is one of the most graceful ornaments
of our higher downs and hills.[96:1] The Flax of commerce, which is the
plant referred to by Shakespeare, is supposed to be a native of Egypt,
and we have early notice of it in the Book of Exodus; and the microscope
has shown that the cere-cloths of the most ancient Egyptian mummies are
made of linen. It was very early introduced into England, and the
spinning of Flax was the regular occupation of the women of every
household, from the mistress downwards, so that even queens are
represented in the old illuminations in the act of spinning, and "the
spinning-wheel was a necessary implement in every household, from the
palace to the cottage."--WRIGHT, _Domestic Manners_. The occupation is
now almost gone, driven out by machinery, but it has left its mark on
our language, at least on our legal language, which acknowledges as the
only designation of an unmarried woman that she is "a spinster."

A crop of Flax is one of the most beautiful, from the rich colour of the
flowers resting on their dainty stalks. But it is also most useful; from
it we get linen, linseed oil, oilcake, and linseed-meal; nor do its
virtues end there, for "Sir John Herschel tells us the surprising fact
that old linen rags will, when treated with sulphuric acid, yield more
than their own weight of sugar. It is something even to have lived in
days when our worn-out napkins may possibly reappear on our tables in
the form of sugar."--LADY WILKINSON.

As garden plants the Flaxes are all ornamental. There are about eighty
species, some herbaceous and some shrubby, and of almost all colours,
and in most of the species the colours are remarkably bright and clear.
There is no finer blue than in L. usitatissimum, no finer yellow than in
L. trigynum, or finer scarlet than in L. grandiflorum.


FOOTNOTES:

[95:1] "_Juniper._ Go get white of egg and a little Flax, and close the
breach of the head; it is the most conducible thing that can be."--BEN
JONSON, _The Case Altered_, act ii, sc. 4.

[96:1] "From the abundant harvests of this elegant weed on the upland
pastures, prepared and manufactured by supernatural skill, 'the good
people' were wont, in the olden time, to procure the necessary supplies
of linen!"--JOHNSTON.




FLOWER-DE-LUCE.


     (1) _Perdita._

             Lilies of all kinds,
     The Flower-de-luce being one.

                             _Winters Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (126).


     (2) _K. Henry._

     What sayest thou, my fair Flower-de-luce?

                                   _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (323).


     (3) _Messenger._

     Cropped are the Flower-de-luces in your arms;
     Of England's coat one half is cut away.

                               _1st Henry VI_, act i, sc. 1 (80).


     (4) _Pucelle._

     I am prepared; here is my keen-edged sword
     Deck'd with five Flower-de-luces on each side.

                                      _Ibid._, act i, sc. 2 (98).


     (5) _York._

     A sceptre shall it have, have I a soul,
     On which I'll toss the Flower-de-luce of France.

                               _2nd Henry VI_, act v, sc. 1 (10).

Out of these five passages four relate to the Fleur-de-luce as the
cognizance of France, and much learned ink has been spilled in the
endeavour to find out what flower, if any, was intended to be
represented, so that Mr. Planché says that "next to the origin of
heraldry itself, perhaps nothing connected with it has given rise to so
much controversy as the origin of this celebrated charge." It has been
at various times asserted to be an Iris, a Lily, a sword-hilt, a
spearhead, and a toad, or to be simply the Fleur de St. Louis. _Adhuc
sub judice lis est_--and it is never likely to be satisfactorily
settled. I need not therefore dwell on it, especially as my present
business is to settle not what the Fleur-de-luce meant in the arms of
France, but what it meant in Shakespeare's writings. But here the same
difficulty at once meets us, some writers affirming stoutly that it is a
Lily, others as stoutly that it is an Iris. For the Lily theory there
are the facts that Shakespeare calls it one of the Lilies, and that the
other way of spelling it is Fleur-de-lys. I find also a strong
confirmation of this in the writings of St. Francis de Sales
(contemporary with Shakespeare). "Charity," he says, "comprehends the
seven gifts of the Holy Ghost, and resembles a beautiful Flower-de-luce,
which has six leaves whiter than snow, and in the middle the pretty
little golden hammers" ("Philo," book xi., Mulholland's translation).
This description will in no way fit the Iris, but it may very well be
applied to the White Lily. Chaucer, too, seems to connect the
Fleur-de-luce with the Lily--

     "Her nekke was white as the Flour de Lis."

These are certainly strong authorities for saying that the
Flower-de-luce is the Lily. But there are as strong or stronger on the
other side. Spenser separates the Lilies from the Flower-de-luces in his
pretty lines--

     "Strow mee the grounde with Daffadown-Dillies,
      And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and lovéd Lillies;
                  The Pretty Pawnce
                  And the Chevisaunce
      Shall match with the fayre Floure Delice."

                                           _Shepherd's Calendar._

Ben Jonson separates them in the same way--

     "Bring rich Carnations, Flower-de-luces, Lillies."

Lord Bacon also separates them: "In April follow the double White
Violet, the Wall-flower, the Stock-Gilliflower, the Cowslip, the
Flower-de-luces, and Lilies of all Natures;" and so does Drayton--

     "The Lily and the Flower de Lis
      For colours much contenting."

                                                     _Nymphal V._

In heraldry also the Fleur-de-lis and the Lily are two distinct
bearings. Then, from the time of Turner in 1568, through Gerard and
Parkinson to Miller, all the botanical writers identify the Iris as the
plant named, and with this judgment most of our modern writers
agree.[99:1] We may, therefore, assume that Shakespeare meant the Iris
as the flower given by Perdita, and we need not be surprised at his
classing it among the Lilies. Botanical classification was not very
accurate in his day, and long after his time two such celebrated men as
Redouté and De Candolle did not hesitate to include in the "Liliacæ,"
not only Irises, but Daffodils, Tulips, Fritillaries, and even Orchids.

What Iris Shakespeare especially alluded to it is useless to inquire. We
have two in England that are indigenous--one the rich golden-yellow (_I.
pseudacorus_), which in some favourable positions, with its roots in the
water of a brook, is one of the very handsomest of the tribe; the other
the Gladwyn (_I. fœtidissima_), with dull flowers and strong-smelling
leaves, but with most handsome scarlet fruit, which remain on the plant
and show themselves boldly all through the winter and early spring. Of
other sorts there is a large number, so that the whole family, according
to the latest account by Mr. Baker, of Kew, contains ninety-six distinct
species besides varieties. They come from all parts of the world, from
the Arctic Circle to the South of China; they are of all colours, from
the pure white Iris Florentina to the almost black I. Susiana; and of
all sizes, from a few inches to four feet or more. They are mostly easy
of cultivation and increase readily, so that there are few plants better
suited for the hardy garden or more ornamental.


FOOTNOTES:

[99:1] G. Fletcher's Flower-de-luce was certainly the Iris--

     "The Flower-de-Luce and the round specks of dew
      That hung upon the azure leaves did shew
      Like twinkling stars that sparkle in the evening blue."

The "leaves" here must be the petals.




FUMITER, FUMITORY.


     (1) _Cordelia._

     Crown'd with rank Fumiter and Furrow-weeds.

                                  _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 4 (3).
                                          (_See_ CUCKOO-FLOWERS.)


     (2) _Burgundy._

                          Her fallow leas
     The Darnel, Hemlock, and rank Fumitory
     Doth root upon.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (44).

Of Fumitories we have five species in England, all of them weeds in
cultivated grounds and in hedgerows. None of them can be considered
garden plants, but they are closely allied to the Corydalis, of which
there are several pretty species, and to the very handsome Dielytras, of
which one species--D. spectabilis--ranks among the very handsomest of
our hardy herbaceous plants. How the plant acquired its name of
Fumitory--_fume-terre_, earth-smoke--is not very satisfactorily
explained, though many explanations have been given; but that the name
was an ancient one we know from the interesting Stockholm manuscript of
the eleventh century published by Mr. J. Pettigrew, and of which a few
lines are worth quoting. (The poem is published in the "Archæologia,"
vol. xxx.)--

     "Fumiter is erbe, I say,
      Yt spryngyth ī April et in May,
      In feld, in town, in yard, et gate,
      Yer lond is fat and good in state,
      Dun red is his flour
      Ye erbe smek lik in colowur."




FURZE.


     (1) _Ariel._

                So I charm'd their ears,
     That calf-like they my lowing follow'd through
     Tooth'd Briers, sharp Furzes, pricking Goss, and Thorns.

                                  _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (178).


     (2) _Gonzalo._

     Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of
       barren ground, long Heath, brown Furze, anything.

                                      _Ibid._, act i, sc. 1 (70).

We now call the Ulex Europæus either Gorse, or Furze, or Whin; but in
the sixteenth century I think that the Furze and Gorse were
distinguished (_see_ GORSE), and that the brown Furze was the Ulex. It
is a most beautiful plant, and with its golden blossoms and richly
scented flowers is the glory of our wilder hill-sides. It is especially
a British plant, for though it is found in other parts of Europe, and
even in the Azores and Canaries, yet I believe it is nowhere found in
such abundance or in such beauty as in England. Gerard says, "The
greatest and highest that I did ever see do grow about Excester, in the
West Parts of England;" and those that have seen it in Devonshire will
agree with him. It seems to luxuriate in the damp, mild climate of
Devonshire, and to see it in full flower as it covers the low hills that
abut upon the Channel between Ilfracombe and Clovelly is a sight to be
long remembered. It is, indeed, a plant that we may well be proud of.
Linnæus could only grow it in a greenhouse, and there is a well-known
story of Dillenius that when he first saw the Furze in blossom in
England he fell on his knees and thanked God for sparing his life to see
so beautiful a part of His creation. The story may be apocryphal, but we
have a later testimony from another celebrated traveller who had seen
the glories of tropical scenery, and yet was faithful to the beauties of
the wild scenery of England. Mr. Wallace bears this testimony: "I have
never seen in the tropics such brilliant masses of colour as even
England can show in her Furze-clad commons, her glades of Wild
Hyacinths, her fields of Poppies, her meadows of Buttercups and
Orchises, carpets of yellow, purple, azure blue, and fiery crimson,
which the tropics can rarely exhibit. We have smaller masses of colour
in our Hawthorns and Crab trees, our Holly and Mountain Ash, our Broom,
Foxgloves, Primroses, and purple Vetches, which clothe with gay colours
the length and breadth of our land" ("Malayan Archipelago," ii. 296).

As a garden shrub the Furze may be grown either as a single lawn shrub
or in the hedge or shrubbery. Everywhere it will be handsome both in its
single and double varieties, and as it bears the knife well, it can be
kept within limits. The upright Irish form also makes an elegant shrub,
but does not flower so freely as the typical plant.




GARLICK.


     (1) _Bottom._

     And, most clear actors, eat no Onions nor Garlic, for we are
       to utter sweet breath.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 2 (42).


     (2) _Lucio._

     He would mouth with a beggar, though she smelt brown bread and
       Garlic.

                     _Measure for Measure_, act iii, sc. 2 (193).


     (3) _Hotspur._

               I had rather live
     With cheese and Garlic in a windmill.

                            _1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 1 (161).


     (4) _Menenius._

             You that stood so much
     Upon the voice of occupation, and
     The breath of Garlic-eaters.

                                _Coriolanus_, act iv, sc. 6 (96).


     (5) _Dorcas._

     Mopsa must be your mistress; marry, Garlic to mend her kissing
       with.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (162).

There is something almost mysterious in the Garlick that it should be so
thoroughly acceptable, almost indispensable, to many thousands, while to
others it is so horribly offensive as to be unbearable. The Garlick of
Egypt was one of the delicacies that the Israelites looked back to with
fond regret, and we know from Herodotus that it was the daily food of
the Egyptian labourer; yet, in later times, the Mohammedan legend
recorded that "when Satan stepped out from the Garden of Eden after the
fall of man, Garlick sprung up from the spot where he placed his left
foot, and Onions from that which his right foot touched, on which
account, perhaps, Mohammed habitually fainted at the sight of either."
It was the common food also of the Roman labourer, but Horace could only
wonder at the "dura messorum illia" that could digest the plant "cicutis
allium nocentius." It was, and is the same with its medical virtues.
According to some it was possessed of every virtue,[102:1] so that it
had the name of Poor Man's Treacle (the word treacle not having its
present meaning, but being the Anglicised form of theriake, or
heal-all[103:1]); while, on the other hand, Gerard affirmed "it yieldeth
to the body no nourishment at all; it ingendreth naughty and sharpe
bloud."

Bullein describes it quaintly: "It is a grosse kinde of medicine, verye
unpleasant for fayre Ladies and tender Lilly Rose colloured damsels
which often time profereth sweet breathes before gentle wordes, but both
would do very well" ("Book of Simples"). Yet if we could only divest it
of its evil smell, the wild Wood Garlick would rank among the most
beautiful of our British plants. Its wide leaves are very similar to
those of the Lily of the Valley, and its starry flowers are of the very
purest white. But it defies picking, and where it grows it generally
takes full possession, so that I have known several woods--especially on
the Cotswold Hills--that are to be avoided when the plant is in flower.
The woods are closely carpeted with them, and every step you take brings
out their fœtid odour. There are many species grown in the gardens,
some of which are even very sweet smelling (as A. odorum and A.
fragrans); but these are the exceptions, and even these have the Garlick
scent in their leaves and roots. Of the rest many are very pretty and
worth growing, but they are all more or less tainted with the evil
habits of the family.


FOOTNOTES:

[102:1] "You (_i.e._, citizens) are still sending to the apothecaries,
and still crying out to 'fetch Master Doctor to me;' but our (_i.e._,
countrymen's) apothecary's shop is our garden full of pot herbs, and our
doctor is a good clove of Garlic."--_The Great Frost of January, 1608._

[103:1]

     "Crist, which that is to every harm triacle."

                                    CHAUCER, _Man of Lawes Tale_.


     "Treacle was there anone forthe brought."

                                          _Le Morte Arthur_, 864.




GILLIFLOWERS, _see_ CARNATIONS.




GINGER.


     (1) _Clown._

     I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies--Mace--Dates?
       none, that's out of my note; Nutmegs, seven--a race or two
       of Ginger, but that I may beg.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (48).


     (2) _Sir Toby._

     Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no
       more cakes and ale.

     _Clown._

     Yes, by St. Anne, and Ginger shall be hot i' the mouth too.

                            _Twelfth Night_, act ii, sc. 3 (123).


     (3) _Pompey._

     First, here's Young Master Rash, he's in for a commodity of
       brown paper and old Ginger, nine score and seventeen pounds,
       of which he made five marks ready money; marry, then, Ginger
       was not much in request, for the old women were all dead.

                        _Measure for Measure_, act iv, sc. 3 (4).


     (4) _Salanio._

     I would she were as lying a gossip in that as ever knapped
       Ginger.

                        _Merchant of Venice_, act iii, sc. 1 (9).


     (5) _2nd Carrier._

     I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of Ginger to be
       delivered as far as Charing Cross.

                              _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 1 (26).


     (6) _Orleans._

     He's of the colour of the Nutmeg.

     _Dauphin._

     And of the heat of the Ginger.

                                  _Henry V_, act iii, sc. 7 (20).


     (7) _Julia._

     What is't you took up so Gingerly?

                    _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, act i, sc. 2 (70).


     (8) _Costard._

     An I had but one penny in the world, thou should'st have it to
       buy Ginger-bread.

                       _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 1 (74).


     (9) _Hotspur._

     Swear me, Kate, like a lady as thou art,
     A good mouth-filling oath, and leave "in sooth,"
     And such protest of pepper Ginger-bread
     To velvet-guards and Sunday-citizens.

                            _1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 1 (258).

Ginger was well known both to the Greeks and Romans. It was imported
from Arabia, together with its name, Zingiberri, which it has retained,
with little variation, in all languages.

When it was first imported into England is not known, but probably by
the Romans, for it occurs as a common ingredient in many of the
Anglo-Saxon medical recipes. Russell, in the "Boke of Nurture," mentions
several kinds of Ginger; as green and white, "colombyne, valadyne, and
Maydelyn." In Shakespeare's time it was evidently very common and cheap.

It is produced from the roots of Zingiber officinale, a member of the
large and handsome family of the Ginger-worts. The family contains some
of the most beautiful of our greenhouse plants, as the Hedychiums,
Alpinias, and Mantisias; and, though entirely tropical, most of the
species are of easy cultivation in England. Ginger is very easily reared
in hotbeds, and I should think it very probable that it may have been so
grown in Shakespeare's time. Gerard attempted to grow it, but he
naturally failed, by trying to grow it in the open ground as a hardy
plant; yet "it sprouted and budded forth greene leaves in my garden in
the heate of somer;" and he tells us that plants were sent him by "an
honest and expert apothecarie, William Dries, of Antwerp," and "that the
same had budded and grown in the said Dries' garden."




GOOSEBERRIES.


     _Falstaff._

     All the other gifts appertinent to man, as the malice of this
       age shapes them, are not worth a Gooseberry.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act i, sc. 2 (194).

The Gooseberry is probably a native of the North of England, but Turner
said (s.v. _uva crispa_) "it groweth onely that I have sene in England,
in gardines, but I have sene it in Germany abrode in the fieldes amonge
other busshes."

The name has nothing to do with the goose. Dr. Prior has satisfactorily
shown that the word is a corruption of "Crossberry." By the writers of
Shakespeare's time, and even later, it was called Feaberry (Gerard,
Lawson, and others), and in one of the many books on the Plague
published in the sixteenth century, the patient is recommended to eat
"thepes, or goseberries" ("A Counsell against the Sweate," fol. 23).




GORSE OR GOSS.


     _Ariel._

     Tooth'd Briers, sharp Furzes, pricking Goss, and Thorns.

                                  _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (180).

In speaking of the Furze (which see), I said that in Shakespeare's time
the Furze and Gorse were probably distinguished, though now the two
names are applied to the same plant. "In the 15th Henry VI. (1436),
license was given to Humfrey, Duke of Gloucester, to inclose 200 acres
of land--pasture, wode, hethe, vrises,[106:1] and gorste (_bruere, et
jampnorum_), and to form thereof a Park at Greenwich."--_Rot. Parl._ iv.
498.[106:2] This proves that the "Gorst" was different from the "Vrise,"
and it may very likely have been the Petty Whin. "Pricking Goss,"
however, may be only a generic term, like Bramble and Brier, for any
wild prickly plant.


FOOTNOTES:

[106:1] There is a hill near Lansdown (Bath) now called Frizen or
Freezing Hill. Within memory of man it was covered with Gorse. This was
probably the origin of the name, "Vrisen Hill."

[106:2] "Promptorium Parvulorum," p. 162, note.




GOURD.


     _Pistol._

     For Gourd and fullam holds.

                                _Merry Wives_, act i, sc. 3 (94).

I merely mention this to point out that "Gourd," though probably
originally derived from the fruit, is not the fruit here, but is an
instrument of gambling. The fruit, however, was well known in
Shakespeare's time, and was used as the type of intense greenness--

     "Whose cœrule stream, rombling in pebble-stone,
      Crept under Moss, as green as any Gourd."

                                        SPENSER, _Virgil's Gnat_.




GRACE, _see_ RUE.




GRAPES, _see_ VINES.




GRASSES.


     (1) _Gonzalo._

     How lush and lusty the Grass looks! how green!

                                   _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (52).


     (2) _Iris._

     Here, on this Grass-plot, in this very place
     To come and sport.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (73).


     (3) _Ceres._

           Why hath thy Queen
     Summon'd me hither to this short-grass'd green?

                                                    _Ibid._ (82).


     (4) _Lysander._

             When Phœbe doth behold
     Her silver visage in the watery glass,
     Decking with liquid pearl the bladed Grass.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act i, sc. 1 (209).


     (5) _King._

     Say to her, we have measured many miles
     To tread a measure with her on this Grass.

     _Boyet._

     They say, that they have measured many miles
     To tread a measure with her on the Grass.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (184).


     (6) _Clown._

     I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not much skill in
       Grass.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act iv, sc. 5 (21).


     (7) _Luciana._

     If thou art changed to aught, 'tis to an ass.

     _Dromio of Syracuse._

     'Tis true; she rides me, and I long for Grass.

                         _Comedy of Errors_, act ii, sc. 2 (201).


     (8) _Bolingbroke._

                  Here we march
     Upon the Grassy carpet of the plain.

                               _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 3 (49).


     (9) _King Richard._

                              And bedew
     Her pasture's Grass with faithful English blood.

                                                   _Ibid._ (100).


     (10) _Ely._

     Grew like the summer Grass, fastest by night,
     Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty.

                                    _Henry V_, act i, sc. 1 (65).


     (11) _King Henry._

                       Mowing like Grass
     Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 3 (13).


     (12) _Grandpre._

     And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
     Lies foul with chew'd Grass, still and motionless.

                                   _Henry V_, act iv, sc. 2 (49).


     (13) _Suffolk._

     Though standing naked on a mountain top
     Where biting cold would never let Grass grow.

                            _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (336).


     (14) _Cade._

     All the realm shall be in common; and in Cheapside shall my
       palfrey go to Grass.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 2 (74).


     (15) _Cade._

     Wherefore on a brick wall have I climbed into this garden, to
       see if I can eat Grass or pick a Sallet another while, which
       is not amiss to cool a man's stomach this hot weather.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 10 (7).


     (16) _Cade._

     If I do not leave you all as dead as a door-nail, I pray God I
       may never eat Grass more.

                                                    _Ibid._ (42).


     (17) _1st Bandit._

     We cannot live on Grass, on berries, water,
     As beasts and birds and fishes.

                          _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (425).


     (18) _Saturninus._

     These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
     As Flowers with frost or Grass beat down with storms.

                          _Titus Andronicus_, act iv, sc. 4 (70).


     (19) _Hamlet._

     Ay but, sir, "while the Grass grows"--the proverb is something
       musty.

                                  _Hamlet_, act iii, sc. 2 (358).


     (20) _Ophelia._

     He is dead and gone, lady,
       He is dead and gone;
     At his head a Grass-green turf,
       At his heels a stone.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 5 (29).


     (21) _Salarino._

                 I should be still
     Plucking the Grass to know where sits the wind.

                         _Merchant of Venice_, act i, sc. 1 (17).

In and before Shakespeare's time Grass was used as a general term for
all plants. Thus Chaucer--

     "And every grass that groweth upon roote
      Sche schal eek know, to whom it will do boote
      Al be his woundes never so deep and wyde."

                                             _The Squyeres Tale._

It is used in the same general way in the Bible, "the Grass of the
field."

In the whole range of botanical studies the accurate study of the
Grasses is, perhaps, the most difficult as the genus is the most
extensive, for Grasses are said to "constitute, perhaps, a twelfth part
of the described species of flowering plants, and at least nine-tenths
of the number of individuals comprising the vegetation of the world"
(Lindley), so that a full study of the Grasses may almost be said to be
the work of a lifetime. But Shakespeare was certainly no such student of
Grasses: in all these passages Grass is only mentioned in a generic
manner, without any reference to any particular Grass. The passages in
which hay is mentioned, I have not thought necessary to quote.




HAREBELL.


     _Arviragus._

                             Thou shalt not lack
     The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose, nor
     The azured Harebell, like thy veins.

                                _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (220).
                                               (_See_ EGLANTINE.)

The Harebell of Shakespeare is undoubtedly the Wild Hyacinth (_Scilla
nutans_), the "sanguine flower inscribed with woe" of Milton's
"Lycidas," though we must bear in mind that the name is applied
differently in various parts of the island; thus "the Harebell of Scotch
writers is the Campanula, and the Bluebell, so celebrated in Scottish
song, is the Wild Hyacinth or Scilla; while in England the same names
are used conversely, the Campanula being the Bluebell and the Wild
Hyacinth the Harebell" ("Poets' Pleasaunce")--but this will only apply
in poetry; in ordinary language, at least in the South of England, the
Wild Hyacinth is the Bluebell, and is the plant referred to by
Shakespeare as the Harebell.

It is one of the chief ornaments of our woods,[109:1] growing in
profusion wherever it establishes itself, and being found of various
colours--pink, white, and blue. As a garden flower it may well be
introduced into shrubberies, but as a border plant it cannot compete
with its rival relation, the Hyacinthus orientalis, which is the parent
of all the fine double and many coloured Hyacinths in which the florists
have delighted for the last two centuries.


FOOTNOTES:

[109:1] "'Dust of sapphire,' writes my friend Dr. John Brown to me of
the wood Hyacinths of Scotland in the spring; yes, that is so--each bud
more beautiful itself than perfectest jewel."--RUSKIN, _Proserpina_, p.
73.




HARLOCKS.


     _Cordelia._

     Crown'd with rank Fumiter and Furrow-weeds,
     With Harlocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers.

                                  _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 4 (3).
                                          (_See_ CUCKOO-FLOWERS.)

I cannot do better than follow Dr. Prior on this word: "Harlock, as
usually printed in 'King Lear' and in Drayton, ecl. 4--

     'The Honeysuckle, the Harlocke,
      The Lily and the Lady-smocke,'

is a word that does not occur in the Herbals, and which the commentators
have supposed to be a misprint for Charlock. There can be little doubt
that Hardock is the correct reading, and that the plant meant is the one
now called Burdock." Schmidt also adopts Burdock as the right
interpretation.




HAWTHORNS.



     (1) _Rosalind._

     There's a man hangs odes upon Hawthorns and elegies on
       Brambles.

                          _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (379).


     (2) _Quince._

     This green plot shall be our stage, this Hawthorn-brake our
       tiring house.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (3).


     (3) _Helena._

                     Your tongue's sweet air,
     More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
     When Wheat is green, when Hawthorn-buds appear.

                                     _Ibid._, act i, sc. 1 (183).


     (4) _Falstaff._

     I cannot cog and say thou art this and that, like a many of
       these lisping Hawthorn-buds.

                              _Merry Wives_, act iii, sc. 3 (76).


     (5) _K. Henry._

     Gives not the Hawthorn-bush a sweeter shade
     To shepherds looking on their silly sheep,
     Than doth a rich embroider'd canopy
     To kings that fear their subjects' treachery?
     O yes, it doth; a thousand-fold it doth.

                              _3rd Henry VI_, act ii, sc. 5 (42).


     (6) _Edgar._

     Through the sharp Hawthorn blows the cold wind (_bis_).

                        _King Lear_, act iii, sc. 4 (47 and 102).


     (7) _Arcite._

     Againe betake you to yon Hawthorne house.

                        _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iii, sc. 1 (90).

Under its many names of Albespeine, Whitethorn, Haythorn or Hawthorn,
May, and Quickset, this tree has ever been a favourite with all lovers
of the country.

     "Among the many buds proclaiming May,
      Decking the field in holiday array,
      Striving who shall surpass in braverie,
      Mark the faire blooming of the Hawthorn tree,
      Who, finely cloathed in a robe of white,
      Fills full the wanton eye with May's delight.
      Yet for the braverie that she is in
      Doth neither handle card nor wheel to spin,
      Nor changeth robes but twice; is never seen
      In other colours but in white or green."

such is Browne's advice in his "Britannia's Pastorals" (ii. 2). He, like
the other early poets, clearly loved the tree for its beauty; and in
picturesque beauty the Hawthorn yields to none, when it can be seen in
some sheltered valley growing with others of its kind, and allowed to
grow unpruned, for then in the early summer it is literally a sheet of
white, yet beautifully relieved by the tender green of the young leaves,
and by the bright crimson of the anthers, and loaded with a scent that
is most delicate and refreshing. But not only for its beauty is the
Hawthorn a favourite tree, but also for its many pleasant
associations--it is essentially the May tree, the tree that tells that
winter is really past, and that summer has fairly begun. Hear Spenser--

     "Thilke same season, when all is yclade
      With pleasaunce; the ground with Grasse, the woods
      With greene leaves, the bushes with blooming buds,
      Youngthes folke now flocken in everywhere
      To gather May-baskets and smelling Brere;
      And home they hasten the postes to dight,
      And all the kirk-pillours eare day-light,
      With Hawthorne-buds, and sweet Eglantine,
      And girlondes of Roses, and soppes-in-wine."

                                      _Shepherd's Calendar--May._

Yet in spite of its pretty name, and in spite of the poets, the Hawthorn
now seldom flowers till June, and I should suppose it is never in flower
on May Day, except perhaps in Devonshire and Cornwall; and it is very
doubtful if it ever were so found, except in these southern counties,
though some fancy that the times of flowering of several of our flowers
are changed, and in some instances largely changed. But "it was an old
custom in Suffolk, in most of the farmhouses, that any servant who could
bring in a branch of Hawthorn in full blossom on the 1st of May was
entitled to a dish of cream for breakfast. This custom is now disused,
not so much from the reluctance of the masters to give the reward, as
from the inability of the servants to find the Whitethorn in
flower."--BRAND'S _Antiquities_.[112:1] Even those who might not see the
beauty of an old Thorn tree, have found its uses as one of the very few
trees that will grow thick in the most exposed places, and so give
pleasant shade and shelter in places where otherwise but little shade
and shelter could be found.

     "Every shepherd tells his tale
      Under the Hawthorn in the dale."--MILTON.

And "at Hesket, in Cumberland, yearly on St. Barnabas' Day, by the
highway side under a Thorn tree is kept the court for the whole forest
of Englewood."--_History of Westmoreland._

The Thorn may well be admitted as a garden shrub either in its ordinary
state, or in its beautiful double white, red, and pink varieties, and
those who like to grow curious trees should not omit the Glastonbury
Thorn, which flowers at the ordinary time, and bears fruit, but also
buds and flowers again in winter, showing at the same time the new
flowers and the older fruit.

Nor must we omit to mention that the Whitethorn is one of the trees that
claims to have been used for the sacred Crown of Thorns. It is most
improbable that it was so, in fact almost certain that it was not; but
it was a mediæval belief, as Sir John Mandeville witnesses: "Then was
our Lord yled into a gardyn, and there the Jewes scorned hym, and maden
hym a crowne of the branches of the Albiespyne, that is Whitethorn, that
grew in the same gardyn, and setten yt upon hys heved. And therefore
hath the Whitethorn many virtues. For he that beareth a branch on hym
thereof, no thundre, ne no maner of tempest may dere hym, ne in the
howse that it is ynne may non evil ghost enter."

And we may finish the Hawthorn with a short account of its name, which
is interesting:--"Haw," or "hay," is the same word as "hedge" ("sepes,
id est, _haies_," John de Garlande), and so shows the great antiquity of
this plant as used for English hedges. In the north, "haws" are still
called "haigs;" but whether Hawthorn was first applied to the fruit or
the hedge, whether the hedge was so called because it was made of the
Thorn tree that bears the haws, or whether the fruit was so named
because it was borne on the hedge tree, is a point on which etymologists
differ.


FOOTNOTES:

[112:1] "Gilbert White in his 'Naturalists' Calendar' as the result of
observations taken from 1768 to 1793 puts down the flowering of the
Hawthorn as occurring in different years upon dates so widely apart as
the twentieth of April and the eleventh of June."--MILNER'S _Country
Pleasures_, p. 83.




HAZEL.


     (1) _Mercutio._

     Her [Queen Mab's] chariot is an empty Hazel-nut
     Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub,
     Time out o' mind the fairies' coachmakers.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act i, sc. 4 (67).


     (2) _Petruchio._

                    Kate like the Hazel twig
     Is straight and slender and as brown in hue
     As Hazel-nuts and sweeter than the kernels.

                      _Taming of the Shrew_, act ii, sc. 1 (255).


     (3) _Caliban._

     I'll bring thee to clustering Filberts.

                                  _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 2 (174).


     (4) _Touchstone._

     Sweetest Nut hath sourest rind,
       Such a Nut is Rosalind.

                          _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (115).


     (5) _Celia._

     For his verity in love I do think him as concave as a covered
       goblet or a worm-eaten Nut.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 4 (25).


     (6) _Lafeu._

     Believe this of me, there can be no kernel in this light Nut.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act ii, sc. 5 (46).


     (7) _Mercutio._

     Thou wilt quarrel with a man for cracking Nuts, having no
       other reason but because thou hast Hazel eyes.

                         _Romeo and Juliet_, act iii, sc. 1 (20).


     (8) _Thersites._

     Hector shall have a great catch, if he knock out either of
       your brains; a' were as good crack a fusty Nut with no
       kernel.

                     _Troilus and Cressida_, act ii, sc. 1 (109).


     (9) _Gonzalo._

     I'll warrant him for drowning; though the ship were no
       stronger than a Nut-shell.

                                    _Tempest_, act i, sc. 1 (49).


     (10) _Titania._

     I have a venturous fairy that shall seek
     The squirrel's hoard, and fetch thee new Nuts.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (40).


     (11) _Hamlet._

     O God, I could be bounded in a Nut-shell and count myself a
       king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.

                                   _Hamlet_, act ii, sc. 2 (260).


     (12) _Dromio of Syracuse._

     Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail,
     A Rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
     A Nut, a Cherry-stone.

                          _Comedy of Errors_, act iv, sc. 3 (72).

Dr. Prior has decided that "'Filbert' is a barbarous compound of
_phillon_ or _feuille_, a leaf, and _beard_, to denote its
distinguishing peculiarity, the leafy involucre projecting beyond the
nut." But in the times before Shakespeare the name was more poetically
said to be derived from the nymph Phyllis. Nux Phyllidos is its name in
the old vocabularies, and Gower ("Confessio Amantis") tells us why--

     "Phyllis in the same throwe
      Was shape into a Nutte-tree,
      That alle men it might see;
      And after Phyllis philliberde,
      This tre was cleped in the yerde"

                                                   (Lib. quart.),

and so Spenser spoke of it as "'Phillis' philbert" (Elegy 17).[115:1]

The Nut, the Filbert, and the Cobnut, are all botanically the same, and
the two last were cultivated in England long before Shakespeare's time,
not only for the fruit, but also, and more especially, for the oil.

There is a peculiarity in the growth of the Nut that is worth the notice
of the botanical student. The male blossoms, or catkins (anciently
called "agglettes or blowinges"), are mostly produced at the ends of the
year's shoots, while the pretty little crimson female blossoms are
produced close to the branch; they are completely sessile or unstalked.
Now in most fruit trees, when a flower is fertilized, the fruit is
produced exactly in the same place, with respect to the main tree, that
the flower occupied; a Peach or Apricot, for instance, rests upon the
branch which bore the flower. But in the Nut a different arrangement
prevails. As soon as the flower is fertilized it starts away from the
parent branch; a fresh branch is produced, bearing leaves and the Nut or
Nuts at the end, so that the Nut is produced several inches away from
the spot on which the flower originally was. I know of no other tree
that produces its fruit in this way, nor do I know what special benefit
to the plant arises from this arrangement.

Much folk-lore has gathered round the Hazel tree and the Nuts. The
cracking of Nuts, with much fortune-telling connected therewith, was
the favourite amusement on All Hallow's Eve (Oct. 31), so that the
Eve was called Nutcrack Night. I believe the custom still exists; it
certainly has not been very long abolished, for the Vicar of Wakefield
and his neighbours "religiously cracked Nuts on All Hallow's Eve."
And in many places "an ancient custom prevailed of going a Nutting
on Holy Rood Day (Sept. 14), which it was esteemed quite unlucky to
omit."--FORSTER.[116:1]

A greater mystery connected with the Hazel is the divining rod, for the
discovery of water and metals. This has always by preference been a
forked Hazel-rod, though sometimes other rods are substituted. The
belief in its power dates from a very early period, and is by no means
extinct. The divining-rod is said to be still used in Cornwall, and
firmly believed in; nor has this belief been confined to the uneducated.
Even Linnæus confessed himself to be half a convert to it, and learned
treatises have been written accepting the facts, and accounting for them
by electricity or some other subtle natural agency. Most of us, however,
will rather agree with Evelyn's cautious verdict, that the virtues
attributed to the forked stick "made out so solemnly by the attestation
of magistrates, and divers other learned and credible persons, who have
critically examined matters of fact, is certainly next to a miracle, and
requires a strong faith."


FOOTNOTES:

[115:1] "Hic fullus--a fylberd-tre."--_Nominale_, 15th cent.

"Fylberde, notte--Fillum."

"Filberde, tre--Phillis."--_Promptorium Parvulorum._

"The Filbyrdes hangyng to the ground."--_Squyr of Lowe Degre_ (37).

[116:1] See a long account of the connection of nuts with All Hallow's
Eve in Hanson, "Med. ævi Calend." i. 363.




HEATH.


     _Gonzalo._

     Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of
       barren ground, long Heath, brown Furze, anything.

                                    _Tempest_, act i, sc. 1 (70).

There are other passages in which the word Heath occurs in Shakespeare,
but in none else is the flower referred to; the other references are to
an open heath or common. And in this place no special Heath can be
selected, unless by "long Heath" we suppose him to have meant the Ling
(_Calluna vulgaris_). And this is most probable, for so Lyte calls it.
"There is in this countrie two kindes of Heath, one which beareth the
flowres alongst the stemmes, and is called Long Heath." But it is
supposed by some that the correct reading is "Ling, Heath," &c., and in
that case Heath will be a generic word, meaning any of the British
species (_see_ LING). Of British species there are five, and wherever
they exist they are dearly prized as forming a rich element of beauty in
our landscapes. They are found all over the British Islands, and they
seem to be quite indifferent as to the place of their growth. They are
equally beautiful in the extreme Highlands of Scotland, or on the
Quantock and Exmoor Hills of the South--everywhere they clothe the
hill-sides with a rich garment of purple that is wonderfully beautiful,
whether seen under the full influence of the brightest sunshine, or
under the dark shadows of the blackest thundercloud. And the botanical
geography of the Heath tribe is very remarkable; it is found over the
whole of Europe, in Northern Asia, and in Northern Africa. Then the
tribe takes a curious leap, being found in immense abundance, both of
species and individuals, in Southern Africa, while it is entirely absent
from North and South America. Not a single species has been found in the
New World. A few plants of Calluna vulgaris have been found in
Newfoundland and Massachusetts, but that is not a true Heath.

As a garden plant the Heath has been strangely neglected. Many of the
species are completely hardy, and will make pretty evergreen bushes of
from 2ft. to 4ft. high, but they are better if kept close-grown by
constant clipping. The species best suited for this treatment are E.
Mediterranea, E. arborea, and E. codonoides. Of the more humble-growing
species, E. vagans (the Cornish Heath) will grow easily in most gardens,
though in its native habitat it is confined to the serpentine formation;
nor must we omit E. herbacea, which also will grow anywhere, and, if
clipped yearly after flowering, will make a most beautiful border to any
flower-bed; or it may be used more extensively, as it is at Doddington
Park, in Gloucestershire (Sir Gerald Codrington's), where there is a
large space in front of the house, several yards square, entirely filled
with E. herbacea. When this is in flower (and it is so for nearly two
months, or sometimes more) the effect, as seen from above, is of the
richest Turkey carpet, but of such a colour and harmony as no Turkey
carpet ever attained.

Several of the South-European Heaths were cultivated in England in
Shakespeare's time.




HEBENON OR HEBONA.[118:1]


     _Ghost._

     Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,
     With juice of cursed Hebenon in a vial,
     And in the porches of my ear did pour
     The leperous distilment; whose effect
     Holds such an enmity with blood of man
     That swift as quicksilver it courses through
     The natural gates and alleys of the body,
     And with a sudden vigour it doth posset
     And curd, like eager droppings into milk,
     The thin and wholesome blood; so did it mine;
     And a most instant tetter bark'd about,
     Most lazar-like, with vile and loathsome crust,
     All my smooth body.

                                     _Hamlet_, act i, sc. 5 (61).

Before and in the time of Shakespeare other writers had spoken of the
narcotic and poisonous effects of Heben, Hebenon, or Hebona. Gower
says--

                "Ful of delite,
     Slepe hath his hous, and of his couche,
     Within his chambre if I shall touche,
     Of Hebenus that slepy tre
     The bordes all aboute be."

                    _Conf. Aman._, lib. quart. (ii. 103, Paulli).

Spenser says--

     "Faire Venus sonne, . . .
      Lay now thy deadly Heben bow apart."

                                         _F. Q._, introd., st. 3.


     "There (in Mammon's garden) Cypresse grew in greatest store,
      And trees of bitter gall and Heben sad."

                               _F. Q._, book ii, c. viij, st. 17.

And he speaks of a "speare of Heben wood," and "a Heben launce."
Marlowe, a contemporary and friend of Shakespeare, makes Barabas curse
his daughter with--

     "In few the blood of Hydra, Lerna's bane,
      The juice of Hebon, and Cocytus breath,
      And all the poison of the Stygian pool."

                                  _Jew of Malta_, act iii, st. 4.

It may be taken for granted that all these authors allude to the same
tree, but what tree is meant has sorely puzzled the commentators. Some
naturally suggested the Ebony, and this view is supported by the
respectable names of Archdeacon Nares, Douce, Schmidt, and Dyce. A
larger number pronounced with little hesitation in favour of Henbane
(_Hyoscyamus niger_), the poisonous qualities of which were familiar to
the contemporaries of Shakespeare, and were supposed by most of the
botanical writers of his day (and on the authority of Pliny) to be
communicated by being poured into the ears. But the Henbane is not a
tree, as Gower's "Hebenus" and Spenser's "Heben" certainly were; and
though it will satisfy some of the requirements of the plant named by
Shakespeare, it will not satisfy all.[119:1]

It might have been supposed that the difficulty would at once have been
cleared up by reference to the accounts of the death of Hamlet's father,
as given by Saxo Grammaticus, and the old "Hystorie of Hamblet," but
neither of these writers attribute his death to poison.[119:2]

The question has lately been very much narrowed and satisfactorily
settled (for the present, certainly, and probably altogether) by Dr.
Nicholson and the Rev. W. A. Harrison. These gentlemen have decided that
the true reading is Hebona, and that Hebona is the Yew. Their views are
stated at full length in two exhaustive papers contributed to the New
Shakespeare Society, and published in their "Transactions."[119:3] The
full argument is too long for insertion here, and my readers will thank
me for referring them to the papers in the "Transactions." The main
arguments are based on three facts: 1. That in nearly all the northern
nations (including, of course, Denmark) the name of the Yew is more or
less like Heben. 2. That all the effects attributed by Shakespeare to
the action of Hebona are described as arising from Yew-poisoning by
different medical writers, some of them contemporary with him, and some
writing with later experiences. 3. That the _post mortem_ appearances
after Yew-poisoning and after snake-poisoning are very similar, and it
was "given out, that sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me."

But it may well be asked, How could Shakespeare have known of all these
effects, which (as far as our present search has discovered) are not
named by any one writer of his time, and some of which have only been
made public from the results of Yew-poisoning since his day? I think the
question can be answered in a very simple way. The effects are described
with such marked minuteness that it seems to me not only very probable,
but almost certain, that Shakespeare must have been an eye-witness of a
case of Yew-poisoning, and that what he saw had been so photographed on
his mind that he took the first opportunity that presented itself to
reproduce the picture. With his usual grand contempt for perfect
accuracy he did not hesitate to sweep aside at once the strict
historical records of the old king's death, and in its place to paint
for us a cold-blooded murder carried out by means which he knew from his
personal experience to be possible, and which he felt himself able to
describe with a minuteness which his knowledge of his audiences assured
him would not be out of place even in that great tragedy.

The objection to the Yew theory of Hebona, that the Yew is named by
Shakespeare under its more usual name, is no real objection. On the same
ground Ebony and Henbane must be excluded; together with Gilliflowers,
which he elsewhere speaks of as Carnations; and Woodbine, because he
also speaks of Honeysuckle.


FOOTNOTES:

[118:1] Hebona is the reading of the First Quarto (1603) and of the
Second Quarto (1604), and is decided by the critics to be the true
reading.

[119:1] Mr. Beisley suggests Enoron, _i.e._, Nightshade, which Mr. Dyce
describes as "a villainous conjecture." In my first edition I expressed
my belief that Hebenon was either Henbane or a general term for a deadly
poisonous plant; but I had not then seen Dr. Nicholson's and Mr.
Harrison's papers.

[119:2] Saxo Grammaticus: "Ubi datus parricidio locus, cruenta manu
mentis libidinem satiavit; trucidati quoque fratris uxore potitus,
incestum parricidio adjecit."--_Historiæ Danorum_, lib. iii, fol. xxvii,
Ed. 1514.

"The Historye of Hamblet, Prince of Denmark:" Fergon "having secretly
assembled certain men and perceiving himself strong enough to execute
his enterprise, Horvendile, his brother, being at a banquet with his
friends, sodainely set upon him, where he slewe him as treacherously, as
cunningly he purged himselfe of so detestable a murder to his
subjects."--COLLIER'S _Shakespeare's Library_.

[119:3] "Hamlet's Cursed Hebenon," by Dr. R. B. Nicholson, M.D. (read
Nov. 14, 1879). "Hamlet's Juice of Cursed Hebona," by Rev. W. A.
Harrison, M.A. (read May 12, 1882). Both the papers are published in the
"Transactions" of the Society.




HEMLOCK.


     (1) _Burgundy._

           Her fallow leas
     The Darnel, Hemlock, and rank Fumitory
     Doth root upon.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (44).


     (2) _3rd Witch._

     Root of Hemlock digg'd i' the dark.

                                   _Macbeth_, act iv, sc. 1 (25).


     (3) _Cordelia._

     Crown'd with rank Fumiter and Furrow-weeds,
     With Burdocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers.

                                  _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 4 (3).

One of the most poisonous of a suspicious family (the Umbelliferæ), "the
great Hemlocke doubtlesse is not possessed of any one good facultie, as
appeareth by his lothsome smell and other apparent signes," and with
this evil character the Hemlock was considered to be only fit for an
ingredient of witches' broth--

     "I ha' been plucking (plants among)
      Hemlock, Henbane, Adder's Tongue,
      Nightshade, Moonwort, Leppard's-bane."

         BEN JONSON, _Witches' Song in the Masque of the Queens_.

Yet the Hemlock adds largely to the beauty of our hedgerows; its spotted
tall stems and its finely cut leaves make it a handsome weed, and the
dead stems and dried umbels are marked features in the winter appearance
of the hedges. As a poison it has an evil notoriety, being supposed to
be the poison by which Socrates was put to death, though this is not
quite certain. It is not, however, altogether a useless plant--"It is a
valuable medicinal plant, and in autumn the ripened stem is cut into
pieces to make reeds for worsted thread."--JOHNSTON.




HEMP.


     (1) _Pistol._

     Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free,
     And let not Hemp his windpipe suffocate.

                                  _Henry V_, act iii, sc. 6 (45).


     (2) _Chorus._

            And in them behold
     Upon the Hempen tackle ship-boys climbing.

                                  _Henry V_, act iii, chorus (7).


     (3) _Puck._

     What Hempen homespuns have we swaggering here?

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (79).


     (4) _Cade._

     Ye shall have a Hempen caudle then, and the pap of a hatchet.

                              _2nd Henry VI_, act iv, sc. 7 (95).


     (5) _Hostess._

     Thou Hemp-seed.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 1 (64).

In all these passages, except the last, the reference is to rope made
from Hemp, and not to the Hemp plant, and it is very probable that
Shakespeare never saw the plant. It was introduced into England long
before his time, and largely cultivated, but only in few parts of
England, and chiefly in the eastern counties. I do not find that it was
cultivated in gardens in his time, but it is a plant well deserving a
place in any garden, and is especially suitable from its height and
regular growth, for the central plant of a flower-bed. It is supposed to
be a native of India, and seems capable of cultivation in almost any
climate.[122:1]

The name has a curious history. "The Greek κάνναβις, and Latin
_cannabis_, are both identical with the Sanscrit _kanam_, as well as
with the German _hanf_, and the English _hemp_. More directly from
_cannabis_ comes canvas, made up of hemp or flax, and canvass, to
discuss: _i.e._, sift a question; metaphorically from the use of hempen
sieves or sifters."--BIRDWOOD'S _Handbook to the Indian Court_, p. 23.


FOOTNOTES:

[122:1] In Shakespeare's time the vulgar name for Hemp was Neckweed, and
there is a curious account of it under that name by William Bullein, in
"The Booke of Compounds," f. 68.




HERB OF GRACE, _see_ RUE.




HOLLY.


     _Song._

     Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green Holly:
     Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
                Then, heigh-ho, the Holly!
                This life is most jolly.

                           _As You Like It_, act ii, sc. 7 (180).

From this single notice of the Holly in Shakespeare, and from the
slight account of it in Gerard, we might conclude that the plant was not
the favourite in the sixteenth century that it is in the nineteenth; but
this would be a mistake. The Holly entered largely into the old
Christmas carols.

         "Christmastide
     Comes in like a bride,
     With Holly and Ivy clad"--

and it was from the earliest times used for the decoration of houses and
churches at Christmas. It does not, however, derive its name from this
circumstance, though it was anciently spelt "holy," or called the "holy
tree," for the name comes from a very different source, and is identical
with "holm," which, indeed, was its name in the time of Gerard and
Parkinson, and is still its name in some parts of England, though it has
almost lost its other old name of Hulver,[123:1] except in the eastern
counties, where the word is still in use. But as an ornamental tree it
does not seem to have been much valued, though in the next century
Evelyn is loud in the praises of this "incomparable tree," and admired
it both for its beauty and its use. It is certainly the handsomest of
our native evergreens, and is said to be finer in England than in any
other country; and as seen growing in its wild habitats in our forests,
as it may be seen in the New Forest and the Forest of Dean, it stands
without a rival, equally beautiful in summer and in winter; in summer
its bright glossy leaves shining out distinctly in the midst of any
surrounding greenery, while as "the Holly that outdares cold winter's
ire" (Browne), it is the very emblem of bright cheerfulness, with its
foliage uninjured in the most severe weather, and its rich coral
berries, sometimes borne in the greatest profusion, delighting us with
their brilliancy and beauty. And as a garden shrub, the Holly still
holds its own, after all the fine exotic shrubs that have been
introduced into our gardens during the present century. It can be grown
as a single shrub, or it may be clipped, and will then form the best and
the most impregnable hedge that can be grown. No other plant will
compare with it as a hedge plant, if it be only properly attended to,
and we can understand Evelyn's pride in his "glorious and refreshing
object," a Holly hedge 160ft. in length, 7ft. in height, and 5ft. in
diameter, which he could show in his "poor gardens at any time of the
year, glittering with its armed and vernished leaves," and "blushing
with their natural corale." Nor need we be confined to plain green in
such a hedge. The Holly runs into a great many varieties, with the
leaves of all shapes and sizes, and blotched and variegated in different
fashions and colours. All of these seem to be comparatively modern. In
the time of Gerard and Parkinson there seems to have been only the one
typical species, and perhaps the Hedgehog Holly.

I may finish the notice of the Holly by quoting two most remarkable uses
of the tree mentioned by Parkinson: "With the flowers of Holly, saith
Pliny from Pythagoras, water is made ice; and againe, a staffe of the
tree throwne at any beast, although it fall short by his defect that
threw it, will flye to him, as he lyeth still, by the speciall property
of the tree." He may well add--"This I here relate that you may
understand the fond and vain conceit of those times, which I would to
God we were not in these dayes tainted withal."


FOOTNOTES:

[123:1] "_Hulwur_-tre (huluyr), hulmus, hulcus aut huscus."--_Promptorium
Parvulorum._




HOLY THISTLE.


     _Margaret._

     Get you some of this distilled Carduus Benedictus, and lay it
       to your heart; it is the only thing for a qualm.

     _Hero._

     There thou prickest her with a Thistle.

     _Beatrice._

     Benedictus! Why Benedictus? You have some moral in this
       Benedictus.

     _Margaret._

     Moral! No, by my troth, I have no moral meaning: I meant plain
       Holy Thistle.

                   _Much Ado About Nothing_, act iii, sc. 4 (73).

The _Carduus benedictus_, or Blessed Thistle, is a handsome annual from
the South of Europe, and obtained its name from its high reputation as a
heal-all, being supposed even to cure the plague, which was the highest
praise that could be given to a medicine in those days. It is mentioned
in all the treatises on the Plague, and especially by Thomas Brasbridge,
who, in 1578, published his "Poore Mans Jewell, that is to say, a
Treatise of the Pestilence: vnto which is annexed a declaration of the
vertues of the Hearbes Carduus Benedictus and Angelica." This little
book Shakespeare may have seen; it speaks of the virtues of the
"distilled" leaves: it says, "it helpeth the hart," "expelleth all
poyson taken in at the mouth and other corruption that doth hurt and
annoye the hart," and that "the juyce of it is outwardly applied to the
bodie" ("lay it to your heart"), and concludes, "therefore I counsell
all them that have Gardens to nourish it, that they may have it always
to their own use, and the use of their neighbours that lacke it." The
plant has long lost this high character.




HONEYSTALKS, _see_ CLOVER.




HONEYSUCKLE.


     (1) _Hero._

     And bid her steal into the pleached bower
     Where Honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun,
     Forbid the sun to enter.

                    _Much Ado About Nothing_, act iii, sc. 1 (7).


     (2) _Ursula._

     So angle we for Beatrice; who even now
     Is couched in the Woodbine coverture.

                                                    _Ibid._ (29).


     (3) _Titania._

     Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms.
     So doth the Woodbine the sweet Honeysuckle
     Gently entwist; the Female Ivy so
     Enrings the barky fingers of the Elm.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (47).


     (4) _Hostess._

     O thou Honeysuckle villain.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 1 (52).


     (5) _Oberon._

     I know a bank where the wild Thyme blows,
     Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows,
     Quite over-canopied with luscious Woodbine.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (249).

I have joined together here the Woodbine and the Honeysuckle, because
there can be little doubt that in Shakespeare's time the two names
belonged to the same plant,[126:1] and that the Woodbine was (where the
two names were at all discriminated, as in No. 3), applied to the plant
generally, and Honeysuckle to the flower. This seems very clear by
comparing together Nos. 1 and 2. In earlier writings the name was
applied very loosely to almost any creeping or climbing plant. In an
Anglo-Saxon Vocabulary of the eleventh century it is applied to the Wild
Clematis ("Viticella--Weoden-binde"); while in Archbishop Ælfric's
"Vocabulary" of the tenth century it is applied to the Hedera nigra,
which may be either the Common or the Ground Ivy ("Hedera
nigra--Wude-binde"); and in the Herbarium and Leechdom books of the
twelfth century it is applied to the Capparis or Caper-plant, by which,
however (as Mr. Cockayne considers), the Convolvulus Sepium is meant.
After Shakespeare's time again the words began to be used confusedly.
Milton does not seem to have been very clear in the matter. In "Paradise
Lost" he makes our first parents "wind the Woodbine round this arbour"
(perhaps he had Shakespeare's arbour in his mind); and in "Comus" he
tells us of--

                          "A bank
     With ivy-canopied, and interwove
     With flaunting Honeysuckle."[126:2]

While in "Lycidas" he tells of--

     "The Musk Rose and the well-attired Woodbine."

And we can scarcely suppose that he would apply two such contrary
epithets as "flaunting" and "well-attired" to the same plant. And now
the name, as of old, is used with great uncertainty, and I have heard it
applied to many plants, and especially to the small sweet-scented
Clematis (_C. flammula_).

But with the Honeysuckle there is no such difficulty. The name is an old
one, and in its earliest use was no doubt indifferently applied to many
sweet-scented flowers (the Primrose amongst them); but it was soon
attached exclusively to our own sweet Honeysuckle of the woods and
hedges. We have two native species (Lonicera periclymenum and L.
xylosteum), and there are about eighty exotic species, but none of them
sweeter or prettier than our own, which, besides its fragrant flowers,
has pretty, fleshy, red fruit.

The Honeysuckle has ever been the emblem of firm and fast affection--as
it climbs round any tree or bush, that is near it, not only clinging to
it faster than Ivy, but keeping its hold so tight as to leave its mark
in deep furrows on the tree that has supported it. The old writers are
fond of alluding to this. Bullein in "The Book of Simples," 1562, says
very prettily, "Oh, how swete and pleasant is Wood-binde, in woodes or
arbours, after a tender, soft rain: and how friendly doe this herbe, if
I maie so name it, imbrace the bodies, armes, and branches of trees,
with his long winding stalkes, and tender leaves, openyng or spreading
forthe his swete Lillis, like ladie's fingers, emōg the thornes or
bushes," and there is no doubt from the context that he is here
referring to the Honeysuckle. Chaucer gives the crown of Woodbine to
those who were constant in love--

     "And tho that weare chaplets on their hede
      Of fresh Woodbine, be such as never were
      To love untrue in word, thought, ne dede,
      But aye stedfast; ne for pleasaunce ne fere,
      Though that they should their hertes al to-tere,
      Would never flit, but ever were stedfast
      Till that there lives there asunder brast."

                                       _The Flower and the Leaf._

The two last lines well describe the fast union between the Honeysuckle
and its mated tree.


FOOTNOTES:

[126:1]

     "Woodbines of sweet honey full."

                 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, _Tragedy of Valentinian_.

[126:2] Milton probably took the idea from Theocritus--

                          "Ivy reaches up and climbs,
     Gilded with blossom-dust about its lip;
     Round which a Woodbine wreathes itself, and flaunts
     Her saffron fruitage."--_Idyll_ i. (_Calverley_).




HYSSOP.


     _Iago._

     'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our
       gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners; so that if
       we will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce, set Hyssop, and weed
       up Thyme, supply it with one gender of herbs or distract
       it with many, either to have it sterile with idleness,
       or maimed with industry, why, the power and corrigible
       authority of this lies in our wills.

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (322).

We should scarcely expect such a lesson of wisdom drawn from the simple
herb-garden in the mouth of the greatest knave and villain in the whole
range of Shakespeare's writings. It was the preaching of a deep
hypocrite, and while we hate the preacher we thank him for his
lesson.[128:1]

The Hyssop (_Hyssopus officinalis_) is not a British plant, but it was
held in high esteem in Shakespeare's time. Spenser spoke of it as--

     "Sharp Isope good for green wounds remedies"--

and Gerard grew in his garden five or six different species or
varieties. He does not tell us where his plants came from, and perhaps
he did not know. It comes chiefly from Austria and Siberia; yet Greene
in his "Philomela," 1615, speaks of "the Hyssop growing in America, that
is liked of strangers for the smell, and hated of the inhabitants for
the operation, being as prejudicial to the one as delightsome to the
other." It is now very little cultivated, for it is not a plant of much
beauty, and its medicinal properties are not much esteemed; yet it is a
plant that must always have an interest to readers of the Bible; for
there it comes before us as the plant of purification, as the plant of
which the study was not beneath the wisdom of Solomon, and especially
as the plant that added to the cruelties of the Crucifixion. Whether
the Hyssop of Scripture is the Hyssopus officinalis is still a question,
but at the present time the most modern research has decided that it is.


FOOTNOTES:

[128:1] It seems likely from the following passage from Lily's "Euphues,
the anatomy of wit," 1617, that the plants were not named at random by
Iago, but that there was some connection between them. "Good gardeners,
in their curious knots, mixe Isope with Time, as aiders the one with the
others; the one being dry, the other moist." The gardeners of the
sixteenth century had a firm belief in the sympathies and antipathies of
plants.




INSANE ROOT.


     _Banquo._

     Were such things here as we do speak about?
     Or have we eaten on the Insane Root
     That takes the reason prisoner?

                                    _Macbeth_, act i, sc. 3 (83).

It is very possible that Shakespeare had no particular plant in view,
but simply referred to any of the many narcotic plants which, when given
in excess, would "take the reason prisoner." The critics have suggested
many plants--the Hemlock, the Henbane, the Belladonna, the Mandrake,
&c., each one strengthening his opinion from coeval writers. In this
uncertainty I should incline to the Henbane from the following
description by Gerard and Lyte. "This herbe is called . . . of
Apuleia-Mania" (Lyte). "Henbane is called . . . of Pythagoras,
Zoroaster, and Apuleius, Insana" (Gerard).




IVY.


     (1) _Titania._

                    The female Ivy so
     Enrings the barky fingers of the Elm.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (48).


     (2) _Prospero._

                    That now he was
     The Ivy which had hid my princely trunk
     And suck'd my verdure out on't.

                                    _Tempest_, act i, sc. 2 (85).


     (3) _Adriana._

     If ought possess thee from me, it is dross,
     Usurping Ivy, Brier, or idle Moss.

                         _Comedy of Errors_, act ii, sc. 2 (179).


     (4) _Shepherd._

     They have scared away two of my best sheep, which I fear the
       wolf will sooner find than the master; if anywhere I have
       them 'tis by the seaside browsing of Ivy.[130:1]

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iii, sc. 3 (66).


     (5) _Perithores._

                   His head's yellow,
     Hard hayr'd, and curl'd, thicke twin'd like Ivy tops,
     Not to undoe with thunder.

                        _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 2 (115).

The rich evergreen of "the Ivy never sear" (Milton) recommended it to
the Romans to be joined with the Bay in the chaplets of poets--

             "Hanc sine tempora circum
     Inter victrices Hederam tibi serpere lauros."--VIRGIL.


             "Seu condis amabile carmen
     Prima feres Hederæ victricis præmia."--HORACE.

And in mediæval times it was used with Holly for Christmas decorations,
so that Bullein called it "the womens Christmas Herbe." But the old
writers always assumed a curious rivalry between the two--

     "Holly and Ivy made a great party
      Who should have the mastery
              In lands where they go."

And there is a well-known carol of the time of Henry VI., which tells of
the contest between the two, and of the mastery of the Holly; it is in
eight stanzas, of which I extract the last four--

     "Holly he hath berries as red as any Rose,
      The foresters, the hunters, keep them from the does;
      Ivy she hath berries as black as any Sloe,
      There come the owls and eat them as they go;
      Holly he hath birds, a full fair flock,
      The nightingale, the popinjay, the gentle laverock;
      Good Ivy, say to us, what birds hast thou?
      None but the owlet that cries 'How, how!'"

Thus the Ivy was not allowed the same honour inside the houses of our
ancestors as the Holly, but it held its place outside the houses as a
sign of good cheer to be had within. The custom is now extinct, but
formerly an Ivy bush (called a tod of Ivy) was universally hung out in
front of taverns in England, as it still is in Brittany and Normandy.
Hence arose two proverbs--"Good wine needs no bush," _i.e._, the
reputation is sufficiently good without further advertisement; and "An
owl in an Ivy bush," as "perhaps denoting originally the union of wisdom
or prudence with conviviality, as 'Be merry and wise.'"--NARES.

The Ivy was a plant as much admired by our grandfathers of the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries as it is now by us. Spenser was evidently fond
of it--

     "And nigh thereto a little chappel stoode
      Which being all with Yvy overspread
      Deckt all the roofe, and shadowing the rode
      Seem'd like a grove faire branched over hed."

                                              _F. Q._, vi, v, 25.

In another place he speaks of it as--

     "Wanton Yvie, flouring fayre."--_F. Q._, ii, v, 29.

And in another place--

     "Amongst the rest the clambering Ivie grew
      Knitting his wanton armes with grasping hold,
      Least that the Poplar happely should rew
      Her brother's strokes, whose boughs she doth enfold
      With her lythe twigs till they the top survew,
      And paint with pallid greene her buds of gold."

                                                 VIRGIL'S _Gnat_.

Chaucer describes it as--

     "The erbe Ivie that groweth in our yard that mery is."

And in the same poem he prettily describes it as--

     "The pallid Ivie building his own bowre."

As a wild plant, the Ivy is found in Europe, Asia, and Africa, but not
in America, and wherever it is found it loves to cover old walls and
buildings, and trees of every sort, with its close and rich drapery and
clusters of black fruit,[132:1] and where it once establishes itself it
is always beautiful, but not always harmless. Both on trees and
buildings it requires very close watching. It will very soon destroy
soft-wooded trees, such as the Poplar and the Ash, by its tight embrace,
not by sucking out the sap, but by preventing the outward growth of the
shoots, and checking--and at length preventing--the flow of sap; and in
buildings it is no doubt beneficial as long as it is closely watched and
kept in place, but if allowed to drive its roots into joints, or to grow
under roofs, the swelling roots and branches will soon displace any
masonry, and cause immense mischief.

We have only one species of Ivy in England, and there are only two real
species recognized by present botanists, but there are infinite
varieties, and many of them very beautiful. These variegated Ivies were
known to the Greeks and Romans, and were highly prized by them, one
especially with white fruit (at present not known) was the type of
beauty. No higher praise could be given to a beauty than that she was
"Hedera formosior alba." These varieties are scarcely mentioned by
Gerard and Parkinson, and probably were not much valued; they are now in
greater repute, and nothing will surpass them for rapidly and
effectually covering any bare spaces.

I need scarcely add that the Ivy is so completely hardy that it will
grow in any aspect and in any soil; that its flowers are the staple food
of bees in the late autumn; and that all the varieties grow easily from
cuttings at almost any time of the year.


FOOTNOTES:

[130:1] Sheep feeding on Ivy--

     "My sheep have Honeysuckle bloom for pasture; Ivy grows
      In multitudes around them, and blossoms like the Rose."

                            THEOCRITUS, _Idyll_ v. (_Calverley_).

[132:1]

            "The Ivy-mesh
     Shading the Ethiop berries."--KEATS, _Endymion_.




KECKSIES.


     _Burgundy._

                             And nothing teems
     But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs,
     Losing both beauty and utility.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (51).

Kecksies or Kecks are the dried and withered stems of the Hemlock, and
the name is occasionally applied to the living plant. It seems also to
have been used for any dry weeds--

     "All the wyves of Tottenham came to se that syght,
      With Wyspes, and Kexis, and ryschys ther lyght,
      To fech hom ther husbandes, that wer tham trouth plyght."

                                "The Tournament of Tottenham," in
                            RITSON'S _Ancient Songs and Ballads_.




KNOT-GRASS.


     _Lysander._

                      Get you gone, you dwarf;
     You minimus, of hindering Knot-grass made;
     You bead, you Acorn.

                 _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 2 (328).

The Knot-grass is the Polygonum aviculare, a British weed, low,
straggling, and many-jointed, hence its name of Knot-grass. There is no
doubt that this is the plant meant, and its connection with a dwarf is
explained by the belief, probably derived from some unrecorded character
detected by the "doctrine of signatures," that the growth of children
could be stopped by a diet of Knot-grass. Steevens quotes Beaumont and
Fletcher to this effect, and this will probably explain the epithet
"hindering." But there may be another explanation. Johnston tells us
that in the north, "being difficult to cut in the harvest time, or to
pull in the process of weeding, it has obtained the sobriquet of the
Deil's-lingels." From this it may well be called "hindering," just as
the Ononis, from the same habit of catching the plough and harrow, has
obtained the prettier name of "Rest-harrow."

But though Shakespeare's Knot-grass is undoubtedly the Polygonum, yet
the name was also given to another plant, for this cannot be the plant
mentioned by Milton--

                        "The chewing flocks
     Had ta'en their supper on the savoury herb
     Of Knot-grass dew-besprent."--_Comus._

In this case it must be one of the pasture Grasses, and may be Agrostis
stolonifera, as it is said to be in Aubrey's "Natural History of Wilts"
(Dr. Prior).




LADY-SMOCKS.


     _Song of Spring._

       And Lady-smocks all silver-white,
     And Cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,
       Do paint the meadows with delight.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (905).

Lady-smocks are the flowers of Cardamine pratensis, the pretty early
meadow flower of which children are so fond, and of which the popularity
is shown by its many names: Lady-smocks, Cuckoo-flower,[134:1] Meadow
Cress, Pinks, Spinks, Bog-spinks, and May-flower, and "in Northfolke,
Canterbury Bells." The origin of the name is not very clear. It is
generally explained from the resemblance of the flowers to smocks hung
out to dry, but the resemblance seems to me rather far-fetched.
According to another explanation, "the Lady-smock, a corruption of Our
Lady's-smock, is so called from its first flowering about Lady-tide. It
is a pretty purplish white, tetradynamous plant, which blows from
Lady-tide till the end of May, and which during the latter end of April
covers the moist meadows with its silvery-white, which looks at a
distance like a white sheet spread over the fields."--_Circle of the
Seasons._ Those who adopt this view called the plant Our Lady's-smock,
but I cannot find that name in any old writers. Drayton, coeval with
Shakespeare, says--

                                 "Some to grace the show,
     Of Lady-smocks most white do rob each neighbouring mead,
     Wherewith their loose locks most curiously they braid."

And Isaac Walton, in the next century, drew that pleasant picture of
himself sitting quietly by the waterside--"looking down the meadows I
could see here a boy gathering Lilies and Lady-smocks, and there a girl
cropping Culverkeys and Cowslips."[134:2]

There is a double variety of the Lady-smock which makes a handsome
garden plant, and there is a remarkable botanical curiosity connected
with the plant which should be noticed. The plant often produces in the
autumn small plants upon the leaves, and by the means of these little
parasites the plant is increased, and even if the leaves are detached
from the plant, and laid upon moist congenial soil, young plants will be
produced. This is a process that is well known to gardeners in the
propagation of Begonias, and it is familiar to us in the proliferous
Ferns, where young plants are produced on the surface or tips of the
fronds; and Dr. Masters records "the same condition as a teratological
occurrence in the leaves of Hyacinthus Pouzolsii, Drosera intermedia,
Arabis pumila, Chelidonum majus, Chirita Sinensis, Epicia bicolor,
Zamia, &c."--_Vegetable Teratology_, p. 170.


FOOTNOTES:

[134:1] "Ladies-smock.--A kind of water cresses, of whose virtue it
partakes; and it is otherwise called Cuckoo-flower."--PHILLIPS, _World
of Words_, 1696.

[134:2] Culverkeys is mentioned in Dennis' "Secrets of Angling" as a
meadow flower: "pale Ganderglas, and azor Culverkayes." It is also
mentioned by Aubrey, in his "Natural History of Wilts;" but the name is
found in no other writer, and is now extinct. It is difficult to say
what plant is meant; many have been suggested: the Columbine, the Meadow
Orchis, the Bluebell, &c. I think it must be the Meadow Geranium, which
is certainly "azor" almost beyond any other British plant. "Culver" is a
dove or pigeon, and "keyes" or "kayes" are the seeds of a plant, and the
seeds of the Geranium were all likened to the claws of birds, so that
our British species is called G. columbinum.




LARK'S HEELS.


     Larks heels trim.

                               _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Introd. song.

Lark's heels is one of the many names of the Garden Delphinium,
otherwise called Larkspur, Larksclaw, Larkstoes.




LAUREL.


     (1) _Clarence._

         To whom the heavens in thy nativity
     Adjudged an Olive branch and Laurel crown
     As likely to be blest in peace and war.

                              _3rd Henry VI_, act iv, sc. 6 (33).


     (2) _Titus._

     Cometh Andronicus bound with Laurel boughs.

                           _Titus Andronicus_, act i, sc. 1 (74).


     (3) _Cleopatra._

                   Upon your sword
     Sit Laurel victory.

                       _Antony and Cleopatra_, act i, sc. 3 (99).


     (4) _Ulysses._

     Prerogative of age, crowns, sceptres, Laurels.

                      _Troilus and Cressida_, act i, sc. 3 (107).

This is one of the plants which Shakespeare borrowed from the classical
writers; it is not the Laurel of our day, which was not introduced till
after his death,[136:1] but the Laurea Apollinis, the Laurea Delphica--

     "The Laurel meed of mightie conquerors
      And poet's sage,"--SPENSER;

that is, the Bay. This is the tree mentioned by Gower--

     "This Daphne into a Lorer tre
      Was turned, whiche is ever grene,
      In token, as yet it may be sene,
      That she shalle dwelle a maiden stille."

                                         _Conf. Aman._ lib. terc.

There can be little doubt that the Laurel of Chaucer also was the Bay,
the--

              "Fresh grene Laurer tree
     That gave so passing a delicious smelle
     According to the Eglantere ful welle."

He also spoke of it as the emblem of enduring freshness--

     "Myn herte and al my lymes be as grene
      As Laurer, through the yeer is for to seene."

                                          _The Marchaundes Tale._

The Laurel in Lyte's "Herbal" (the Lauriel or Lourye) seems to be the
Daphne Laureola. But unconsciously Chaucer and Shakespeare spoke with
more botanical accuracy than we do, the Bay being a true Laurel, while
the Laurel is a Cherry (_see_ BAY).


FOOTNOTES:

[136:1] The first Laurel grown in Europe was grown by Clusius in 1576.




LAVENDER.


     _Perdita._

               Here's flowers for you;
     Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (103).

The mention of Lavender always recalls Walton's pleasant picture of "an
honest ale-house, where we shall find a cleanly room, Lavender in the
windows, and twenty ballads stuck against the wall, and my hostess, I
may tell you, is both cleanly and handsome and civil." Whether it is
from this familiar, old-fashioned picture, or from some inherent charm
in the plant, it is hard to say, but it is certain that the smell of
Lavender is always associated with cleanliness and freshness.[137:1]

It is not a British plant, but is a native of the South of Europe in dry
and barren places, and it was introduced into England in the sixteenth
century, but it probably was not a common plant in Shakespeare's time,
for though it is mentioned by Spenser as "the Lavender still gray"
("Muiopotmos"), and by Gerard as growing in his garden, it is not
mentioned by Bacon in his list of sweet-smelling plants. The fine
aromatic smell is found in all parts of the shrub, but the essential oil
is only produced from the flowers. As a garden plant it is found in
every garden, but its growth as an extensive field crop is chiefly
confined to the neighbourhood of Mitcham and Carshalton in Surrey; and
there at the time of the picking of the flowers, and still more in the
later autumn when the old woody plants are burned, the air for a long
distance is strongly and most pleasantly impregnated with the delicate
perfume.


FOOTNOTES:

[137:1] The very name suggests this association. Lavender is the English
form of the Latin name, Lavendula; "lavendula autem dicta quoniam magnum
vectigal Genevensibus mercatoribus præbet quotannis in Africam eam
ferentibus, ubi lavandis fovendisque corporibus Lybes ea utuntur, nec
nisi decocto ejus abluti, mane domo egrediuntur."--_Stephani Libellus de
re Hortensi_, 1536, p. 54. The old form of our "laundress" was "a
Lavendre."




LEATHERCOAT, _see_ APPLE.




LEEK.


     (1) _Thisbe._

     His eyes were green as Leeks.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act v, sc. 1 (342).


     (2) _Pistol._

     Tell him I'll knock his Leek about his pate upon Saint Davy's
       Day.

                                   _Henry V_, act iv, sc. 1 (54).


     (3) _Fluellen._

     If your majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good
       service in a garden where Leeks did grow, wearing Leeks in
       their Monmouth caps; which your majesty knows to this hour
       is an honourable badge of the service; and I do believe your
       majesty takes no scorn to wear the Leek upon Saint Tavy's
       Day.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 7 (101).


     (4)

     In act v, sc. 1, is the encounter between Fluellen and Pistol,
       when he makes the bully eat the Leek; this causes such
       frequent mention of the Leek that it would be necessary to
       extract the whole scene, which, therefore, I will simply
       refer to in this way.

We can scarcely understand the very high value that was placed on Leeks
in olden times. By the Egyptians the plant was almost considered sacred,
"Porrum et cæpe nefas violare et frangere morsu" (Juvenal); we know how
Leeks were relished in Egypt by the Israelites; and among the Greeks
they "appear to have constituted so important a part in ancient gardens,
that the term πρασιά, or a bed, derived its name from πρασον, the Greek
word for Onion," or Leek[138:1] (Daubeny); while among the Anglo-Saxons
it was very much the same. The name is pure Anglo-Saxon, and originally
meant any vegetable; then it was restricted to any bulbous vegetable,
before it was finally further restricted to our Leek; and "its
importance was considered so much above that of any other vegetable,
that _leac-tun_, the Leek-garden, became the common name of the kitchen
garden, and _leac-ward_, the Leek-keeper, was used to designate the
gardener" (Wright). The plant in those days gave its name to the Broad
Leek which is our present Leek, the Yne Leek or Onion, the Garleek
(Garlick), and others of the same tribe, while it was applied to other
plants of very different families, as the Hollow Leek (_Corydalis
cava_), and the House Leek (_Sempervivum tectorum_).

It seems to have been considered the hardiest of all flowers. In the
account of the Great Frost of 1608, "this one infallible token" is given
in proof of its severity. "The Leek whose courage hath ever been so
undaunted that he hath borne up his lusty head in all storms, and could
never be compelled to shrink for hail, snow, frost, or showers, is now
by the violence and cruelty of this weather beaten unto the earth, being
rotted, dead, disgraced, and trod upon."

Its popularity still continues among the Welsh, by whom it is still, I
believe, very largely cultivated; but it does not seem to have been much
valued in England in Shakespeare's time, for Gerard has but little to
say of its virtues, but much of its "hurts." "It hateth the body,
ingendreth naughty blood, causeth troublesome and terrible dreames,
offendeth the eyes, dulleth the sight, &c." Nor does Parkinson give a
much more favourable account. "Our dainty eye now refuseth them wholly,
in all sorts except the poorest; they are used with us sometimes in Lent
to make pottage, and is a great and generall feeding in Wales with the
vulgar gentlemen." It was even used as the proverbial expression of
worthlessness, as in the "Roumaunt of the Rose," where the author says,
speaking of "Phiciciens and Advocates"--

     "For by her wille, without leese,
      Everi man shulde be seke,
      And though they die, they settle not a Leke."

And by Chaucer--

     "And other suche, deare ynough a Leeke."

                               _Prologue of the Chanoune's Tale._


     "The beste song that ever was made
      Ys not worth a Leky's blade,
      But men will tend ther tille."

                                         _The Child of Bristowe._


FOOTNOTES:

[138:1] For a testimony of the high value placed on the Leek by the
Greeks see a poem on Μῶλυ, in "Anonymi Carmen de Herbis" in the "Poetæ
Bucolici et didactici."




LEMON.


     _Biron._

     A Lemon.

     _Longaville._

              Stuck with Cloves.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (654).

_See_ ORANGE AND CLOVES.




LETTUCE.


     _Iago._

     If we will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce. (_See_ HYSSOP.)

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (324).

This excellent vegetable with its Latin name probably came to us from
the Romans.

     "Letuce of lac derivyed is perchaunce;
      For milk it hath or yeveth abundaunce."

                  _Palladius on Husbandrie_, ii, 216 (15th cent.)
                                                  E. E. Text Soc.

It was cultivated by the Anglo-Saxons, who showed their knowledge of its
narcotic qualities by giving it the name of Sleepwort; it is mentioned
by Spenser as "cold Lettuce" ("Muiopotmos"). And in Shakespeare's time
the sorts cultivated were very similar to, and probably as good as,
ours.




LILY.


     (1) _Iris._

     Thy banks with Pioned and Lilied[140:1] brims.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (64).


     (2) _Launce._

     Look you, she is as white as a Lily and as small as a wand.

                   _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, act ii, sc. 3 (22).


     (3) _Julia._

     The air hath starved the Roses in her cheeks,
     And pinch'd the Lily-tincture of her face.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 4 (160).


     (4) _Flute._

     Most radiant Pyramus, most Lily-white of hue.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (94).


     (5) _Thisbe._

     These Lily lips.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 1 (337).


     (6) _Perdita._

                    Lilies of all kinds,
     The Flower-de-luce being one!

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (126).


     (7) _Princess._

     Now by my maiden honour, yet as pure
     As the unsullied Lily.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (351).


     (8) _Queen Katharine._

                           Like the Lily
     That once was mistress of the field and flourish'd,
     I'll hang my head, and perish.

                              _Henry VIII_, act iii, sc. 1 (151).


     (9) _Cranmer._

                     Yet a virgin,
     A most unspotted Lily shall she pass
     To the ground.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 5 (61).


     (10) _Troilus._

     Give me swift transportance to those fields,
     Where I may wallow in the Lily beds
     Proposed for the deserver.

                     _Troilus and Cressida_, act iii, sc. 2 (12).


     (11) _Marcus._

     O, had the monster seen those Lily hands
     Tremble, like Aspen leaves, upon a lute.

                          _Titus Andronicus_, act ii, sc. 4 (44).


     (12) _Titus._

                    Fresh tears
     Stood on her cheeks as doth the honey-dew
     Upon a gather'd Lily almost wither'd.

                                   _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 1 (111).


     (13) _Iachimo._

     How bravely thou becomest thy bed, fresh Lily!

                                 _Cymbeline_, act ii, sc. 2 (15).


     (14) _Guiderius._

                 O sweetest, fairest Lily!
     My brother wears thee not the one half so well,
     As when thou grew'st thyself.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 2 (201).


     (15) _Constance._

     Of Nature's gifts thou may'st with Lilies boast,
     And with the half-blown Rose.

                                _King John_, act iii, sc. 1 (53).


     (16) _Salisbury._

     To gild refined gold, to paint the Lily,
     To throw a perfume on the Violet,

            *       *       *       *       *

     Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 2 (11).


     (17) _Kent._

     A Lily-livered, action-taking knave.

                                 _King Lear_, act ii, sc. 2 (18).


     (18) _Macbeth_

     Thou Lily-liver'd boy.

                                    _Macbeth_, act v, sc. 3 (15).


     (19)

     For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
     Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

                                                   _Sonnet_ xciv.


     (20)

     Nor did I wonder at the Lily's white,
     Nor praise the deep vermilion of the Rose.

                                                  _Ibid._ xcviii.


     (21)

     The Lily I condemned for thy hand.

                                                    _Ibid._ xcix.


     (22)

     Their silent war of Lilies and of Roses
     Which Tarquin view'd in her fair face's field.

                                                  _Lucrece_ (71).


     (23)

     Her Lily hand her rosy cheek lies under,
     Cozening the pillow of a lawful kiss.

                                                   _Ibid._ (386).


     (24)

                  The colour in thy face
     That even for anger makes the Lily pale,
     And the red Rose blush at her own disgrace.

                                                   _Ibid._ (477).


     (25)

     A Lily pale with damask die to grace her.

                                       _Passionate Pilgrim_ (89).


     (26)

     Full gently now she takes him by the hand,
     A Lily prison'd in a jail of snow.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (361).


     (27)

     She locks her Lily fingers one in one.

                                                   _Ibid._ (228).


     (28)

                 Whose wonted Lily white
     With purple tears, that his wound wept, was drench'd.

                                                  _Ibid._ (1053).

Which is the queen of flowers? There are two rival candidates for the
honour--the Lily and the Rose; and as we look on the one or the other,
our allegiance is divided, and we vote the crown first to one and then
to the other. We should have no difficulty "were t'other fair charmer
away," but with two such candidates, both equally worthy of the honour,
we vote for a diarchy instead of a monarchy, and crown them both.[142:1]
Yet there are many that would at once choose the Lily for the queen,
and that without hesitation, and they would have good authority for
their choice. "O Lord, that bearest rule," says Esdras, "of the whole
world, Thou hast chosen Thee of all the flowers thereof one Lily."
Spenser addresses the Lily as--

     "The Lily, lady of the flow'ring field"--_F. Q._, ii, 6, 16,

which is the same as Shakespeare's "mistress of the field," (8), and
many a poet since his time has given the same vote in many a pretty
verse, which, however, it would take too much space to quote at length;
so that I will content myself with these few lines by Alexander
Montgomery (coeval with Shakespeare)--

     "I love the Lily as the first of flowers
        Whose stately stalk so straight up is and stay;
      To whom th' lave ay lowly louts and cowers
        As bound so brave a beauty to obey."

Montgomery here has clearly in his mind's eye the Lily now so called;
but the name was not so restricted in the earlier writers. "Lilium,
cojus vox generali et licentiosa usurpatione adscribitur omni flori
commendabili" (Laurembergius, 1632). This was certainly the case with
the Greek and Roman writers, and it is so in our English Bible in most
of the cases where the word is used, but perhaps not universally so. It
is so used by Gower, describing Tarquin cutting off the tall flowers, by
some said to be Poppies and by others Lilies--

     "And in the garden as they gone,
      The Lilie croppes one and one,
      Where that they were sprongen out,
      He smote off, as they stood about."

                                          _Conf. Ama._ lib. sept.

It is used in the same way by Bullein when, speaking of the flower of
the Honeysuckle (_see_ HONEYSUCKLE), and it must have been used in the
same sense by Isaak Walton, when he saw a boy gathering "Lilies and
Lady-smocks" in the meadows.

We have still many records of this loose way of speaking of the Lily, in
the Water Lily, the Lily of the Valley, the Lent Lily, St. Bruno's
Lily, the Scarborough Lily, the Belladonna Lily, and several others,
none of which are true Lilies.

But it is time to come to Shakespeare's Lilies. In all the twenty-eight
passages the greater portion simply recall the Lily as the type of
elegance and beauty, without any special reference to the flower, and in
many the word is only used to express a colour, Lily-white. But in the
others he doubtless had some special plant in view, and there are two
species which, from contemporary writers, seem to have been most
celebrated in his day. The one is the pure White Lily (_Lilium
candidum_), a plant of which the native country is not yet quite
accurately ascertained. It is reported to grow wild in abundance in
Lebanon, and it probably came to England from the East in very early
times. It was certainly largely grown in Europe in the Middle Ages, and
was universally acknowledged by artists, sculptors, and architects, as
the emblem of female elegance and purity, and none of us would dispute
its claim to such a position. There is no other Lily which can surpass
it, when well grown, in stateliness and elegance, with sweet-scented
flowers of the purest white and the most graceful shape, and crowning
the top of the long leafy stem with such a coronal as no other plant can
show. On the rare beauties and excellences of the White Lily it would be
easy to fill a volume merely with extracts from old writers, and such a
volume would be far from uninteresting. Those who wish for some such
account may refer to the "Monographie Historique et Littéraire des Lis,"
par Fr. de Cannart d'Hamale, 1870. There they will find more than fifty
pages of the botany, literary history, poetry, and medical uses of the
plant, together with its application to religious emblems, numismatics,
heraldry, painting, &c. Two short extracts will suffice here:--"Le lis
blanc, surnommé la fleur des fleurs, les délices de Venus, la Rose de
Junon, qu'Anguillara désigna sous le nom d'Ambrosia, probablement à
cause de son parfum suivant, et pent être aussi de sa soidisante divine
origine, se place tout naturellement à le tête de ce groupe splendide."
"C'est le Lis classique, par excellence, et en même temps le plus beau
du genre."

The other is the large Scarlet or Chalcedonian Lily; and this also is
one of the very handsomest, though its beauty is of a very different
kind to the White Lily. The habit of the plant is equally stately, and
is indeed very grand, but the colours are of the brightest and clearest
red. These two plants were abundantly grown in Shakespeare's time, but
besides these there do not seem to have been more than about
half-a-dozen species in cultivation. There are now forty-six recognized
species, besides varieties in great number.

The Lily has a very wide geographical range, spreading from Central
Europe to the Philippines, and species are found in all quarters of the
globe, though the chief homes of the family seem to be in California and
Japan. Yet we have no wild Lily in England. Both the Martagon and the
Pyrenean Lily have been found, but there is no doubt they are garden
escapes.

As a garden plant it may safely be said that no garden can make any
pretence to the name that cannot show a good display of Lilies, many or
few. Yet the Lily is a most capricious plant; while in one garden almost
any sort will grow luxuriantly, in a neighbouring garden it is found
difficult to grow any in a satisfactory manner. Within the last few
years their culture has been much studied, and by the practical
knowledge of such great growers of the family as G. F. Wilson, H. J.
Elwes, and other kindred liliophilists, we shall probably in a few years
have many difficulties cleared up both in the botanical history and the
cultivation of this lovely tribe.

But we cannot dismiss the Lily without a few words of notice of its
sacred character. It is the flower specially dedicated to the Virgin
Mary, and which is so familiar to us in the old paintings of the
Annunciation. But it has, of course, a still higher character as a
sacred plant from the high honour placed on it by our Lord in the Sermon
on the Mount. After all that has been written on "the Lilies of the
field," critics have not yet decided whether any, and, if so, what
particular plant was meant. Each Eastern traveller seems to have
selected the flower that he most admired in Palestine, and then to
pronounce that that must be the Lily referred to. Thus, at various times
it has been decided to be the Rose, the Crown Imperial, the White Lily,
the Chalcedonian Lily, the Oleander, the Wild Artichoke, the
Sternbergia, the Tulip, and many others, but the most generally received
opinion now is, that if a true Lily at all, the evidence runs most
strongly in favour of the L. Chalcedonicum; but that Dean Stanley's view
is more probably the correct one, that the term "Lily" is generic,
alluding to the many beautiful flowers, both of the Lily family and
others, which abound in Palestine. The question, though deeply
interesting, is not one for which we need to be over-curious as to the
true answer. All of us, and gardeners especially, may be thankful for
the words which have thrown a never dying charm over our favourites, and
have effectually stopped any foolish objections that may be brought
against the deepest study of flowers, as a petty study, with no great
results. To any such silly objections (and we often hear them) the
answer is a very short and simple one--that we have been bidden by the
very highest authority to "consider the Lilies."


FOOTNOTES:

[140:1] This is a modern reading, the older and more correct reading is
"twilled."

[142:1]

     "Within the garden's peaceful scene
        Appeared two lovely foes,
      Aspiring to the rank of Queen,
        The Lily and the Rose.

            *       *       *       *       *

      Yours is, she said, the noblest hue,
        And yours the statelier mien,
      And till a third surpasses you
        Let each be deemed a Queen."--COWPER.




LIME.


     (1) _Ariel._

                  All prisoners, sir,
     In the Line-grove which weather-fends your cell.

                                     _Tempest_, act v, sc. 1 (9).


     (2) _Prospero._

     Come, hang them on this Line.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (193).


     (3) _Stephano._

     Mistress Line, is not this my jerkin?

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (235).

It is only in comparatively modern times that the old name of Line or
Linden, or Lind,[146:1] has given place to Lime. The tree is a doubtful
native, but has been long introduced, perhaps by the Romans. It is a
very handsome tree when allowed room, but it bears clipping well, and so
is very often tortured into the most unnatural shapes. It was a very
favourite tree with our forefathers to plant in avenues, not only for
its rapid growth, but also for the delicious scent of its flowers; but
the large secretions of honey-dew which load the leaves, and the fact
that it comes late into leaf and sheds its leaves very early, have
rather thrown it out of favour of late years. As a useful tree it does
not rank very high, except for wood-carvers, who highly prize its light,
easily-cut wood, that keeps its shape, and is very little liable to
crack or split either in the working or afterwards. Nearly all Grinling
Gibbons' delicate carving is in Lime wood. To gardeners the Lime is
further useful as furnishing the material for bast or bazen mats,[147:1]
which are made from its bark, and interesting as being the origin of the
name of Linnæus.


FOOTNOTES:

[146:1] "Be ay of chier as light as lyf on Lynde."--CHAUCER, _The
Clerkes Tale_, _l'envoi_.

[147:1] "Between the barke and the woode of this tree, there bee thin
pellicles or skins lying in many folds together, whereof are made bands
and cords called Bazen ropes."--PHILEMON HOLLAND'S _Pliny's Nat. Hist._
xvi. 14. The chapter is headed "Of the Line or Linden Tree."




LING.


     _Gonzalo._

     Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of
       barren ground, Ling, Heath, brown Furze, anything.

                                    _Tempest_, act i, sc. 1 (70).

If this be the correct reading (and not Long Heath) the reference is to
the Heather or Common Ling (_Calluna vulgaris_). This is the plant that
is generally called Ling in the South of England, but in the North of
England the name is given to the Cotton Grass (_Eriophorum_). It is very
probable, however, that no particular plant is intended, but that it
means any rough, wild vegetation, especially of open moors and heaths.




LOCUSTS.


     _Iago._

     The food that to him now is as luscious as Locusts, shall be
       to him shortly as bitter as Coloquintida.

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (354).

The Locust is the fruit of the Carob tree (_Ceratonia siliqua_), a tree
that grows naturally in many parts of the South of Europe, the Levant,
and Syria, and is largely cultivated for its fruit.[148:1] These are
like Beans, full of sweet pulp, and are given in Spain and other
southern countries to horses, pigs, and cattle, and they are
occasionally imported into England for the same purpose. The Carob was
cultivated in England before Shakespeare's time. "They grow not in this
countrie," says Lyte, "yet, for all that, they be sometimes in the
gardens of some diligent Herboristes, but they be so small shrubbes that
they can neither bring forth flowers nor fruite." It was also grown by
Gerard, and Shakespeare may have seen it; but it is now very seldom seen
in any collection, though the name is preserved among us, as the
jeweller's carat weight is said to have derived its name from the Carob
Beans, which were used for weighing small objects.

The origin of the tree being called Locust is a little curious. Readers
of the New Testament, ignorant of Eastern customs, could not understand
that St. John could feed on the insect locust, which, however, is now
known to be a common and acceptable article of food, so they looked
about for some solution of their difficulty, and decided that the
Locusts were the tender shoots of the Carob tree, and that the wild
honey was the luscious juice of the Carob fruit. Having got so far it
was easy to go farther, and so the Carob soon got the names of St.
John's Bread and St. John's Beans, and the monks of the desert showed
the very trees by which St. John's life was supported. But though the
Carob tree did not produce the locusts on which St. John fed, there is
little or no doubt that "the husks which the swine did eat," and which
the Prodigal Son longed for, were the produce of the Carob tree.


FOOTNOTES:

[148:1] Pods of the Carob tree were found in a house at Pompeii. For an
account of the use of the Locust as an article of food, both in ancient
and modern times, see Hogg's "Classical Plants of Sicily," p. 114.




LONG PURPLES.


     _Queen._

     There with fantastic garlands did she come
     Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purples,
     That liberal shepherds give a grosser name,
     But our cold maids do Dead Men's Fingers call them.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 7 (169).

In "Flowers from Stratford-on-Avon" (a pretty book published a few
years ago with plates of twelve of Shakespeare's flowers) it is said
that "there can be no doubt that the Wild Arum is the plant alluded to
by Shakespeare as forming part of the nosegay of the crazed Ophelia;"
but the authoress gives no authority for this statement, and I believe
that there can be no reasonable doubt that the Long Purples and Dead
Men's Fingers are the common purple Orchises of the woods and meadows
(Orchis morio, O. mascula, and O. maculata). The name of Dead Men's
Fingers was given to them from the pale palmate roots of some of the
species (O. latifolia, O. maculata, and Gymnadenia conopsea), and this
seems to have been its more common name.

     "Then round the meddowes did she walke,
      Catching each flower by the stalke,
      Such as within the meddowes grew,
      As Dead Man's Thumb and Harebell blew;
      And as she pluckt them, still cried she,
      Alas! there's none 'ere loved like me."

                                             _Roxburghe Ballads._

As to the other names to which the Queen alludes, we need not inquire
too curiously; they are given in all their "liberality" and "grossness"
in the old Herbals, but as common names they are, fortunately, extinct.
The name of Dead Men's Fingers still lingers in a few places, but Long
Purples has been transferred to a very different plant. It is named by
Clare and Tennyson--

     "Gay Long-purples with its tufty spike;
      She'd wade o'er shoes to reach it in the dyke."

                              CLARE'S _Village Minstrel_, ii, 90.


     "Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,
      Bramble Roses, faint and pale,
      And Long Purples of the dale."

                                             _A Dirge_, TENNYSON.

But in both these passages the plant intended is the Lythrum salicaria,
or Purple Loosestrife.

The meadow Orchis, though so common, is thus without any common English
name; for though I have often asked country people for its name, I have
never obtained one; and so it is another of those curious instances
which are so hard to explain, where an old and common English word has
been replaced by a Greek or Latin word, which must be entirely without
meaning to nine-tenths of those who use it.[150:1] There are similar
instances in Crocus, Cyclamen, Hyacinth, Narcissus, Anemone, Beet,
Lichen, Polyanthus, Polypody, Asparagus, and others.

The Orchid family is certainly the most curious in the vegetable
kingdom, as it is almost the most extensive, except the Grasses. Growing
all over the world, in any climate, and in all kinds of situations, it
numbers 3000 species, of which we have thirty-seven native species in
England; and with their curious irregular flowers, often of very
beautiful colours, and of wonderful quaintness and variety of shape,
they are everywhere so distinct that the merest tyro in botany can
separate them from any other flower, and the deepest student can find
endless puzzles in them, and increasing interest.

Though the most beautiful are exotics, and are the chief ornaments of
our stoves and hothouses, yet our native species are full of interest
and beauty. Of their botanical interest we have a most convincing proof
in Darwin's "Fertilization of Orchids," a book that is almost entirely
confined to the British Orchids, and which, in its wonderfully clear
statements, and its laborious collection of many little facts all
leading up to his scientific conclusions, is certainly not the least to
be admired among his other learned and careful books. And as to their
horticultural interest, it is most surprising that so few gardeners make
the use of them that they might. They were not so despised in
Shakespeare's time, for Gerard grew a large number in his garden. It is
true that some of them are very impatient of garden cultivation,
especially those of the Ophrys section (such as the Bee, Fly, and Spider
Orchises), and the rare O. hircina, which will seldom remain in the
garden above two or three years, except under very careful and peculiar
cultivation. But, on the other hand, there are many that rejoice in
being transferred to a garden, especially O. maculata, O. mascula, O.
pyramidalis, and the Butterfly Orchis of both kinds (Habenaria bifolia
and chlorantha). These, if left undisturbed, increase in size and beauty
every year, their flowers become larger, and their leaves (in O.
maculata and O. mascula) become most beautifully spotted. They may be
placed anywhere, but their best place seems to be among low shrubs, or
on the rockwork. Nor must the hardy Orchid grower omit the beautiful
American species, especially the Cypripedia (C. spectabile, C.
pubescens, C. acaule, and others). They are among the most beautiful of
low hardy plants, and they succeed perfectly in any peat border that is
not too much exposed to the sun. The only caution required is to leave
them undisturbed; they resent removal and broken roots; and though I
hold it to be one of the first rules of good gardening to give away to
others as much as possible, yet I would caution any one against dividing
his good clumps of Cypripedia. The probability is that both giver and
receiver will lose the plants. If, however, a plant must be divided, the
whole plant should be carefully lifted, and most gently pulled to pieces
with the help of water.


FOOTNOTES:

[150:1] Though country people generally have no common name for the
Orchis morio, yet it is called in works on English Botany the Fool
Orchis; and it has the local names of "Crake-feet" in Yorkshire; of
"giddy-gander" in Dorset; and "Keatlegs and Neatlegs" in Kent. Dr. Prior
also gives the names "Goose and goslings" and "Gander-gooses" for Orchis
morio, and "Standerwort" for Orchis mascula. This last is the
Anglo-Saxon name for the flower, but it is now, I believe, quite
extinct.




LOVE-IN-IDLENESS, _see_ PANSY.




MACE.


     _Clown._

     I must have Saffron to colour the warden-pies--Mace--Dates?
       none.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (48).

The Mace is the pretty inner rind that surrounds the Nutmeg, when ripe.
It was no doubt imported with the Nutmeg in Shakespeare's time. (_See_
NUTMEG.)




MALLOWS.


     _Antonio._

     He'ld sow't with Nettle seed.

     _Sebastian._

     Or Docks, or Mallows.

                                  _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (145).

The Mallow is the common roadside weed (_Malva sylvestris_), which is
not altogether useless in medicine, though the Marsh Mallow far
surpasses it in this respect. Ben Jonson speaks of it as an article of
food--

     "The thresher . . . feeds on Mallows and such bitter herbs."

                                         _The Fox_, act i, sc. 1.

It is not easy to believe that our common Wild Mallow was so used, and
Jonson probably took the idea from Horace--

     "Me pascant olivæ,
      Me chichorea, levesque malvæ."

But the common Mallow is a dear favourite with children, who have ever
loved to collect, and string, and even eat its "cheeses:" and these
cheeses are a delight to others besides children. Dr. Lindley, certainly
one of the most scientific of botanists, can scarcely find words to
express his admiration of them. "Only compare a vegetable cheese," he
says, "with all that is exquisite in marking and beautiful in
arrangement in the works of man, and how poor and contemptible do the
latter appear. . . . Nor is it alone externally that this inimitable
beauty is to be discovered; cut the cheese across, and every slice
brings to view cells and partitions, and seeds and embryos, arranged
with an unvarying regularity, which would be past belief if we did not
know from experience, how far beyond all that the mind can conceive, is
the symmetry with which the works of Nature are constructed."

As a garden plant of course the Wild Mallow has no place, though the
fine-cut leaves and faint scent of the Musk Mallow (_M. moschata_) might
demand a place for it in those parts where it is not wild, and
especially the white variety, which is of the purest white, and very
ornamental. But our common Mallow is closely allied to some of the
handsomest plants known. The Hollyhock is one very near relation, the
beautiful Hibiscus is another, and the very handsome Fremontia
Californica is a third that has only been added to our gardens during
the last few years. Nor is it only allied to beauty, for it also claims
as a very near relation a plant which to many would be considered the
most commercially useful plant in the world, the Cotton-plant.




MANDRAGORA, OR MANDRAKES.


     (1) _Cleopatra._

     Give me to drink Mandragora.

     _Charmian._

                                  Why, madam?

     _Cleopatra._

     That I might sleep out this great gap of time,
     My Antony is away.

                        _Antony and Cleopatra_, act i, sc. 5 (4).


     (2) _Iago._

          Not Poppy, nor Mandragora,
     Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world
     Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
     Which thou owedst yesterday.

                                 _Othello_, act iii, sc. 3 (330).


     (3) _Falstaff._

     Thou Mandrake.

                               _2nd Henry IV_, act i, sc. 2 (16).


     (4) _Ditto._

     They called him Mandrake.

                                   _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 2 (338).


     (5) _Suffolk._

     Would curses kill, as doth the Mandrake's groan.

                            _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (310).


     (6) _Juliet._

     And shrieks like Mandrakes' torn out of the earth
     That living mortals, hearing them, run mad.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act iv, sc. 3 (47).

There is, perhaps, no plant on which so many books and treatises
(containing for the most part much sad nonsense) have been written as
the Mandrake, and there is certainly no plant round which so much
superstition has gathered, all of which is more or less silly and
foolish, and a great deal that is worse than silly. This, no doubt,
arose from its first mention in connection with Leah and Rachel, and
then in the Canticles, which, perhaps, shows that even in those days
some strange qualities were attributed to the plant; but how from that
beginning such, and such wide-spread, superstitions could have arisen,
it is hard to say. I can scarcely tell these superstitious fables in
better words than Gerard described them: "There hath been many
ridiculous tales brought up of this plant, whether of old wives or some
runagate surgeons or physicke-mongers I know not. . . . They adde that
it is never or very seldome to be found growing naturally but under a
gallowes, where the matter that has fallen from a dead body hath given
it the shape of a man, and the matter of a woman the substance of a
female plant, with many other such doltish dreams. They fable further
and affirme that he who would take up a plant thereof must tie a dog
thereunto to pull it up, which will give a great shreeke at the digging
up, otherwise, if a man should do it, he should surely die in a short
space after." This, with the addition that the plant is decidedly
narcotic, will sufficiently explain all Shakespeare's references.
Gerard, however, omits to notice one thing which, in justice to our
forefathers, should not be omitted. These fables on the Mandrake are by
no means English mediæval fables, but they were of foreign extraction,
and of very ancient date. Josephus tells the same story as held by the
Jews in his time and before his time. Columella even spoke of the plant
as "semi-homo;" and Pythagoras called it "Anthropomorphus;" and Dr.
Daubeny has published in his "Roman Husbandry" a most curious drawing
from the Vienna MS. of Dioscorides in the fifth century, "representing
the Goddess of Discovery presenting to Dioscorides the root of this
Mandrake" (of thoroughly human shape) "which she had just pulled up,
while the unfortunate dog which had been employed for that purpose is
depicted in the agonies of death."[154:1] All these beliefs have long, I
should hope, been extinct among us; yet even now artists who draw the
plant are tempted to fancy a resemblance to the human figure, and in the
"Flora Græca," where, for the most part, the figures of the plants are
most beautifully accurate, the figure of the Mandrake is painfully
human.[154:2]

As a garden plant, the Mandrake is often grown, but more for its
curiosity than its beauty; the leaves appear early in the spring,
followed very soon by its dull and almost inconspicuous flowers, and
then by its Apple-like fruit. This is the Spring Mandrake (_Mandragora
vernalis_), but the Autumn Mandrake (_M. autumnalis_ or _microcarpa_)
may be grown as an ornamental plant. The leaves appear in the autumn,
and are succeeded by a multitude of pale-blue flowers about the size of
and very much resembling the Anemone pulsatilla (see Sweet's "Flower
Garden," vol. vii. No. 325). These remain in flower a long time. In my
own garden they have been in flower from the beginning of November till
May. I need only add that the Mandrake is a native of the South of
Europe and other countries bordering on the Mediterranean, but it was
very early introduced into England. It is named in Archbishop Ælfric's
"Vocabulary" in the tenth century with the very expressive name of
"Earth-apple;" it is again named in an Anglo-Saxon Vocabulary of the
eleventh century (in the British Museum), but without any English
equivalent; and Gerard cultivated both sorts in his garden.


FOOTNOTES:

[154:1] In the "Bestiary of Philip de Thaun" (12 cent.), published in
Wright's Popular Treatises on Science written during the Middle Ages,
the male and female Mandrake are actually reckoned among living beasts
(p. 101).

[154:2] For some curious early English notices of the Mandrake, see
"Promptorium Parvulorum," p. 324, note. See also Brown's "Vulgar
Errors," book ii. c. 6, and Dr. M. C. Cooke's "Freaks of Plant Life."




MARIGOLD.


     (1) _Perdita._

     The Marigold that goes to bed wi' the sun,
     And with him rises weeping; these are flowers
     Of middle summer.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (105).


     (2) _Marina._

     The purple Violets and Marigolds
     Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave
     While summer-days do last.

                                  _Pericles_, act iv, sc. 1 (16).


     (3) _Song._

     And winking Mary-buds begin
     To ope their golden eyes.

                                 _Cymbeline_, act ii, sc. 3 (25).


     (4)

     Marigolds on death-beds blowing.

                               _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Introd. song.


     (5)

     Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
     But as the Marigolds at the sun's eye.

                                                    _Sonnet_ xxv.


     (6)

     Her eyes, like Marigolds, had sheathed their light,
     And canopied in darkness sweetly lay,
     Till they might open to adorn the day.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (397).

There are at least three plants which claim to be the old Marigold. 1.
The Marsh Marigold (_Caltha palustris_). This is a well-known golden
flower--

     "The wild Marsh Marigold shines like fire in swamps and hollows
          gray."

                                                        TENNYSON.

And there is this in favour of its being the flower meant, that the name
signifies the golden blossom of the marish or marsh; but, on the other
hand, the Caltha does not fulfil the conditions of Shakespeare's
Marigold--it does not open and close its flowers with the sun. 2. The
Corn Marigold (_Chrysanthemum segetum_), a very handsome but mischievous
weed in Corn-fields, not very common in England and said not to be a
true native, but more common in Scotland, where it is called Goulands. I
do not think this is the flower, because there is no proof, as far as I
know, that it was called Marigold in Shakespeare's time. 3. The Garden
Marigold or Ruddes (_Calendula officinalis_). I have little doubt this
is the flower meant; it was always a great favourite in our forefathers'
gardens, and it is hard to give any reason why it should not be so in
ours. Yet it has been almost completely banished, and is now seldom
found but in the gardens of cottages and old farmhouses, where it is
still prized for its bright and almost everlasting flowers (looking very
like a Gazania) and evergreen tuft of leaves, while the careful
housewife still picks and carefully stores the petals of the flowers,
and uses them in broths and soups, believing them to be of great
efficacy, as Gerard said they were, "to strengthen and comfort the
heart;" though scarcely perhaps rating them as high as Fuller: "we all
know the many and sovereign vertues . . . in your leaves, the Herb
Generall in all pottage" ("Antheologie," 1655, p. 52).

The two properties of the Marigold--that it was always in flower, and
that it turned its flowers to the sun and followed his guidance in their
opening and shutting--made it a very favourite flower with the poets and
emblem writers. T. Forster, in the "Circle of the Seasons," 1828, says
that "this plant received the name of Calendula, because it was in
flower on the calends of nearly every month. It has been called Marigold
for a similar reason, being more or less in blow at the times of all the
festivals of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the word gold having reference to
its golden rays, likened to the rays of light around the head of the
Blessed Virgin." This is ingenious, and, as he adds, "thus say the old
writers," it is worth quoting, though he does not say what old writer
gave this derivation, which I am very sure is not the true one. The old
name is simply _goldes_. Gower, describing the burning of Leucothoe,
says--

     "She sprong up out of the molde
      Into a flour, was named Golde,
      Which stant governed of the Sonne."

                                       _Conf. Aman._, lib. quint.

Chaucer spoke of the "yellow Goldes;"[157:1] in the "Promptorium
Parvulorum" we have "Goolde, herbe, solsequium, quia sequitur solem,
elitropium, calendula;" and Spenser says--

     "And if I her like ought on earth might read
      I would her liken to a crowne of Lillies,
      Upon a virgin brydes adorned head,
      With Roses dight and Goolds and Daffodillies."

                                                   _Colin Clout._

But it was its other quality of opening or shutting its flowers at the
sun's bidding that made the Marigold such a favourite with the old
writers, especially those who wrote on religious emblems. It was to them
the emblem of constancy in affection,[157:2] and sympathy in joy and
sorrow, though it was also the emblem of the fawning courtier, who can
only shine when everything is bright. As the emblem of constancy, it was
to the old writers what the Sunflower was to Moore--

     "The Sunflower turns on her god when he sets
      The same look which she did when he rose."

It was the Heliotrope or Solsequium or Turnesol of our forefathers, and
is the flower often alluded to under that name.[158:1] "All yellow
flowers," says St. Francis de Sales, "and, above all, those that the
Greeks call Heliotrope, and we call Sunflower, not only rejoice at the
sight of the sun, but follow with loving fidelity the attraction of its
rays, gazing at the sun, and turning towards it from its rising to its
setting" ("Divine Love," Mulholland's translation).

Of this higher and more religious use of the emblematic flower there are
frequent examples. I will only give one from G. Withers, a contemporary
of Shakespeare's later life--

     "When with a serious musing I behold
      The grateful and obsequious Marigold,
      How duly every morning she displays
      Her open breast when Phœbus spreads his rays;
      How she observes him in his daily walk,
      Still bending towards him her small slender stalk;
      How when he down declines she droops and mourns,
      Bedewed, as 'twere, with tears till he returns;
      And how she veils her flowers when he is gone.
      When this I meditate, methinks the flowers
      Have spirits far more generous than ours,
      And give us fair examples to despise
      The servile fawnings and idolatries
      Wherewith we court these earthly things below,
      Which merit not the service we bestow."

From the time of Withers the poets treated the Marigold very much as the
gardeners did--they passed it by altogether as beneath their notice.


FOOTNOTES:

[157:1]

     "That werud of yolo Guldes a garland."

                                             _The Knightes Tale._

[157:2]

     "You the Sun to her must play,
      She to you the Marigold,
      To none but you her leaves unfold."

                       MIDDLETON AND ROWLEY, _The Spanish Gipsy_.

See also Thynne's "Emblems," No. 18; and Cutwode's "Caltha Poetarum,"
1599, st. 18, 19.

[158:1] "Solsequium vel heliotropium; Solsece vel sigel-hwerfe" (_i.e._,
sun-seeker or sun-turner).--ÆLFRIC'S _Vocabulary_.

"Marigolde; solsequium, sponsa solis."--_Catholicon Anglicum._

In a note Mr. Herttage says, "the oldest name for the plant was
_ymbglidegold_, that which moves round with the sun."




MARJORAM.


     (1) _Perdita._

                   Here's flowers for you;
     Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (103).


     (2) _Lear._

     Give the word.

     _Edgar._

                    Sweet Marjoram.

     _Lear._
                                    Pass.

                                 _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 6 (93).


     (3)

     The Lily I condemned for thy hand,
     And buds of Marjoram had stolen thy hair.

                                                   _Sonnet_ xcix.


     (4) _Clown._

     Indeed, sir, she was the sweet Marjoram of the Salad, or
       rather the Herb-of-grace.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act iv, sc. 5 (17).

In Shakespeare's time several species of Marjoram were grown, especially
the Common Marjoram (_Origanum vulgare_), a British plant, the Sweet
Marjoram (_O. Marjorana_), a plant of the South of Europe, from which
the English name comes,[159:1] and the Winter Marjoram (_O.
Horacleoticum_). They were all favourite pot herbs, so that Lyte calls
the common one "a delicate and tender herb," "a noble and odoriferous
plant;" but, like so many of the old herbs, they have now fallen into
disrepute. The comparison of a man's hair to the buds of Marjoram is not
very intelligible, but probably it was a way of saying that the hair was
golden.


FOOTNOTES:

[159:1] See "Catholicon Anglicum," s.v. Marioron and note.




MARYBUDS, _see_ MARIGOLD.




MAST.


     _Timon._

     The Oaks bear Mast, the Briers scarlet hips.

                          _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (174).

We still call the fruit of beech, beech-masts, but do not apply the name
to the acorn. It originally meant food used for fatting, especially for
fatting swine. See note in "Promptorium Parvulorum," p. 329, giving
several instances of this use, and Strattmann, s.v. Mæst.




MEDLAR.


     (1) _Apemantus._

     There's a Medlar for thee, eat it.

     _Timon._

     On what I hate I feed not.

     _Apemantus._

     Dost hate a Medlar?

     _Timon._

     Ay, though it looks like thee.

     _Apemantus._

     An thou hadst hated Meddlers sooner, thou shouldst have loved
       thyself better now.

                          _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (305).


     (2) _Lucio._

     They would have married me to the rotten Medlar.

                      _Measure for Measure_, act iv, sc. 3 (183).


     (3) _Touchstone._

     Truly the tree yields bad fruit.

     _Rosalind._

     I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a
       Medlar; then it will be the earliest fruit in the country,
       for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the
       right virtue of the Medlar.

                          _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (122).


     (4) _Mercutio._

     Now will he sit under a Medlar tree.
     And wish his mistress were that kind of fruit
     As maids call Medlars when they laugh alone.

                   _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 1 (80).[160:1]

The Medlar is an European tree, but not a native of England; it has,
however, been so long introduced as to be now completely naturalized,
and is admitted into the English flora. It is mentioned in the early
vocabularies, and Chaucer gives it a very prominent place in his
description of a beautiful garden--

     "I was aware of the fairest Medler tree
      That ever yet in alle my life I sie,
      As ful of blossomes as it might be;
      Therein a goldfinch leaping pretile
      Fro' bough to bough, and as him list, he eet
      Here and there of buddes and floweres sweet."

                                 _The Flower and the Leaf_ (240).

And certainly a fine Medlar tree "ful of blossomes" is a handsome
ornament on any lawn. There are few deciduous trees that make better
lawn trees. There is nothing stiff about the growth even from its early
youth; it forms a low, irregular, picturesque tree, excellent for
shade, with very handsome white flowers, followed by the curious fruit;
it will not, however, do well in the North of England or Scotland.

It does not seem to have been a favourite fruit with our forefathers.
Bullein says "the fruite called the Medler is used for a medicine and
not for meate;" and Shakespeare only used the common language of his
time when he described the Medlar as only fit to be eaten when rotten.
Chaucer said just the same--

     "That ilke fruyt is ever lenger the wers
      Till it be rote in mullok or in stree--
      We olde men, I drede, so fare we,
      Till we be roten, can we not be rype."

                                               _The Reeves Tale._

And many others writers to the same effect. But, in fact, the Medlar
when fit to be eaten is no more rotten than a ripe Peach, Pear, or
Strawberry, or any other fruit which we do not eat till it has reached a
certain stage of softness. There is a vast difference between a ripe and
a rotten Medlar, though it would puzzle many of us to say when a fruit
(not a Medlar only) is ripe, that is, fit to be eaten. These things are
matters of taste and fashion, and it is rather surprising to find that
we are accused, and by good judges, of eating Peaches when rotten rather
than ripe. "The Japanese always eat their Peaches in an unripe state. In
the 'Gartenflora' Dr. Regel says, in some remarks on Japanese fruit
trees, that the Japanese regard a ripe Peach as rotten."

There are a few varieties of the Medlar, differing in the size and
flavour of the fruits, which were also cultivated in Shakespeare's time.


FOOTNOTES:

[160:1] So Chester speaks of it as "the Young Man's Medlar" ("Love's
Martyr," p. 96, New Sh. Soc.).




MINTS.


     (1) _Perdita._

               Here's flowers for you;
     Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (103).


     (2) _Armado._

     I am that flower,

     _Dumain._

                       That Mint.

     _Longaville._

                                  That Columbine.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (661).

The Mints are a large family of highly-perfumed, strong-flavoured
plants, of which there are many British species, but too well known to
call for any further description.




MISTLETOE.


     _Tamora._

     The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
     O'ercome with Moss and baleful Mistletoe.

                          _Titus Andronicus_, act ii, sc. 3 (94).

The Mistletoe was a sore puzzle to our ancestors, almost as great a
mystery as the Fern. While they admired its fresh, evergreen branches,
and pretty transparent fruit, and used it largely in the decoration of
their houses at Christmas, they looked on the plant with a certain awe.
Something of this, no doubt, arose from its traditional connection with
the Druids, which invested the plant with a semi-sacred character, as a
plant that could drive away evil spirits; yet it was also looked upon
with some suspicion, perhaps also arising from its use by our heathen
ancestors, so that, though admitted into houses, it was not (or very
seldom) admitted into churches. And this character so far still attaches
to the Mistletoe, that it is never allowed with the Holly and Ivy and
Box to decorate the churches, and Gay's lines were certainly written in
error--

     "Now with bright Holly all the temples strow,
      With Laurel green and sacred Mistletoe."

The mystery attaching to the Mistletoe arose from the ignorance as to
its production. It was supposed not to grow from its seeds, and how it
was produced was a fit subject for speculation and fable. Virgil tells
the story thus--

     "Quale solet sylvis brumali frigore viscum
      Fronde virere novâ, quod non sua seminat arbos,
      Et croceo fœtu teretes circumdare truncos."

                                                _Æneid_, vi, 205.

In this way Virgil elegantly veils his ignorance, but his commentator in
the eighteenth century (Delphic Classics) tells the tale without any
doubts as to its truth. "Non nascitur e semine proprio arboris, at neque
ex insidentum volucrum fimo, ut putavere veteres, sed ex ipso arborum
vitali excremento." This was the opinion of the great Lord Bacon; he
ridiculed the idea that the Mistletoe was propagated by the operation of
a bird as an idle tradition, saying that the sap which produces the
plant is such as "the tree doth excerne and cannot assimilate," and
Browne ("Vulgar Errors") was of the same opinion. But the opposite
opinion was perpetuated in the very name ("Mistel: fimus, muck,"
Cockayne),[163:1] and was held without any doubt by most of the writers
in Shakespeare's time--

     "Upon the oak, the plumb-tree and the holme,
      The stock-dove and the blackbird should not come,
      Whose mooting on the trees does make to grow
      Rots-curing hyphear, and the Mistletoe."

                                      BROWNE, _Brit. Past._ i, 1.

So that we need not blame Gerard when he boldly said that "this
excrescence hath not any roote, neither doth encrease himselfe of his
seed, as some have supposed, but it rather commethe of a certaine
moisture gathered together upon the boughes and joints of the trees,
through the barke whereof this vaporous moisture proceeding bringeth
forth the Misseltoe." We now know that it is produced exclusively from
the seeds probably lodged by the birds, and that it is easily grown and
cultivated. It will grow and has been found on almost any deciduous
tree, preferring those with soft bark, and growing very seldom on the
Oak.[163:2] Those who wish for full information upon the proportionate
distribution of the Mistletoe on different British trees will find a
good summary in "Notes and Queries," vol. iii. p. 226.


FOOTNOTES:

[163:1] "_Mistel_ est a _mist_ stercus, quod ex stercore avium
pronascitur, nec aliter pronasci potest."--WACHTER, _Glossary_ (quoted
in "Notes and Queries," 3rd series, vii. 157. In the same volume are
several papers on the origin of the word). Dr. Prior derives it from
_mistl_ (different), and _tan_ (twig), being so unlike the tree it grows
upon.

[163:2] Mistletoe growing on an oak had a special legendary value. Its
rarity probably gave it value in the eyes of the Druids, and much later
it had its mystic lore. "By sitting upon a hill late in a evening, near
a Wood, in a few nights a fire drake will appeare, mark where it
lighteth, and then you shall find an oake with Mistletoe thereon, at the
Root whereof there is a Misle-childe, whereof many strange things are
conceived. _Beati qui non crediderunt._"--PLAT., _Garden of Eden_, 1659,
No. 68.




MOSS.


     (1) _Adriana._

     If ought possess thee from me, it is dross,
     Usurping Ivy, Brier, or idle Moss.

                         _Comedy of Errors_, act ii, sc. 2 (179).


     (2) _Tamora._

     The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
     O'ercome with Moss and baleful Mistletoe.

                          _Titus Andronicus_, act ii, sc. 3 (94).


     (3) _Apemantus._

                      These Moss'd trees
     That have outlived the eagle.

                          _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (223).


     (4) _Hotspur._

     Steeples and Moss-grown towers.

                             _1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 1 (33).


     (5) _Oliver._

     Under an Oak whose boughs were Moss'd with age,
     And high top bald with dry antiquity.

                           _As You Like It_, act iv, sc. 3 (105).


     (6) _Arviragus._

                  The ruddock would,
     With charitable bill,

            *       *       *       *       *

                  bring thee all this;
     Yea, and furr'd Moss besides, when flowers are none,
     To winter-ground thy corse.

                         _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (224).[164:1]

If it were not for the pretty notice of Moss in the last passage (6), we
should be inclined to say that Shakespeare had as little regard for
"idle Moss" as for the "baleful Mistletoe." In his day Moss included all
the low-growing and apparently flowerless carpet plants which are now
divided into the many families of Mosses, Lichens, Club Mosses,
Hepaticæ, Jungermanniæ, &c., &c. And these plants, though holding no
rank in the eyes of a florist, are yet deeply interesting, perhaps no
family of plants more so, to those who have time and patience to study
them. The Club Mosses, indeed, may claim a place in the garden if they
can only be induced to grow, but that is a difficult task, and the
tenderer Lycopodiums are always favourites when well grown among
greenhouse Ferns; but for the most part, the Mosses must be studied in
their native haunts, and when so studied, they are found to be full of
beauty and of wonderful construction. Nor are they without use, and it
is rather strange that Shakespeare should have so markedly called them
"idle," or useless, considering that in his day many medical virtues
were attributed to them. This reputation for medical virtues they have
now all lost, except the Iceland Moss, which is still in use for
invalids; but the Mosses have other uses. The Reindeer Moss (_Cladonia
rangiferina_) and Roch-hair (_Alectoria jubata_) are indispensable to
the Laplander as food for his reindeer, and Usnea florida is used in
North America as food for cattle; the Iceland Moss (_Cetraria
Islandica_) is equally indispensable as an article of food to all the
inhabitants of the extreme North; and the Tripe de la Roche (_Gyrophora
cylindrica_) has furnished food to the Arctic explorers when no other
food could be obtained; while many dyes are produced from the Lichens,
especially the Cudbear (a most discordant corruption of the name of the
discoverer, Mr. Cuthbert), which is the produce of the Rock Moss
(_Lecanora tartarea_). So that even to us the Mosses have their uses,
even if they do not reach the uses that they have in North Sweden,
where, according to Miss Bremer, "the forest, which is the countryman's
workshop, is his storehouse, too. With the various Lichens that grow
upon the trees and rocks, he cures the virulent diseases with which he
is sometimes afflicted, dyes the articles of clothes which he wears, and
poisons the noxious and dangerous animals which annoy him."

As to the beauty of Mosses and Lichens we have only to ask any
artist or go into any exhibition of pictures. Their great beauty
has been so lovingly described by Ruskin ("Modern Painters"), that
no one can venture to do more than quote his description. It is well
known to many, but none will regret having it called to their
remembrance--"placuit semel--decies repetita placebit"--space, however,
will oblige me somewhat to curtail it. "Meek creatures! the first mercy
of the earth, veiling with hushed softness its dentless rocks: creatures
full of pity, covering with strange and tender honour the sacred
disgrace of ruin, laying quiet fingers on the trembling stones to teach
them rest. No words that I know of will say what these Mosses are; none
are delicate enough, none perfect enough, none rich enough.. . . . They
will not be gathered like the flowers for chaplet or love token; but of
these the wild bird will make its nest and the wearied child its pillow,
and as the earth's first mercy so they are its last gift to us. When all
other service is vain from plant and tree, the soft Mosses and grey
Lichens take up their watch by the headstone. The woods, the blossoms,
the gift-bearing Grasses have done their parts for a time, but these do
service for ever. Trees for the builder's yard, flowers for the bride's
chamber, Corn for the granary, Moss for the grave."


FOOTNOTES:

[164:1] There may be special appropriateness in the selection of the
"furr'd Moss" to "winter-ground thy corse." "The final duty of Mosses is
to die; the main work of other leaves is in their life, but these have
to form the earth, out of which other leaves are to grow."--RUSKIN,
_Proserpina_, p. 20.




MULBERRIES.


     (1) _Titania._

     Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries,
     With purple Grapes, green Figs, and Mulberries.

                 _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (169).


     (2) _Volumnia._

                    Thy stout heart,
     Now humble as the ripest Mulberry
     That will not bear the handling.

                               _Coriolanus_, act iii, sc. 2 (78).


     (3) _Prologue._

     Thisby tarrying in Mulberry shade.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act v, sc. 1 (149).


     (4) _Wooer._

                       Palamon is gone
     Is gone to the wood to gather Mulberries.

                         _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 1 (87).


     (5)

     The birds would bring him Mulberries and ripe-red Cherries.

                                       _Venus and Adonis_ (1103).
                                                (_See_ CHERRIES.)

We do not know when the Mulberry, which is an Eastern tree, was
introduced into England, but probably very early. We find in Archbishop
Ælfric's "Vocabulary," "morus vel rubus, mor-beam," but it is doubtful
whether that applies to the Mulberry or Blackberry, as in the same
catalogue Blackberries are mentioned as "flavi vel mori, blace-berian."
There is no doubt that Morum was a Blackberry as well as a Mulberry in
classical times. Our Mulberry is probably the fruit mentioned by
Horace--

                        "Ille salubres
     Æstates peraget, qui nigris prandia Moris
     Finiet ante gravem quæ legerit arbore solem."

                                                _Sat._ ii, 4, 24.

And it certainly is the fruit mentioned by Ovid--

     "In duris hærentia mora rubetis."

                                                _Metam._, i, 105.

In the Dictionarius of John de Garlande (thirteenth century)[167:1] we
find, "Hec sunt nomina silvestrium arborum, qui sunt in luco magistri
Johannis; quercus cum fago, pinus cum lauro, celsus gerens celsa;" and
Mr. Wright translates "celsa" by "Mulberries," without, however, giving
his authority for this translation.[167:2] But whenever introduced, it
had been long established in England in Shakespeare's time.

It must have been a common tree even in Anglo-Saxon times, for the
favourite drink, Morat, was a compound of honey flavoured with
Mulberries (Turner's "Anglo-Saxons").[167:3] Spenser spoke of it--

     "With love juice stained the Mulberie,
      The fruit that dewes the poet's braine."

                                                     _Elegy_, 18.

Gerard describes it as "high and full of boughes," and growing in sundry
gardens in England, and he grew in his own London garden both the Black
and the White Mulberry. Lyte also, before Gerard, describes it and says:
"It is called in the fayning of Poetes the wisest of all other trees,
for this tree only among all others bringeth forth his leaves after the
cold frostes be past;" and the Mulberry Garden, often mentioned by the
old dramatists, "occupied the site of the present Buckingham Palace and
Gardens, and derived its name from a garden of Mulberry trees planted by
King James I. in 1609, in which year 935_l._ was expended by the king in
the planting of Mulberry trees near the Palace of Westminster."[168:1]

As an ornamental tree for any garden, the Mulberry needs no
recommendation, being equally handsome in shape, in foliage, and in
fruit. It is a much prized ornament in all old gardens, so that it has
been well said that an old Mulberry tree on the lawn is a patent of
nobility to any garden; and it is most easy of cultivation; it will bear
removal when of a considerable size, and so easily can it be propagated
from cuttings that a story is told of Mr. Payne Knight that he cut large
branches from a Mulberry tree to make standards for his clothes-lines,
and that each standard took root, and became a flourishing Mulberry
tree.

Though most of us only know of the common White or Black Mulberry, yet,
where it is grown for silk culture (as it is now proposed to grow it in
England, with a promised profit of from £70 to £100 per acre for the
silk, and an additional profit of from £100 to £500 per acre from the
grain (eggs)!!), great attention is paid to the different varieties; so
that M. de Quatrefuges briefly describes six kinds cultivated in one
valley in France, and Royle remarks, "so many varieties have been
produced by cultivation that it is difficult to ascertain whether they
all belong to one species; they are," as he adds, "nearly as numerous as
those of the silkworm" (Darwin).

We have good proof of Shakespeare's admiration of the Mulberry in the
celebrated Shakespeare Mulberry growing in his garden at New Place at
Stratford-on-Avon. "That Shakespeare planted this tree is as well
authenticated as anything of that nature can be, . . . and till this was
planted there was no Mulberry tree in the neighbourhood. The tree was
celebrated in many a poem, one especially by Dibdin, but about 1752,
the then owner of New Place, the Rev. Mr. Gastrell, bought and pulled
down the house, and wishing, as it should seem, to be 'damned to
everlasting fame,' he had some time before cut down Shakespeare's
celebrated Mulberry tree, to save himself the trouble of showing it to
those whose admiration of our great poet led them to visit the poetick
ground on which it stood."--MALONE. The pieces were made into many
snuff-boxes[169:1] and other mementoes of the tree.

     "The Mulberry tree was hung with blooming wreaths;
      The Mulberry tree stood centre of the dance;
      The Mulberry tree was hymn'd with dulcet strains;
      And from his touchwood trunk the Mulberry tree
      Supplied such relics as devotion holds
      Still sacred, and preserves with pious care."

                                         COWPER, _Task_, book vi.


FOOTNOTES:

[167:1] The Dictionarius of John de Garlande is published in Wright's
"Vocabularies." His garden was probably in the neighbourhood of Paris,
but he was a thorough Englishman, and there is little doubt that his
description of a garden was drawn as much from his English as from his
French experience.

[167:2] The authority may be in the "Promptorium Parvulorum:" "Mulberry,
Morum (selsus)."

[167:3] "Moratum potionis genus, f. ex vino et moris dilutis
confectæ."--_Glossarium Adelung._

[168:1] Cunningham's "Handbook of London," p. 346, with many quotations
from the old dramatists.

[169:1] Some of these snuff-boxes were inscribed with the punning motto
"Memento Mori."




MUSHROOMS.


     (1) _Prospero._

                You demi-puppets, that
     By moonshine do the greensour ringlets make,
     Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
     Is to make midnight Mushrooms.

                                    _Tempest_, act v, sc. 1 (36).


     (2) _Fairy._

     I do wander everywhere.
     Swifter than the moon's sphere;
     And I serve the fairy queen,
     To dew her orbs upon the green.

                    _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (6).


     (3) _Quickly._

     And nightly, meadow-fairies, look you sing,
     Like to the Garter's compass, in a ring:
     The expressure that it bears, green let it be,
     More fertile-fresh than all the field to see.

                                _Merry Wives_, act v, sc. 5 (69).


     (4) _Ajax._

     Toadstool, learn me the proclamation.

                      _Troilus and Cressida_, act ii, sc. 1 (22).

The three first passages, besides the notice of the Mushroom, contain
also the notice of the fairy-rings, which are formed by fungi, though
probably Shakespeare knew little of this. No. 4 names the Toadstool, and
the four passages together contain the whole of Shakespeare's fungology,
and it is little to be wondered at that he has not more to say on these
curious plants. In his time "Mushrumes or Toadstooles" (they were all
classed together) were looked on with very suspicious eyes, though they
were so much eaten that we frequently find in the old herbals certain
remedies against "a surfeit of Mushrooms." Why they should have been
connected with toads has never been explained, but it was always so--

     "The grieslie Todestoole growne there mought I see,
      And loathed paddocks lording on the same."--SPENSER.

They were associated with other loathsome objects besides toads, for
"Poisonous Mushrooms groweth where old rusty iron lieth, or rotten
clouts, or neere to serpent's dens or rootes of trees that bring forth
venomous fruit.[170:1]. . . Few of them are good to be eaten, and most
of them do suffocate and strangle the eater. Therefore, I give my advice
unto those that love such strange and new-fangled meates to beware of
licking honey among thornes, lest the sweetnesse of one do not
counteracte the sharpnesse and pricking of the other." This was Gerard's
prudent advice on the eating of "Mushrumes and Toadstooles," but
nowadays we know better. The fungologists tell us that those who refuse
to eat any fungus but the Mushroom (_Agaricus campestris_) are not only
foolish in rejecting most delicate luxuries, but also very wrong in
wasting most excellent and nutritious food. Fungologists are great
enthusiasts, and it may be well to take their prescription _cum grano
salis_; but we may qualify Gerard's advice by the well-known
enthusiastic description of Dr. Badham, who certainly knew much more of
fungology than Gerard, and did not recommend to others what he had not
personally tried himself. After praising the beauty of an English
autumn, even in comparison with Italy, he thus concludes his pleasant
and useful book, "The Esculent Funguses of England": "I have myself
witnessed whole hundredweights of rich, wholesome diet rotting under
trees, woods teeming with food, and not one hand to gather it. . . . I
have, indeed, grieved when I reflected on the straitened conditions of
the lower orders to see pounds innumerable of extempore beefsteaks
growing on our Oaks in the shape of _Fistula hepatica_; _Ag. fusipes_,
to pickle in clusters under them; _Puffballs_, which some of our friends
have not inaptly compared to sweet-bread for the rich delicacy of their
unassisted flavour; _Hydna_, as good as oysters, which they very much
resemble in taste; _Agaricus deliciosus_, reminding us of tender lamb's
kidneys: the beautiful yellow _Chantarelle_, that _kalon kagathon_ of
diet, growing by the bushel, and no basket but our own to pick up a few
specimens in our way; the sweet nutty-flavoured _Boletus_, in vain
calling himself _edulis_ when there was none to believe him; the dainty
_Orcella_; the _Ag. hetherophyllus_, which tastes like the crawfish when
grilled; the _Ag. ruber_ and _Ag. virescens_, to cook in any way, and
equally good in all."

As to the fairy rings (Nos. 1, 2, and 3) a great amount of legendary
lore was connected with them. Browne notices them--

                        "A pleasant mead
     Where fairies often did their measures tread,
     Which in the meadows makes such circles green
     As if with garlands it had crowned been."

                                         _Britannia's Pastorals._

Cowley said--

     "Where once such fairies dance,
        No grass does ever grow;"

and in Shakespeare's time the sheep refused to eat the grass on the
fairy rings (1); I believe they now feed on it, but I have not been able
to ascertain this with certainty. Others, besides the sheep, avoided
them. "When the damsels of old gathered may-dew on the grass, which they
made use of to improve their complexions, they left undisturbed such of
it as they perceived on the fairy rings, apprehensive that the fairies
should in revenge destroy their beauty, nor was it reckoned safe to put
the foot within the rings, lest they should be liable to fairies'
power."--DOUCE'S _Illustrations_, p. 180.


FOOTNOTES:

[170:1] Herrick calls them "brownest Toadstones."




MUSK ROSES, _see_ ROSE.




MUSTARD.


     (1) _Doll._

     They say Poins has a good wit.

     _Falstaff._

     He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit's as thick as
       Tewksbury Mustard; there is no more conceit in him than in a
       mallet.

                             _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (260).


     (2) _Titania._

     Pease-blossom! Cobweb! Moth! and Mustardseed!

            *       *       *       *       *

     _Bottom._

     Your name, I beseech you, sir?

     _Mustardseed._

               Mustardseed.

     _Bottom._

     Good Master Mustardseed, I know your patience well; that same
       cowardly giant-like ox-beef hath devoured many a gentleman
       of your house: I promise you your kindred hath made my eyes
       water ere now. I desire your more acquaintance, good Master
       Mustardseed.

             _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (165, 194).


     (3) _Bottom._

     Where's the Mounsieur Mustardseed?

     _Mustardseed._

               Ready.

     _Bottom._

     Give me your neaf, Mounsieur Mustardseed. Pray you, leave your
       courtesy, good mounsieur.

     _Mustardseed._

               What's your will?

     _Bottom._

     Nothing, good mounsieur, but to help Cavalery Cobweb to
       scratch.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (18).


     (4) _Grumio._

     What say you to a piece of beef and Mustard?

     _Katharine._

     A dish that I do love to feed upon.

     _Grumio._

     Ay, but the Mustard is too hot a little.

     _Katharine._

     Why then, the beef, and let the Mustard rest.

     _Grumio._

     Nay, then, I will not; you shall have the Mustard,
     Or else you get no beef of Grumio.

     _Katharine._

     Then both, or one, or anything thou wilt.

     _Grumio._

     Why then, the Mustard without the beef.

                       _Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc. 3 (23).


     (5) _Rosalind._

     Where learned you that oath, fool?

     _Touchstone._

     Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good
       pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught;
       now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught, and the
       Mustard was good, yet was the knight not forsworn. . . . .
       You are not forsworn; no more was this knight swearing by
       his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn
       it away before he ever saw those cakes or that Mustard.

                             _As You Like It_, act i, sc. 2 (65).

The following passage from Coles, in 1657, will illustrate No. 1: "In
Gloucestershire about Teuxbury they grind Mustard and make it into balls
which are brought to London and other remote places as being the best
that the world affords." These Mustard balls were the form in which
Mustard was usually sold, until Mrs. Clements, of Durham, in the last
century, invented the method of dressing mustard-flour, like
wheat-flour, and made her fortune with Durham Mustard; and it has been
supposed that this was the only form in which Mustard was sold in
Shakespeare's time, and that it was eaten dry as we eat pepper. But the
following from an Anglo-Saxon Leech-book seems to speak of it as used
exactly in the modern fashion. After mentioning several ingredients in a
recipe for want of appetite for meat, it says: "Triturate all
together--eke out with vinegar as may seem fit to thee, so that it may
be wrought into the form in which Mustard is tempered for flavouring,
put it then into a glass vessel, and then with bread, or with whatever
meat thou choose, lap it with a spoon, that will help" ("Leech Book,"
ii. 5, Cockayne's translation). And Parkinson's account is to the same
effect: "The seeds hereof, ground between two stones, fitted for the
purpose, and called a quern, with some good vinegar added to it to make
it liquid and running, is that kind of Mustard that is usually made of
all sorts to serve as sauce both for fish and flesh." And to the same
effect the "Boke of Nurture"--

     "Yet make moche of Mustard, and put it not away,
      For with every dische he is dewest who so lust to assay."

                                                        (L. 853).




MYRTLE.


     (1) _Euphronius._

     I was of late as petty to his ends
     As is the morn-dew on the Myrtle-leaf
     To his grand sea.

                     _Antony and Cleopatra_, act iii, sc. 12 (8).


     (2) _Isabella._

                        Merciful Heaven,
     Thou rather with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt
     Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled Oak
     Than the soft Myrtle.

                      _Measure for Measure_, act ii, sc. 2 (114).


     (3)

     Venus, with young Adonis sitting by her,
     Under a Myrtle shade began to woo him.

                                      _Passionate Pilgrim_ (143).


     (4)

     Then sad she hasteth to a Myrtle grove.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (865).

Myrtle is of course the English form of _myrtus_; but the older English
name was Gale, a name which is still applied to the bog-myrtle.[174:1]
Though a most abundant shrub in the South of Europe, and probably
introduced into England before the time of Shakespeare, the myrtle was
only grown in a very few places, and was kept alive with difficulty, so
that it was looked upon not only as a delicate and an elegant rarity,
but as the established emblem of refined beauty. In the Bible it is
always associated with visions and representations of peacefulness and
plenty, and Milton most fitly uses it in the description of our first
parents' "blissful bower"--

                              "The roofe
     Of thickest covert was inwoven shade,
     Laurel and Mirtle, and what higher grew
     Of firm and fragrant leaf."

                                             _Paradise Lost_, iv.

In heathen times the Myrtle was dedicated to Venus, and from this arose
the custom in mediæval times of using the flowers for bridal garlands,
which thus took the place of Orange blossoms in our time.

     "The lover with the Myrtle sprays
      Adorns his crisped cresses."

                                       DRAYTON, _Muse's Elysium_.


     "And I will make thee beds of Roses,
      And a thousand fragrant posies,
      A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
      Embroidered o'er with leaves of Myrtle."

                                             _Roxburghe Ballads._

As a garden shrub every one will grow the Myrtle that can induce it to
grow. There is no difficulty in its cultivation, provided only that the
climate suits it, and the climate that suits it best is the
neighbourhood of the sea. Virgil describes the Myrtles as "amantes
littora myrtos," and those who have seen the Myrtle as it grows on the
Devonshire and Cornish coasts will recognise the truth of his
description.


FOOTNOTES:

[174:1] "Gayle; mirtus."--_Catholicon Anglicum_, p. 147, with note.




NARCISSUS.


     _Emilia._

     This garden has a world of pleasures in't,
     What flowre is this?

     _Servant._

                          'Tis called Narcissus, madam.

     _Emilia._

     That was a faire boy certaine, but a foole,
     To love himselfe; were there not maides enough?

                        _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act ii, sc. 2 (130).

_See_ DAFFODILS, p. 73.




NETTLES.


     (1) _Cordelia._

     Crown'd with rank Fumiter and Furrow-weeds,
     With Burdocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers.

                                 _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 4. (3).


     (2) _Queen._

     Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purples.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 7 (170).
                                            (_See_ CROW-FLOWERS.)


     (3) _Antonio._

     He'd sow't with Nettle-seed.

                                  _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (145).


     (4) _Saturninus._

              Look for thy reward
     Among the Nettles at the Elder Tree.

                         _Titus Andronicus_, act ii, sc. 3 (271).


     (5) _Sir Toby._

     How now, my Nettle of India?

                      _Twelfth Night_, act ii, sc. 5 (17).[176:1]


     (6) _King Richard._

     Yield stinging Nettles to my enemies.

                               _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 2 (18).


     (7) _Hotspur._

     I tell you, my lord fool, out of this Nettle, danger, we pluck
       this flower, safety.

                               _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 3 (8).


     (8) _Ely._

     The Strawberry grows underneath the Nettle.

                                    _Henry V_, act i, sc. 1 (60).


     (9) _Cressida._

     I'll spring up in his tears, an 'twere a Nettle against May.

                      _Troilus and Cressida_, act i, sc. 2 (190).


     (10) _Menenius._

     We call a Nettle but a Nettle, and
     The fault of fools but folly.

                               _Coriolanus_, act ii, sc. 1 (207).


     (11) _Laertes._

     Goads, Thorns, Nettles, tails of wasps.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act i, sc. 2 (329).


     (12) _Iago._

     If we will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce.

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (324).
                                                  (_See_ HYSSOP.)


     (13) _Palamon._

                 Who do bear thy yoke
     As 'twer a wreath of roses, yet is heavier
     Than lead itselfe, stings more than Nettles.

                         _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act v, sc. 1 (101).

The Nettle needs no introduction; we are all too well acquainted with
it, yet it is not altogether a weed to be despised. We have two native
species (Urtica urens and U. dioica) with sufficiently strong qualities,
but we have a third (U. pilulifera) very curious in its manner of
bearing its female flowers in clusters of compact little balls, which is
far more virulent than either of our native species, and is said by
Camden to have been introduced by the Romans to chafe their bodies when
frozen by the cold of Britain. The story is probably quite apocryphal,
but the plant is an alien, and only grows in a few places.

Both the Latin and English names of the plant record its qualities.
Urtica is from _uro_, to burn; and Nettle is (etymologically) the same
word as needle, and the plant is so named, not for its stinging
qualities, but because at one time the Nettle supplied the chief
instrument of sewing; not the instrument which holds the thread, and to
which we now confine the word needle, but the thread itself, and very
good thread it made. The poet Campbell says in one of his letters--"I
have slept in Nettle sheets, and dined off a Nettle table-cloth, and I
have heard my mother say that she thought Nettle cloth more durable than
any other linen." It has also been used for making paper, and for both
these purposes, as well as for rope-making, the Rhea fibre of the
Himalaya, which is simply a gigantic Nettle (_Urtica_ or _Böhmeria
nivea_), is very largely cultivated. Nor is the Nettle to be despised as
an article of food.[177:1] In many parts of England the young shoots are
boiled and much relished. In 1596 Coghan wrote of it: "I will speak
somewhat of the Nettle that Gardeners may understand what wrong they do
in plucking it for the weede, seeing it is so profitable to many
purposes. . . . Cunning cookes at the spring of the yeare, when Nettles
first bud forth, can make good pottage with them, especially with red
Nettles" ("Haven of Health," p. 86). In February, 1661, Pepys made the
entry in his diary--"We did eat some Nettle porridge, which was made on
purpose to-day for some of their coming, and was very good." Andrew
Fairservice said of himself--"Nae doubt I should understand my trade of
horticulture, seeing I was bred in the Parish of Dreepdaily, where they
raise lang Kale under glass, and force the early Nettles for their
spring Kale" ("Rob Roy," c. 7). Gipsies are said to cook it as an
excellent vegetable, and M. Soyer tried hard, but almost in vain, to
recommend it as a most dainty dish. Having so many uses, we are not
surprised to find that it has at times been regularly cultivated as a
garden crop, so that I have somewhere seen an account of tithe of
Nettles being taken; and in the old churchwardens' account of St.
Michael's, Bath, is the entry in the year 1400, "Pro Urticis venditis ad
Lawrencium Bebbe, 2d."

Nettles are much used in the neighbourhood of London to pack plums and
other fruit with bloom on them, so that in some market gardens they are
not only not destroyed, but encouraged, and even cultivated. And this
is an old practice; Lawson's advice in 1683 was--"For the gathering of
all other stone-fruit, as Nectarines, Apricots, Peaches, Pear-plums,
Damsons, Bullas, and such like, . . . in the bottom of your large sives
where you put them, you shall lay Nettles, and likewise in the top, for
that will ripen those that are most unready" ("New Orchard," p. 96).

The "Nettle of India" (No. 5) has puzzled the commentators. It is
probably not the true reading; if the true reading, it may only mean a
Nettle of extra-stinging quality; but it may also mean an Eastern plant
that was used to produce cowage, or cow-itch. "The hairs of the pods of
Mucuna pruriens, &c., constitute the substance called cow-itch, a
mechanical Anthelmintic."--LINDLEY. This plant is said to have been
called the Nettle of India, but I do not find it so named in
Shakespeare's time.

In other points the Nettle is a most interesting plant. Microscopists
find in it most beautiful objects for the microscope; entomologists
value it, for it is such a favourite of butterflies and other insects,
that in Britain alone upwards of thirty insects feed solely on the
Nettle plant, and it is one of those curious plants which mark the
progress of civilization by following man wherever he goes.[178:1]

But as a garden plant the only advice to be given is to keep it out of
the garden by every means. In good cultivated ground it becomes a sad
weed if once allowed a settlement. The Himalayan Böhmerias, however, are
handsome, but only for their foliage; and though we cannot, perhaps,
admit our roadside Dead Nettles, which however are much handsomer than
many foreign flowers which we carefully tend and prize, yet the Austrian
Dead Nettle (_Lamium orvala_, "Bot. Mag.," v. 172) may be well admitted
as a handsome garden plant.


FOOTNOTES:

[176:1] This a modern reading; the correct reading is "metal."

[177:1]

     "Si forte in medio positorum abstemius herbis
      Vivis et Urtica."--HORACE, _Ep._ i, 10, 8.


     "Mihi festa luce coquatar Urtica."--PERSIUS vi, 68.

[178:1] "L'ortie s'établit partout dans les contrées temperées à la
suite de l'homme pour disparaitre bientôt si le lieu on elle s'est ainsi
implanteè cesse d'etre habité."--M. LAVAILLEE, _Sur les Arbres_, &c.,
1878.




NUT, _see_ HAZEL.




NUTMEG.


     (1) _Dauphin._

     He's [the horse] of the colour of the Nutmeg.

                                  _Henry V_, act iii, sc. 7 (20).


     (2) _Clown._

     I must have . . . Nutmegs Seven.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (50).


     (3) _Armado._

     The omnipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,
     Gave Hector a gift--

     _Dumain._

                          A gilt Nutmeg.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (650).

Gerard gives a very fair description of the Nutmeg tree under the names
of Nux moschata or Myristica; but it is certain that he had not any
personal knowledge of the tree, which was not introduced into England or
Europe for nearly 200 years after. Shakespeare could only have known the
imported Nut and the Mace which covers the Nut inside the shell, and
they were imported long before his time. Chaucer speaks of it as--

     "Notemygge to put in ale
      Whether it be moist or stale,
        Or for to lay in cofre."--_Sir Thopas._

And in another poem we have--

     "And trees ther were gret foisoun,
      That beren notes in her sesoun.
      Such as men Notemygges calle
      That swote of savour ben withalle."

                                           _Romaunt of the Rose._

The Nutmeg tree (_Myrista officinalis_) "is a native of the Molucca or
Spice Islands, principally confined to that group denominated the
Islands of Banda, lying in lat. 4° 30´ south; and there it bears both
blossom and fruit at all seasons of the year" ("Bot. Mag.," 2756, with a
full history of the spice, and plates of the tree and fruit).




OAK.


     (1) _Prospero._

     If thou more murmur'st, I will rend an Oak,
     And peg thee in his knotty entrails,

                                   _Tempest_, act i, sc. 2 (294).


     (2) _Prospero._

                    To the dread rattling thunder
     Have I given fire, and rifted Jove's stout Oak
     With his own bolt.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 1 (44).


     (3) _Quince._

     At the Duke's Oak we meet.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act i, sc. 2 (113).


     (4) _Benedick._

     An Oak with but one green leaf on it would have answered her.

                   _Much Ado About Nothing_, act ii, sc. 1 (247).


     (5) _Isabella._

     Thou split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled Oak.

                      _Measure for Measure_, act ii, sc. 2 (114).
                                                  (_See_ MYRTLE.)


     (6) _1st Lord._

                     He lay along
     Under an Oak, whose antique root peeps out
     Upon the brook that brawls along this wood.

                            _As You Like It_, act ii, sc. 1 (30).


     (7) _Oliver._

     Under an Oak, whose boughs were Mossed with age,
     And high top bald with dry antiquity.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 3 (156).


     (8) _Paulina._

     As ever Oak or stone was sound.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act ii, sc. 3 (89).


     (9) _Messenger._

     And many strokes, though with a little axe,
     Hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd Oak.

                              _3rd Henry VI_, act ii, sc. 1 (54).


     (10) _Mrs. Page._

     There is an old tale goes that Herne the Hunter,
     Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest,
     Doth all the winter time at still midnight
     Walk round about an Oak, with great ragg'd horns.

            *       *       *       *       *

     _Page._

     Why yet there want not many that do fear
     In deep of night to walk by this Herne's Oak.

            *       *       *       *       *

     _Mrs. Ford._

     That Falstaff at that Oak shall meet with us.

                    _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iv, sc. 4 (28).


     _Fenton._

     To night at Herne's Oak.

                    _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iv, sc. 6 (19).


     _Falstaff._

     Be you in the park about midnight at Herne's Oak, and you
       shall see wonders.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 1 (11).


     _Mrs. Page._

     They are all couched in a pit hard by Herne's Oak.

            *       *       *       *       *

     _Mrs. Ford._

     The hour draws on. To the Oak, to the Oak!

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 3 (14).


     _Quickly._

            Till 'tis one o'clock
     Our dance of custom round about the Oak
     Of Herne the Hunter, let us not forget.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 5 (78).


     (11) _Timon._

     That numberless upon me stuck as leaves
     Do on the Oak, have with one winter's brush
     Fell from their boughs, and left me open, bare
     For every storm that blows.

                          _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (263).


     (12) _Timon._

     The Oaks bear mast, the Briers scarlet hips.

                                                   _Ibid._ (422).


     (13) _Montano._

     What ribs of Oak, when mountains melt on them,
     Can hold the mortise?

                                    _Othello_, act ii, sc. 1 (7).


     (14) _Iago._

     She that so young could give out such a seeming
     To seel her father's eyes up close as Oak.

                                   _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 3 (209).


     (15) _Marcius._

               He that depends
     Upon your favours swims with fins of lead
     And hews down Oaks with rushes.

                                _Coriolanus_, act i, sc. 1 (183).


     (16) _Arviragus._

     To thee the Reed is as the Oak.

                                _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (267).


     (17) _Lear._

     Oak-cleaving thunderbolts.

                                 _King Lear_, act iii, sc. 2 (5).


     (18) _Nathaniel._

     Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove;
     Those thoughts to me were Oaks, to thee like Osiers bow'd.

                     _Love's Labour's Lost_, act iv, sc. 2 (111).

     [The same lines in the "Passionate Pilgrim."]


     (19) _Nestor._

           When the splitting wind
     Makes flexible the knees of knotted Oaks.

                       _Troilus and Cressida_, act i, sc. 3 (49).


     (20) _Volumnia._

     To a cruel war I sent him, from whence he returned, his brows
       bound with Oak.

                                 _Coriolanus_, act i, sc. 3 (14).


     _Volumnia._

     He comes the third time home with the Oaken garland.

                                    _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 1 (137).


     _Cominius._

     He proved best man i' the field, and for his meed
     Was brow-bound with the Oak.

                                    _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 2 (101).


     _2nd Senator._

     The worthy fellow is our general; he's the rock, the Oak, not
       to be wind-shaken.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 2 (116).


     _Volumnia._

     To charge thy sulphur with a bolt
     That should but rive an Oak.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 3 (152).


     (21) _Casca._

     I have seen tempests when the scolding winds
     Have rived the knotty Oaks.

                                _Julius Cæsar_, act i, sc. 3 (5).


     (22) _Celia._

     I found him under a tree like a dropped Acorn.

     _Rosalind._

     It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such
       fruit.

                          _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (248).


     (23) _Prospero._

               Thy food shall be
     The fresh-brook muscles, wither'd roots, and husks
     Wherein the Acorn cradled.

                                   _Tempest_, act i, sc. 2 (462).


     (24) _Puck._

              All their elves for fear
     Creep into Acorn-cups, and hide them there.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (30).


     (25) _Lysander._

     Get you gone, you dwarf--you beed--you Acorn!

                                   _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 2 (328).


     (26) _Posthumus._

     Like a full-Acorned boar--a German one.

                                 _Cymbeline_, act ii, sc. 5 (16).


     (27) _Messenger._

     About his head he weares the winner's Oke.

                        _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 2 (154).


     (28)

     Time's glory is . . . .
     To dry the old Oak's sap.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (950).

Here are several very pleasant pictures, and there is so much of
historical and legendary lore gathered round the Oaks of England that it
is very tempting to dwell upon them. There are the historical Oaks
connected with the names of William Rufus, Queen Elizabeth, and Charles
II.; there are the wonderful Oaks of Wistman's Wood (certainly the most
weird and most curious wood in England, if not in Europe); there are the
many passages in which our old English writers have loved to descant on
the Oaks of England as the very emblems of unbroken strength and
unflinching constancy; there is all the national interest which has
linked the glories of the British navy with the steady and enduring
growth of her Oaks; there is the wonderful picturesqueness of the great
Oak plantations of the New Forest, the Forest of Dean, and other royal
forests; and the equally, if not greater, picturesqueness of the English
Oak as the chief ornament of our great English parks; there is the
scientific interest which suggested the growth of the Oak for the plan
of our lighthouses, and many other interesting points. It is very
tempting to stop on each and all of these, but the space is too limited,
and they can all be found ably treated of and at full length in any of
the books that have been written on the English forest trees.




OATS.


     (1) _Iris._

     Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
     Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (60).


     (2) _Spring Song._

     When shepherds pipe on Oaten straws.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (913).


     (3) _Bottom._

     Truly a peck of provender; I could munch your good dry Oats.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (35).


     (4) _Grumio._

     Ay, sir, they be ready; the Oats have eaten the horses.

                     _Taming of the Shrew_, act iii, sc. 2 (207).


     (5) _First Carrier._

     Poor fellow, never joyed since the price of Oats rose--it was
       the death of him.

                              _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 1 (13).


     (6) _Captain._

     I cannot draw a cart, nor eat dried Oats,
     If it be man's work, I'll do it.

                                  _King Lear_, act v, sc. 3 (38).

Shakespeare's Oats need no comment, except to note that the older
English name for Oats was Haver (_see_ "Promptorium Parvulorum," p. 372;
and "Catholicon Anglicum," p. 178, with the notes). The word was in use
in Shakespeare's time, and still survives in the northern parts of
England.




OLIVE.


     (1) _Clarence._

     To whom the heavens in thy nativity
     Adjudged an Olive branch.

                              _3rd Henry VI_, act iv, sc. 6 (33).
                                                  (_See_ LAUREL.)


     (2) _Alcibiades._

     Bring me into your city,
     And I will use the Olive with my sword.

                            _Timon of Athens_, act v, sc. 4 (81).


     (3) _Cæsar._

     Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook'd world
     Shall bear the Olive freely.

                       _Antony and Cleopatra_, act iv, sc. 6 (5).


     (4) _Rosalind._

     If you will know my house
     'Tis at the tuft of Olives here hard by.

                           _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 5 (74).


     (5) _Oliver._

     Where, in the purlieus of this forest stands
     A sheepcote fenced about with Olive trees?

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 3 (77).


     (6) _Viola._

     I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the
       Olive in my hand; my words are as full of peace as matter.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 5 (224).


     (7) _Westmoreland._

     There is not now a rebel's sword unsheath'd,
     But peace puts forth her Olive everywhere.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act iv, sc. 4 (86).


     (8)

     And peace proclaims Olives of endless age.

                                                   _Sonnet_ cvii.

There is no certain record by which we can determine when the Olive
tree was first introduced into England. Miller gives 1648 as the
earliest date he could discover, at which time it was grown in the
Oxford Botanic Garden. But I have no doubt it was cultivated long before
that. Parkinson knew it as an English tree in 1640, for he says: "It
flowereth in the beginning of summer in the warmer countries, but very
late _with us_; the fruite ripeneth in autumne in Spain, &c., but
seldome _with us_" ("Herball," 1640). Gerard had an Oleaster in his
garden in 1596, which Mr. Jackson considers to have been the Olea
Europea, and with good reason, as in his account of the Olive in the
"Herbal" he gives Oleaster as one of the synonyms of Olea sylvestris,
the wild Olive tree. But I think its introduction is of a still earlier
date. In the Anglo-Saxon "Leech Book," of the tenth century, published
under the direction of the Master of the Rolls, I find this
prescription: "Pound Lovage and Elder rind and Oleaster, that is, wild
Olive tree, mix them with some clear ale and give to drink" (book i. c.
37, Cockayne's translation). As I have never heard that the bark of the
Olive tree was imported, it is only reasonable to suppose that the
leeches of the day had access to the living tree. If this be so, the
tree was probably imported by the Romans, which they are very likely to
have done. But it seems very certain that it was in cultivation in
England in Shakespeare's time and he may have seen it growing.

But in most of the eight passages in which he names the Olive, the
reference to it is mainly as the recognized emblem of peace; and it is
in that aspect, and with thoughts of its touching Biblical associations
that we must always think of the Olive. It is _the_ special plant of
honour in the Bible, by "whose fatness they honour God and man," linked
with the rescue of the one family in the ark, and with the rescue of the
whole family of man in the Mount of Olives. Every passage in which it is
named in the Bible tells the uniform tale of its usefulness, and the
emblematical lessons it was employed to teach; but I must not dwell on
them. Nor need I say how it was equally honoured by Greeks and Romans.
As a plant which produced an abundant and necessary crop of fruit with
little or no labour (φύτευμ' ἀχείρωτον ἀυτόποιον, Sophocles; "non ulla
est oleis cultura," Virgil), it was looked upon with special pride, as
one of the most blessed gifts of the gods, and under the constant
protection of Minerva, to whom it was thankfully dedicated.[186:1]

We seldom see the Olive in English gardens, yet it is a good evergreen
tree to cover a south wall, and having grown it for many years, I can
say that there is no plant--except, perhaps, the Christ's Thorn--which
gives such universal interest to all who see it. It is quite hardy,
though the winter will often destroy the young shoots; but not even the
winter of 1860 did any serious mischief, and fine old trees may
occasionally be seen which attest its hardiness. There is one at Hanham
Hall, near Bristol, which must be of great age. It is at least 30ft.
high, against a south wall, and has a trunk of large girth; but I never
saw it fruit or flower in England until this year (1877), when the Olive
in my own garden flowered, but did not bear fruit. Miller records trees
at Campden House, Kensington, which, in 1719, produced a good number of
fruit large enough for pickling, and other instances have been recorded
lately. Perhaps if more attention were paid to the grafting, fruit would
follow. The Olive has the curious property that it seems to be a matter
of indifference whether, as with other fruit, the cultivated sort is
grafted on the wild one, or the wild on the cultivated one; the latter
plan was certainly sometimes the custom among the Greeks and Romans, as
we know from St. Paul (Romans xi. 16-25) and other writers, and it is
sometimes the custom now. There are a great number of varieties of the
cultivated Olive, as of other cultivated fruit.

One reason why the Olive is not more grown as a garden tree is that it
is a tree very little admired by most travellers. Yet this is entirely a
matter of taste, and some of the greatest authorities are loud in its
praises as a picturesque tree. One short extract from Ruskin's account
of the tree will suffice, though the whole description is well worth
reading. "The Olive," he says, "is one of the most characteristic and
beautiful features of all southern scenery. . . . What the Elm and the
Oak are to England, the Olive is to Italy. . . . It had been well for
painters to have felt and seen the Olive tree, to have loved it for
Christ's sake; . . . to have loved it even to the hoary dimness of its
delicate foliage, subdued and faint of hue, as if the ashes of the
Gethsemane agony had been cast upon it for ever; and to have traced line
by line the gnarled writhing of its intricate branches, and the pointed
fretwork of its light and narrow leaves, inlaid on the blue field of the
sky, and the small, rosy-white stars of its spring blossoming, and the
heads of sable fruit scattered by autumn along its topmost boughs--the
right, in Israel, of the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow--and,
more than all, the softness of the mantle, silver-grey, and tender, like
the down on a bird's breast, with which far away it veils the undulation
of the mountains."--_Stones of Venice_, vol. iii. p. 176.


FOOTNOTES:

[186:1] _See_ Spenser's account of the first introduction of the Olive
in "Muiopotmos."




ONIONS.


     (1) _Bottom._

     And, most dear actors, eat no Onions nor
     Garlic, for we are to utter sweet breath.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 2 (42).


     (2) _Lafeu._

     Mine eyes smell Onions, I shall weep anon:
     Good Tom Drum, lend me a handkercher.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act v, sc. 3 (321).


     (3) _Enobarbus._

     Indeed the tears live in Onion that should water this Sorrow.

                      _Antony and Cleopatra_, act i, sc. 2 (176).


     (4) _Enobarbus._

           Look, they weep,
     And I, an ass, am Onion-eyed.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 2 (34).


     (5) _Lord._

     And if the boy have not a woman's gift
     To rain a shower of commanded tears,
     An Onion will do well for such a shift,
     Which in a napkin being close conveyed
     Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

                   _Taming of the Shrew_, Induction, sc. 1 (124).

There is no need to say much of the Onion in addition to what I have
already said on the Garlick and Leek, except to note that Onions seem
always to have been considered more refined food than Leek and Garlick.
Homer makes Onions an important part of the elegant little repast which
Hecamede set before Nestor and Machaon--

     "Before them first a table fair she spread,
      Well polished and with feet of solid bronze;
      On this a brazen canister she placed,
      And Onions as a relish to the wine,
      And pale clear honey and pure Barley meal."

                    _Iliad_, book xi. (Lord Derby's translation).

But in the time of Shakespeare they were not held in such esteem.
Coghan, writing in 1596, says of them: "Being eaten raw, they engender
all humourous and corruptible putrifactions in the stomacke, and cause
fearful dreames, and if they be much used they snarre the memory and
trouble the understanding" ("Haven of Health," p. 58).

The name comes directly from the French _oignon_, a bulb, being the bulb
_par excellence_, the French name coming from the Latin _unio_, which
was the name given to some species of Onion, probably from the bulb
growing singly. It may be noted, however, that the older English name
for the Onion was Ine, of which we may perhaps still have the
remembrance in the common "Inions." The use of the Onion to promote
artificial crying is of very old date, Columella speaking of "lacrymosa
cæpe," and Pliny of "cæpis odor lacrymosus." There are frequent
references to the same use in the old English writers.

The Onion has been for so many centuries in cultivation that its native
home has been much disputed, but it has now "according to Dr. Regel
('Gartenflora,' 1877, p. 264) been definitely determined to be the
mountains of Central Asia. It has also been found in a wild state in the
Himalaya Mountains."--_Gardener's Chronicle._




ORANGE.


     (1) _Beatrice._

     The count is neither sad nor sick, nor merry nor well; but
       civil count, civil as an Orange, and something of that
       jealous complexion.

                   _Much Ado About Nothing_, act ii, sc. 1 (303).


     (2) _Claudio._

     Give not this rotten Orange to your friend.

                    _Much Ado About Nothing_, act iv, sc. 1 (33).


     (3) _Bottom._

     I will discharge it either in your straw-coloured beard, your
       Orange-tawny beard.

                    _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act i, sc. 2 (95).


     (4) _Bottom._

     The ousel cock so black of hue
     With Orange-tawny bill.

                                   _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 1 (128).


     (5) _Menenius._

     You wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause
       between an Orange-wife and a fosset-seller.

                                _Coriolanus_, act ii, sc. 1 (77).

I should think it very probable that Shakespeare may have seen both
Orange and Lemon trees growing in England. The Orange is a native of the
East Indies, and no certain date can be given for its introduction into
Europe. Under the name of the Median Apple a tree is described first by
Theophrastus, and then by Virgil and Palladius, which is supposed by
some to be the Orange; but as they all describe it as unfit for food, it
is with good reason supposed that the tree referred to is either the
Lemon or Citron. Virgil describes it very exactly--

     "Ipsa ingens arbor, faciemque simillima lauro
      Et si non alium late jactaret odorem
      Laurus erat; folia hand ullis labentia ventis
      Flos ad prima tenax."--_Georgic_ ii, 131.

Dr. Daubeny, who very carefully studied the plants of classical writers,
decides that the fruit here named is the Lemon, and says that it "is
noticed only as a foreign fruit, nor does it appear that it was
cultivated at that time in Italy, for Pliny says it will only grow in
Media and Assyria, though Palladius in the fourth century seems to have
been familiar with it, and it was known in Greece at the time of
Theophrastus." But if Oranges were grown in Italy or Greece in the time
of Pliny and Palladius, they did not continue in cultivation. Europe
owes the introduction or reintroduction to the Portuguese, who brought
them from the East, and they were grown in Spain in the eleventh
century. The first notice of them in Italy was in the year 1200, when a
tree was planted by St. Dominic at Rome. The first grown in France is
said to have been the old tree which lived at the Orangery at
Versailles till November, 1876, and was called the Grand Bourbon. "In
1421 the Queen of Navarre gave the gardener the seed from Pampeluna;
hence sprang the plant, which was subsequently transported to Chantilly.
In 1532 the Orange tree was sent to Fontainebleau, whence, in 1684,
Louis XIV. transferred it to Versailles, where it remained the largest,
finest, and most fertile member of the Orangery, its head being 17yds.
round." It is not likely that a tree of such beauty should be growing so
near England without the English gardeners doing their utmost to
establish it here. But the first certain record is generally said to be
in 1595, when (on the authority of Bishop Gibson) Orange trees were
planted at Beddington, in Surrey, the plants being raised from seeds
brought into England by Sir Walter Raleigh. The date, however, may be
placed earlier, for in Lyte's "Herbal" (1578) it is stated that "In this
countrie the Herboristes do set and plant the Orange trees in there
gardens, but they beare no fruite without they be wel kept and defended
from cold, and yet for all that they beare very seldome." There are no
Oranges in Gerard's catalogue of 1596, and though he describes the trees
in his "Herbal," he does not say that he then grew them or had seen them
growing. But by 1599 he had obtained them, for they occur in his
catalogue of that date under the name of "Malus orantia, the Arange or
Orange tree," so that it is certainly very probable that Shakespeare may
have seen the Orange as a living tree.

As to the beauty of the Orange tree, there is but one opinion. Andrew
Marvel described it as--

                  "The Orange bright,
     Like golden lamps in a green night."

                                                      _Bermudas._

George Herbert drew a lesson from its power of constant fruiting--

     "Oh that I were an Orenge tree,
          That busie plant;
      Then should I ever laden be,
          And never want
      Some fruit for him that dressed me."

                                                    _Employment._

And its handsome evergreen foliage, its deliciously scented flowers,
and its golden fruit--

     "A fruit of pure Hesperian gold
        That smelled ambrosially"--

                                                        TENNYSON.

at once demand the admiration of all. It only fails in one point to make
it a plant for every garden: it is not fully hardy in England. It is
very surprising to read of those first trees at Beddington, that "they
were planted in the open ground, under a movable covert during the
winter months; that they always bore fruit in great plenty and
perfection; that they grew on the south side of a wall, not nailed
against it, but at full liberty to spread; that they were 14ft. high,
the girth of the stem 29in., and the spreading of the branches one way
9ft., and 12ft. another; and that they so lived till they were entirely
killed by the great frost in 1739-40."--MILLER.[191:1] These trees must
have been of a hardy variety, for certainly Orange trees, even with such
protection, do not now so grow in England, except in a few favoured
places on the south coast. There is one species which is fairly hardy,
the Citrus trifoliata, from Japan,[191:2] forming a pretty bush with
sweet flowers, and small but useless fruit (seldom, I believe, produced
out-of-doors); it is often used as a stock on which to graft the better
kinds, but perhaps it might be useful for crossing, so as to give its
hardiness to a variety with better flower and fruit.

Commercially the Orange holds a high place, more than 20,000 good fruit
having been picked from one tree, and England alone importing about
2,000,000 bushels annually. These are almost entirely used as a dessert
fruit and for marmalade, but it is curious that they do not seem to have
been so used when first imported. Parkinson makes no mention of their
being eaten raw, but says they "are used as sauce for many sorts of
meats, in respect of the sweet sourness giving a relish and delight
whereinsoever they are used;" and he mentions another curious use, no
longer in fashion, I believe, but which might be worth a trial: "The
seeds being cast into the grounde in the spring time will quickly grow
up, and when they are a finger's length high, being pluckt up and put
among Sallats, will give them a marvellous fine aromatick or spicy tast,
very acceptable."[192:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[191:1] In an "Account of Gardens Round London in 1691," published in
the "Archæologia," vol. xii., these Orange trees are described as if
always under glass.

[191:2] "Bot. Mag.," 6513.

[192:1] For an account of the early importation of the fruit see
"Promptorium Parvulorum," p. 371, note.




OSIER, _see_ WILLOW.




OXLIPS.


     (1) _Perdita._

             Bold Oxlips, and
     The Crown Imperial.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (125).


     (2) _Oberon._

     I know a bank where the wild Thyme blows,
     Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (249).


     (3)

     Oxlips in their cradles growing.

                                _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Intro. song.

The true Oxlip (_Primula eliator_) is so like both the Primrose and
Cowslip that it has been by many supposed to be a hybrid between the
two. Sir Joseph Hooker, however, considers it a true species. It is a
handsome plant, but it is probably not the "bold Oxlip" of Shakespeare,
or the plant which is such a favourite in cottage gardens. The true
Oxlip (P. elatior of Jacquin) is an eastern counties' plant; while the
common forms of the Oxlip are hybrids between the Cowslip and Primrose.
(_See_ COWSLIP and PRIMROSE.)




PALM TREE.


     (1) _Rosalind._

     Look here what I found on a Palm tree.

                          _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (185).


     (2) _Hamlet._

     As love between them like the Palm might flourish.

                                     _Hamlet_, act v, sc. 2 (40).


     (3) _Volumnia._

     And bear the Palm for having bravely shed
     Thy wife and children's blood.

                                _Coriolanus_, act v, sc. 3 (117).


     (4) _Cassius._

     And bear the Palm alone.

                              _Julius Cæsar_, act i, sc. 2 (131).


     (5) _Painter._

     You shall see him a Palm in Athens again, and flourish with
       the highest.

                            _Timon of Athens_, act v, sc. 1 (12).


     (6)

     _The Vision._--Enter, solemnly tripping one after another,
       six personages, clad in white robes, wearing on their
       heads garlands of Bays, and golden vizards on their faces,
       branches of Bays or Palm in their hands.

                                     _Henry VIII_, act iv, sc. 2.

To these passages may be added the following, in which the Palm tree is
certainly alluded to though it is not mentioned by name--

     _Sebastian._

                   That in Arabia
     There is one tree, the Phœnix' throne; one Phœnix
     At this hour reigning there.

                           _Tempest_, act iii, sc. 3 (22).[193:1]

And from the poem by Shakespeare, published in Chester's "Love's
Martyr," 1601.

     "Let the bird of loudest lay
        On the sole Arabian tree
        Herald sad and Trumpet be,
      To whose sound chaste wings obey."

Two very distinct trees are named in these passages. In the last five
the reference is to the true Palm of Biblical and classical fame, as the
emblem of victory, and the typical representation of life and beauty in
the midst of barren waste and deserts. And we are not surprised at the
veneration in which the tree was held, when we consider either the
wonderful grace of the tree, or its many uses in its native countries,
so many, that Pliny says that the Orientals reckoned 360 uses to which
the Palm tree could be applied. Turner, in 1548, said: "I never saw any
perfit Date tree yet, but onely a little one that never came to
perfection;"[194:1] and whether Shakespeare ever saw a living Palm tree
is doubtful, but he may have done so. (_See_ DATE.) Now there are a
great number grown in the large houses of botanic and other gardens, the
Palm-house at Kew showing more and better specimens than can be seen in
any other collection in Europe: even the open garden can now boast of a
few species that will endure our winters without protection. Chamærops
humilis and Fortunei seem to be perfectly hardy, and good specimens may
be seen in several gardens; Corypha australis is also said to be quite
hardy, and there is little doubt but that the Date Palm (_Phœnix
dactylifera_), which has long been naturalized in the South of Europe,
would live in Devonshire and Cornwall, and that of the thousand species
of Palms growing in so many different parts of the world, some will yet
be found that may grow well in the open air in England.

But the Palm tree in No. 1 is a totally different tree, and much as
Shakespeare has been laughed at for placing a Palm tree in the Forest of
Arden, the laugh is easily turned against those who raise such an
objection. The Palm tree of the Forest of Arden is the

                "Satin-shining Palm
     On Sallows in the windy gleams of March"--

                                    _Idylls of the King_--Vivien.

that is, the Early Willow (_Salix caprea_) and I believe it is so called
all over England, as it is in Northern Germany, and probably in other
northern countries. There is little doubt that the name arose from the
custom of using the Willow branches with the pretty golden catkins on
Palm Sunday as a substitute for Palm branches.

     "In Rome upon Palm Sunday they bear true Palms,
      The Cardinals bow reverently and sing old Psalms;
      Elsewhere those Psalms are sung 'mid Olive branches,
      The Holly branch supplies the place among the avalanches;
      More northern climes must be content with the sad Willow."

                                       GOETHE (quoted by Seeman).

But besides Willow branches, Yew branches are sometimes used for the
same purpose, and so we find Yews called Palms. Evelyn says they were so
called in Kent; they are still so called in Ireland, and in the
churchwarden's accounts of Woodbury, Devonshire, is the following entry:
"Memorandum, 1775. That a Yew or Palm tree was planted in the
churchyard, ye south side of the church, in the same place where one was
blown down by the wind a few days ago, this 25th of November."[195:1]

How Willow or Yew branches could ever have been substituted for such a
very different branch as a Palm it is hard to say, but in lack of a
better explanation, I think it not unlikely that it might have arisen
from the direction for the Feast of Tabernacles in Leviticus xxiii. 40:
"Ye shall take you on the first day the boughs of goodly trees, the
branches of Palm trees, and the boughs of thick trees, and Willows of
the brook." But from whatever cause the name and the custom was derived,
the Willow was so named in very early times, and in Shakespeare's time
the name was very common. Here is one instance among many--

     "Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
      The Palms and May make country houses gay,
      And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay--
      Cuckoo, jug-jug, pee-we, to-witta-woo."

                                              T. NASH. 1567-1601.


FOOTNOTES:

[193:1] I do not include among "Palms" the passage in _Hamlet_, act i,
sc. 1: "In the most high and palmy state of Rome," because I bow to
Archdeacon Nares' judgment that "palmy" here means "grown to full
height, in allusion to the palms of the stag's horns, when they have
attained to their utmost growth." He does not, however, decide this with
certainty, and the question may be still an open one.

[194:1] "Names of Herbes," s.v. Palma.

[195:1] In connection with this, Turner's account of the Palm in 1538 is
worth quoting: "Palmā arborem in anglia nunq' me vidisse memini. Indie
tamen ramis palmarū (ut illi loqūntur) sœpius sacerdotē dicentē andivi.
Bendic etiā et hos palmarū ramos, quū prœter salignas frondes nihil
omnino viderē ego, quid alii viderint nescio. Si nobis palmarum frondes
non suppeterent; prœstaret me judice mutare lectionem et dicere. Benedic
hos salicū ramos q' falso et mendaciter salicum frondes palmarum frondes
vocare."--LIBELLUS, _De re Herbaria_, s.v. Palma.




PANSIES.


     (1) _Ophelia._

     And there is Pansies--that's for thoughts.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 5 (176).


     (2) _Lucentio._

     But see, while idly I stood looking on,
     I found the effect of Love-in-idleness.

                       _Taming of the Shrew_, act i, sc. 1 (155).


     (3) _Oberon._

     Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
     It fell upon a little western flower,
     Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
     And maidens call it Love-in-idleness.
     Fetch me that flower; the herb I show'd thee once;
     The juice of it on sleeping eye-lids laid
     Will make or man or woman madly dote
     Upon the next live creature that it sees.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (165).


     (4) _Oberon._

     Dian's Bud o'er Cupid's flower
     Hath such free and blessed power.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (78).

The Pansy is one of the oldest favourites in English gardens, and the
affection for it is shown in the many names that were given to it. The
Anglo-Saxon name was Banwort or Bonewort, though why such a name was
given to it we cannot now say. Nor can we satisfactorily explain its
common names of Pansy or Pawnce (from the French, _pensées_--"that is,
for thoughts," says Ophelia), or Heart's-ease,[196:1] which name was
originally given to the Wallflower. The name Cupid's flower seems to be
peculiar to Shakespeare, but the other name, Love-in-idle, or idleness,
is said to be still in use in Warwickshire, and signifies love in vain,
or to no purpose, as in Chaucer: "The prophet David saith; If God ne
kepe not the citee, in ydel waketh he that keptit it."[196:2] And in
Tyndale's translation of the New Testament, "I have prechid to you, if
ye holden, if ye hav not bileved ideli" (1 Cor. xv. 2). "Beynge
plenteuous in werk of the Lord evermore, witynge that youre traveil is
not idel in the Lord" (1 Cor. xv. 58).

But beside these more common names, Dr. Prior mentions the following:
"Herb Trinity, Three faces under a hood, Fancy, Flamy,[197:1] Kiss me,
Cull me or Cuddle me to you, Tickle my fancy, Kiss me ere I rise, Jump
up and kiss me, Kiss me at the garden gate, Pink of my John, and several
more of the same amatory character."

Spenser gives the flower a place in his "Royal aray" for Elisa--

     "Strowe me the grounde with Daffadowndillies,
      And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and loved Lillies,
            The pretie Pawnce,
            And the Chevisaunce
      Shall match with the fayre Flower Delice."

And in another place he speaks of the "Paunces trim"--_F. Q._, iii. 1.
Milton places it in Eve's couch--

                  "Flowers were the couch,
     Pansies, and Violets, and Asphodel,
     And Hyacinth, earth's freshest, softest lap."

He names it also as part of the wreath of Sabrina--

     "Pansies, Pinks, and gaudy Daffadils;"

and as one of the flowers to strew the hearse of Lycidas--

     "The White Pink and the Pansie streaked with jet,
      The glowing Violet."


FOOTNOTES:

[196:1] "The Pansie Heart's ease Maiden's call."--DRAYTON _Ed._, ix.

[196:2] And again--

     "The other heste of hym is this,
      Take not in ydel my name or amys."

                                                _Pardeners Tale._


     "Eterne God, that through thy purveance
      Ledest this world by certein governance,
      In idel, as men sein, ye nothinge make."

                                          _The Frankelynes Tale._

[197:1] "Flamy, because its colours are seen in the flame of
wood."--_Flora Domestica_, 166.




PARSLEY.


     _Biondello._

     I knew a wench married in an afternoon as she went to the
       garden for Parsley to stuff a rabbit.

                        _Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc 4 (99).

Parsley is the abbreviated form of Apium petroselinum, and is a common
name to many umbelliferous plants, but the garden Parsley is the one
meant here. This well-known little plant has the curious botanic history
that no one can tell what is its native country. In 1548 Turner said,
"Perseley groweth nowhere that I knowe, but only in gardens."[198:1] It
is found in many countries, but is always considered an escape from
cultivation. Probably the plant has been so altered by cultivation as to
have lost all likeness to its original self.

Our forefathers seem to have eaten the parsley _root_ as well as the
leaves--

     "Quinces and Peris ciryppe with Parcely rotes
        Right so bygyn your mele."

                                RUSSELL'S _Boke of Nurture_, 826.


     "Peres and Quynces in syrupe with Percely rotes."

                            WYNKYN DE WORDE'S _Boke of Kervynge_.


FOOTNOTES:

[198:1] "Names of Herbes," s.v. Apium.




PEACH


     (1) _Prince Henry._

     To take note how many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz.,
       these, and those that were thy Peach-coloured ones!

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 2 (17).


     (2) _Pompey._

     Then there is here one Master Caper, at the suit of Master
       Threepile the mercer, for some four suits of Peach-coloured
       satin, which now peaches him a beggar.

                       _Measure for Measure_, act iv, sc. 3 (10).

The references here are only to the colour of the Peach blossom, yet the
Peach tree was a well-known tree in Shakespeare's time, and the fruit
was esteemed a great delicacy, and many different varieties were
cultivated. Botanically the Peach is closely allied to the Almond, and
still more closely to the Apricot and Nectarine; indeed, many writers
consider both the Apricot and Nectarine to be only varieties of the
Peach.

The native country of the Peach is now ascertained to be China, and
not Persia, as the name would imply. It probably came to the Romans
through Persia, and was by them introduced into England. It occurs in
Archbishop's Ælfric's "Vocabulary" in the tenth century, "Persicarius,
Perseoctreow;" and John de Garlande grew it in the thirteenth century,
"In virgulto Magistri Johannis, pessicus fert pessica." It is named in
the "Promptorium Parvulorum" as "Peche, or Peske, frute--Pesca Pomum
Persicum;" and in a note the Editor says: "In a role of purchases for
the Palace of Westminster preserved amongst the miscellaneous record of
the Queen's remembrance, a payment occurs, Will le Gardener, pro iij
koygnere, ij pichere iij_s._--pro groseillere iij_d_, pro j peschere
vj_d._" A.D. 1275, 4 Edw: 1--

We all know and appreciate the fruit of the Peach, but few seem to know
how ornamental a tree is the Peach, quite independent of the fruit. In
those parts where the soil and climate are suitable, the Peach may be
grown as an ornamental spring flowering bush. When so grown preference
is generally given to the double varieties, of which there are several,
and which are not by any means the new plants that they are generally
supposed to be, as they were cultivated both by Gerard and Parkinson.




PEAR.


     (1) _Falstaff._

     I warrant they would whip me with their fine wits till I were
       as crest-fallen as a dried Pear.

                   _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iv, sc. 5 (101).


     (2) _Parolles._

     Your virginity, your old virginity, is like one of our French
       withered Pears, it looks ill, it eats drily; marry, 'tis a
       withered Pear; it was formerly better; marry, yet 'tis a
       withered Pear.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act i, sc. 1 (174).


     (3) _Clown._

     I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (48).


     (4) _Mercutio._

     O, Romeo . . . thou a Poperin Pear.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 1 (37).

If we may judge by these few notices, Shakespeare does not seem to have
had much respect for the Pear, all the references to the fruit being
more or less absurd or unpleasant. Yet there were good Pears in his day,
and so many different kinds that Gerard declined to tell them at length,
for "the stocke or kindred of Pears are not to be numbered; every
country hath his peculiar fruit, so that to describe them apart were to
send an owle to Athens, or to number those things that are without
number."

Of these many sorts Shakespeare mentions by name but two, the Warden and
the Poperin, and it is not possible to identify these with modern
varieties with any certainty. The Warden was probably a general name for
large keeping and stewing Pears, and the name was said to come from the
Anglo-Saxon _wearden_, to keep or preserve, in allusion to its lasting
qualities. But this is certainly a mistake. In an interesting paper by
Mr. Hudson Turner, "On the State of Horticulture in England in early
times, chiefly previous to the fifteenth century," printed in the
"Archæological Journal," vol. v. p. 301, it is stated that "the Warden
Pear had its origin and its name from the horticultural skill of the
Cistercian Monks of Wardon Abbey in Bedfordshire, founded in the twelfth
century. Three Warden Pears appeared in the armorial bearings of the
Abbey."

It was certainly an early name. In the "Catholicon Anglicum" we find: "A
Parmayn, volemum, Anglice, a Warden;" and in Parkinson's time the name
was still in use, and he mentions two varieties, "The Warden or
Lukewards Pear are of two sorts, both white and red, both great and
small." (The name of Lukewards seems to point to St. Luke's Day, October
18, as perhaps the time either for picking the fruit or for its
ripening.) "The Spanish Warden is greater than either of both the
former, and better also." And he further says: "The Red Warden and the
Spanish Warden are reckoned amongst the most excellent of Pears, either
to bake or to roast, for the sick or for the sound--and indeed the
Quince and the Warden are the only two fruits that are permitted to the
sick to eat at any time." The Warden pies of Shakespeare's day, coloured
with Saffron, have in our day been replaced by stewed Pears coloured
with Cochineal.[200:1]

I can find no guide to the identification of the Poperin Pear, beyond
Parkinson's description: "The summer Popperin and the winter Popperin,
both of them very good, firm, dry Pears, somewhat spotted and brownish
on the outside. The green Popperin is a winter fruit of equal goodnesse
with the former." It was probably a Flemish Pear, and may have been
introduced by the antiquary Leland, who was made Rector of Popering by
Henry VIII. The place is further known to us as mentioned by Chaucer--

     "A knyght was fair and gent
      In batail and in tornament,
        His name was Sir Thopas.
      Alone he was in fer contre,
      In Flaundres, all beyonde the se,
        At Popering in the place."

As a garden tree the Pear is not only to be grown for its fruit, but as
a most ornamental tree. Though the individual flowers are not, perhaps,
so handsome as the Apple blossoms, yet the growth of the tree is far
more elegant; and an old Pear tree, with its curiously roughened bark,
its upright, tall, pyramidal shape, and its sheet of snow-white
blossoms, is a lovely ornament in the old gardens and lawns of many of
our country houses. It is by some considered a British tree, but it is
probably only a naturalized foreigner, originally introduced by the
Romans.


FOOTNOTES:

[200:1] The Warden was sometimes spoken of as different from Pears. Sir
Hugh Platt speaks of "Wardens _or_ Pears."




PEAS.


     (1) _Iris._

     Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
     Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (60).


     (2) _Carrier._

     Peas and Beans are as dank here as a dog.

                               _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 1 (9).
                                                   (_See_ BEANS.)


     (3) _Biron._

     This fellow picks up wit, as pigeons Pease.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (315).


     (4) _Bottom._

     I had rather have a handful or two of dried Peas.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (41).


     (5) _Fool._

     That a shealed Peascod?

                                 _King Lear_, act i, sc. 4 (219).


     (6) _Touchstone._

     I remember the wooing of a Peascod instead of her.

                            _As You Like It_, act ii, sc. 4 (51).


     (7) _Malvolio._

     Not yet old enough to be a man, nor young enough for a boy; as
       a Squash is before 'tis a Peascod, or a Codling when 'tis
       almost an Apple.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 5 (165).


     (8) _Hostess._

     Well, fare thee well! I have known thee these twenty-nine
       years come Peascod time.

                             _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (412).


     (9) _Leontes._

     How like, methought, I then was to this kernel,
     This Squash, this gentleman.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act i, sc. 2 (159).


     (10)

     _Peascod, Pease-Blossom, and Squash_--Dramatis personæ in
       _Midsummer Night's Dream_.

There is no need to say much of Peas, but it may be worth a note in
passing that in old English we seldom meet with the word Pea. Peas or
Pease (the Anglicised form of Pisum) is the singular, of which the
plural is Peason. "Pisum is called in Englishe a Pease;" says Turner--

     "Alle that for me thei doo pray,
      Helpeth me not to the uttermost day
      The value of a Pese."

                                 _The Child of Bristowe_, p. 570.

And the word was so used in and after Shakespeare's time, as by Ben
Jonson--

     "A pill as small as a pease."--_Magnetic Lady._

The Squash is the young Pea, before the Peas are formed in it, and the
Peascod is the ripe shell of the Pea before it is shelled.[202:1] The
garden Pea (_Pisum sativum_) is the cultivated form of a plant found in
the South of Europe, but very much altered by cultivation. It was
probably not introduced into England as a garden vegetable long before
Shakespeare's time. It is not mentioned in the old lists of plants
before the sixteenth century, and Fuller tells us that in Queen
Elizabeth's time they were brought from Holland, and were "fit dainties
for ladies, they came so far and cost so dear."

The beautiful ornamental Peas (Sweet Peas, Everlasting Peas, &c.) are of
different family (Lathyrus, not Pisum), but very closely allied. There
is a curious amount of folklore connected with Peas, and in every case
the Peas and Peascods are connected with wooing the lasses. This
explains Touchstone's speech (No. 6). Brand gives several instances of
this, from which one stanza from Browne's "Pastorals" may be quoted--

     "The Peascod greene, oft with no little toyle,
      He'd seek for in the fattest, fertil'st soile,
      And rend it from the stalke to bring it to her,
      And in her bosom for acceptance wooe her."

                                                 Book ii, song 3.


FOOTNOTES:

[202:1] The original meaning of Peascod is a bag of peas. Cod is bag as
Matt. x. 10--"ne codd, ne hlaf, ne feo on heora gyrdlum--'not a bag, not
a loaf, not (fee) money in their girdles.'"--COCKAYNE, _Spoon and
Sparrow_, p. 518.




PEONY, _see_ PIONY.




PEPPER.


     (1) _Hotspur._

     Such protest of Pepper-gingerbread.

                            _1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 1 (260).
                                               (_See_ GINGER, 9.)


     (2) _Falstaff._

     An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made
       of, I am a Pepper-corn, a brewer's horse.

                                     _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 3 (8).


     (3) _Poins._

     Pray God, you have not murdered some of them.

     _Falstaff._

     Nay, that's past praying for, for I have Peppered two of them.

                                    _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 4 (210).


     (4) _Falstaff._

     I have led my ragamuffins, where they are Peppered.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 3 (36).


     (5) _Mercutio._

     I am Peppered, I warrant, for this world.

                        _Romeo and Juliet_, act iii, sc. 1 (102).


     (6) _Ford._

     He cannot 'scape me, 'tis impossible he should; he cannot
       creep into a halfpenny purse or into a Pepper-box.

                             _Merry Wives_, act iii, sc. 5 (147).


     (7) _Sir Andrew._

     Here's the challenge, read it; I warrant there's vinegar and
       Pepper in't.

                           _Twelfth Night_, act iii, sc. 4 (157).

Pepper is the seed of Piper nigrum, "whose drupes form the black Pepper
of the shops when dried with the skin upon them, and white Pepper when
that flesh is removed by washing."--LINDLEY. It is, like all the
pepperworts, a native of the Tropics, but was well known both to the
Greeks and Romans. By the Greeks it was probably not much used, but in
Rome it seems to have been very common, if we may judge by Horace's
lines--

     "Deferar in vicum, vendentem thus et odores,
      Et piper, et quidquid chartis amicitur ineptis."

                                            _Epistolæ_ ii, 1-270.

And in another place he mentions "Pipere albo" as an ingredient in
cooking. Juvenal mentions it as an article of commerce, "piperis coemti"
(Sat. xiv. 293). Persius speaks of it in more than one passage, and
Pliny describes it so minutely that he evidently not only knew the
imported spice, but also had seen the living plant. By the Romans it was
probably introduced into England, being frequently met with in the
Anglo-Saxon Leech-books. It is mentioned by Chaucer--

     "And in an erthen pot how put is al,
      And salt y-put in and also Paupere."

                              _Prologue of the Chanoune's Yeman._

It was apparently, like Ginger, a very common condiment in Shakespeare's
time, and its early introduction into England as an article of commerce
is shown by passages in our old law writers, who speak of the
reservation of rent, not only in money, but in "pepper, cummim, and
wheat;" whence arose the familiar reservation of a single peppercorn as
a rent so nominal as to have no appreciable pecuniary value.[204:1]

The red or Cayenne Pepper is made from the ground seeds of the
Capsicum, but I do not find that it was used to known in the sixteenth
century.


FOOTNOTES:

[204:1] Littleton does not mention Pepper when speaking of rents
reserved otherwise than in money, but specifies as instances, "un
chival, ou un esperon dor, ou un clovegylofer"--a horse, a golden spur,
or a clove gilliflower.




PIG-NUTS.


     _Caliban._

     I prythee let me bring thee where Crabs grow;
     And I with my long nails will dig thee Pig-nuts.

                                  _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 2 (171).

Pig-nuts or Earth-nuts are the tuberous roots of Conopodium denudatum
(_Bunium flexuosum_), a common weed in old upland pastures; it is found
also in woods. This root is really of a pleasant flavour when first
eaten, but leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth. It is said to be
much improved by roasting, and to be then quite equal to Chestnuts. Yet
it is not much prized in England except by pigs and children, who do not
mind the trouble of digging for it. But the root lies deep, and the
stalk above it is very brittle, and "when the little 'howker' breaks the
white shank he at once desists from his attempt to reach the root, for
he believes that it will elude his search by sinking deeper and deeper
into the ground" (Johnston). I have never heard of its being cultivated
in England, but it is cultivated in some European countries, and much
prized as a wholesome and palatable root.




PINE.


     (1) _Prospero._

                She did confine thee,

            *       *       *       *       *

     Into a cloven Pine;

            *       *       *       *       *

               It was mine art,
     When I arrived and heard thee, that made gape
     The Pine and let thee out.

                                   _Tempest_, act i, sc. 2 (273).


     (2) _Suffolk._

     Thus droops this lofty Pine and hangs his sprays.

                              _2nd Henry VI_, act ii, sc. 3 (45).


     (3) _Prospero._

               And by the spurs plucked up
     The Pine and Cedar.

                                    _Tempest_, act v, sc. 1 (47).


     (4) _Agamemnon._

     As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
     Infect the sound Pine and divert his grain
     Tortive and errant from his course of growth.

                        _Troilus and Cressida_, act i, sc. 3 (7).


     (5) _Antony._

             Where yonder Pine does stand
     I shall discover all.

            *       *       *       *       *

             This Pine is bark'd
     That overtopped them all.

                     _Antony and Cleopatra_, act iv, sc. 12 (23).


     (6) _Belarius._

                 As the rudest wind
     That by the top doth take the mountain Pine,
     And make him stoop to the vale.

                                _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (174).


     (7) _1st Lord._

     Behind the tuft of Pines I met them.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act ii, sc. 1 (33).


     (8) _Richard._

     But when from under this terrestrial ball
     He fires the proud top of the eastern Pines.

                               _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 2 (41).


     (9) _Antonio._

     You may as well forbid the mountain Pines
     To wag their high tops and to make no noise,
     When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven.

                        _Merchant of Venice_, act iv, sc. 1 (75).


     (10)

     Ay me! the bark peel'd from the lofty Pine,
     His leaves will wither, and his sap decay;
     So must my soul, her bark being peel'd away.

                                                _Lucrece_ (1167).

In No. 8 is one of those delicate touches which show Shakespeare's keen
observation of nature, in the effect of the rising sun upon a group of
Pine trees. Mr. Ruskin says that with the one exception of Wordsworth no
other English poet has noticed this. Wordsworth's lines occur in one of
his minor poems on leaving Italy--

     "My thoughts become bright like yon edging of Pines
        On the steep's lofty verge--how it blackened the air!
      But touched from behind by the sun, it now shines
        With threads that seem part of its own silver hair."

While Mr. Ruskin's account of it is this: "When the sun rises behind a
ridge of Pines, and those Pines are seen from a distance of a mile or
two against his light, the whole form of the tree, trunk, branches and
all, becomes one frost-work of intensely brilliant silver, which is
relieved against the clear sky like a burning fringe, for some distance
on either side of the sun."--_Stones of Venice_, i. 240.

The Pine is the established emblem of everything that is "high and
lifted up," but always with a suggestion of dreariness and solitude. So
it is used by Shakespeare and by Milton, who always associated the Pine
with mountains; and so it has always been used by the poets, even down
to our own day. Thus Tennyson--

     "They came, they cut away my tallest Pines--
      My dark tall Pines, that plumed the craggy ledge--
      High o'er the blue gorge, and all between
      The snowy peak and snow-white cataract
      Fostered the callow eaglet; from beneath
      Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark morn
      The panther's roar came muffled while I sat
      Down in the valley."

                                            _Complaint of Ænone._

Sir Walter Scott similarly describes the tree in the pretty and
well-known lines--

     "Aloft the Ash and warrior Oak
      Cast anchor in the rifted rock;
      And higher yet the Pine tree hung
      His shattered trunk, and frequent flung,
      Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high,
      His boughs athwart the narrow sky."

Yet the Pine which was best known to Shakespeare, and perhaps the only
Pine he knew, was the Pinus sylvestris, or Scotch fir, and this, though
flourishing on the highest hills where nothing else will flourish,
certainly attains its fullest beauty in sheltered lowland districts.
There are probably much finer Scotch firs in Devonshire than can be
found in Scotland. This is the only indigenous Fir, though the Pinus
pinaster claims to be a native of Ireland, some cones having been
supposed to be found in the bogs, but the claim is not generally allowed
(there is no proof of the discovery of the cones); and yet it has become
so completely naturalized on the coast of Dorsetshire, especially about
Bournemouth, that it has been admitted into the last edition of
Sowerby's "English Botany."

But though the Scotch Fir is a true native, and was probably much more
abundant in England formerly than it is now, the tree has no genuine
English name, and apparently never had. Pine comes directly and without
change from the Latin, _Pinus_, as one of the chief products, pitch,
comes directly from the Latin, _pix_. In the early vocabularies it is
called "Pin-treow," and the cones are "Pin-nuttes." They were also
called "Pine apples," and the tree was called the Pine-Apple
Tree.[208:1] This name was transferred to the rich West Indian
fruit[208:2] from its similarity to a fir-cone, and so was lost to the
fruit of the fir-tree, which had to borrow a new name from the Greek;
but it was still in use in Shakespeare's day--

     "Sweete smelling Firre that frankensence provokes,
      And Pine Apples from whence sweet juyce doth come."

                                       CHESTER'S _Love's Martyr_.

And Gerard describing the fruit of the Pine Tree, says: "This Apple is
called in . . . Low Dutch, Pyn Appel, and in English, Pine-apple, clog,
and cones." We also find "Fyre-tree," which is a true English word
meaning the "fire-tree;" but I believe that "Fir" was originally
confined to the timber, from its large use for torches, and was not till
later years applied to the living tree.

The sweetness of the Pine seeds, joined to the difficulty of extracting
them, and the length of time necessary for their ripening, did not
escape the notice of the emblem-writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. With them it was the favourite emblem of the happy results of
persevering labour. Camerarius, a contemporary of Shakespeare and a
great botanist, gives a pretty plate of a man holding a Fir-cone, with
this moral: "Sic ad virtutem et honestatem et laudabiles actiones non
nisi per labores ac varias difficultates perveniri potest, at postea
sequuntur suavissimi fructus." He acknowledges his obligation for this
moral to the proverb of Plautus: "Qui e nuce nucleum esse vult, frangat
nucem" ("Symbolorum," &c., 1590).

In Shakespeare's time a few of the European Conifers were grown in
England, including the Larch, but only as curiosities. The very large
number of species which now ornament our gardens and Pineta from America
and Japan were quite unknown. The many uses of the Pine--for its timber,
production of pitch, tar, resin, and turpentine--were well known and
valued. Shakespeare mentions both pitch and tar.


FOOTNOTES:

[208:1] For many examples see "Catholicon Anglicum," s.v. Pyne-Tree,
with note.

[208:2] The West Indian Pine Apple is described by Gerard as "Ananas,
the Pinea, or Pine Thistle."




PINKS.


     (1) _Romeo._

     A most courteous exposition.

     _Mercutio._

     Nay, I am the very Pink of courtesy.

     _Romeo._

     Pink for flower.

     _Mercutio._

     Right.

     _Romeo._

     Why, then is my pump well flowered.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 4 (60).


     (2) _Maiden._

     Pinks of odour faint.

                               _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Introd. song.

To these may perhaps be added the following, from the second verse sung
by Mariana in "Measure for Measure," act iv, sc. 1 (337)--

     Hide, oh hide, those hills of snow
       Which thy frozen bosom bears!
     On whose tops the Pinks that grow
       Are of those that April wears.

The authority is doubtful, but it is attributed to Shakespeare in some
editions of his poems.

The Pink or Pincke was, as now, the name of the smaller sorts of
Carnations, and was generally applied to the single sorts. It must have
been a very favourite flower, as we may gather from the phrase "Pink of
courtesy," which means courtesy carried to its highest point; and from
Spenser's pretty comparison--

     "Her lovely eyes like Pincks but newly spred."

                                           _Amoretti_, Sonnet 64.

The name has a curious history. It is not, as most of us would suppose,
derived from the colour, but the colour gets its name from the plant.
The name (according to Dr. Prior) comes through _Pinksten_ (German),
from Pentecost, and so was originally applied to one species--the
Whitsuntide Gilliflower. From this it was applied to other species of
the same family. It is certainly "a curious accident," as Dr. Prior
observes, "that a word that originally meant 'fiftieth' should come to
be successively the name of a festival of the Church, of a flower, of an
ornament in muslin called _pinking_, of a colour, and of a sword stab."
Shakespeare uses the word in three of its senses. First, as applied to a
colour--

     Come, thou monarch of the Vine,
     Plumpy Bacchus with Pink eyne.

                    _Antony and Cleopatra_, act ii, sc. 7.[210:1]

Second, as applied to an ornament of dress in Romeo's person--

     Then is my pump well flowered;

                               _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 4.

_i.e._, well pinked. And in Grumio's excuses to Petruchio for the
non-attendance of the servants--

     Nathaniel's coat, Sir, was not fully made,
     And Gabriel's pumps were all unpinked
     I' the heel.

                            _Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc. 1.

And thirdly, as the pinked ornament in muslin--

     There's a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that
       railed upon me till her Pink'd porringer fell off her head.

                                      _Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 3.

And as applied to the flower in the passage quoted above. He also uses
it in another sense--

     This Pink is one of Cupid's carriers;
     Clap on more sail--pursue!

                         _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act ii, sc. 7.

where pink means a small country vessel often mentioned under that name
by writers of the sixteenth century.


FOOTNOTES:

[210:1] It is very probable that this does not refer to the
colour--"Pink = winking, half-shut."--SCHMIDT. And see Nares, s.v. Pinke
eyne.




PIONY.


     _Iris._

     Thy banks with Pioned and twilled brims,
     Which spongy April at thy best betrims,
     To make cold nymphs chaste crowns.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (65).

There is much dispute about this passage, the dispute turning on the
question whether "Pioned" has reference to the Peony flower or not. The
word by some is supposed to mean only "digged," and it doubtless often
had this meaning,[211:1] though the word is now obsolete, and only
survives with us in "pioneer," which, in Shakespeare's time, meant
"digger" only, and not as now, "one who goes before to prepare the
way"--thus Hamlet--

     Well said, old mole! cans't work i' the earth so fast?
     A worthy pioner?

                                    _Hamlet_, act i, sc. 5 (161).

and again--

     There might you see the labouring pioner
     Begrim'd with sweat, and smeared all with dust.

                                                _Lucrece_ (1380).

But this reading seems very tame, tame in itself, and doubly tame when
taken in connection with the context, and "Certainly savours more of the
commentators' prose than of Shakespeare's poetry" ("Edinburgh Review,"
1872, p. 363). I shall assume, therefore, that the flower is meant,
spelt in the form of "Piony," instead of Peony or Pæony.[211:2]

The Pæony (_P. corallina_) is sometimes allowed a place in the British
flora, having been found apparently wild at the Steep Holmes in the
Bristol Channel and a few other places, but it is now considered
certain that in all these places it is a garden escape. Gerard gave one
such habitat: "The male Peionie groweth wilde upon a Coneyberry in
Betsome, being in the parish of Southfleet, in Kent, two miles from
Gravesend, and in the ground sometimes belonging to a farmer there,
called John Bradley;" but on this his editor adds the damaging note: "I
have been told that our author himselfe planted that Peionee there, and
afterwards seemed to find it there by accident; and I do believe it was
so, because none before or since have ever seen or heard of it growing
wild since in any part of this kingdome."

But though not a native plant, it had been cultivated in England long
before Shakespeare's and Gerard's time. It occurs in most of the old
vocabularies from the tenth century downwards, and in Shakespeare's time
the English gardens had most of the European species that are now grown,
including also the handsome double-red and white varieties. Since his
time the number of species and varieties has been largely increased by
the addition of the Chinese and Japanese species, and by the labours of
the French nurserymen, who have paid more attention to the flower than
the English.

In the hardy flower garden there is no more showy family than the Pæony.
They have flowers of many colours, from almost pure white and pale
yellow to the richest crimson; and they vary very much in their foliage,
most of them having large fleshy leaves, "not much unlike the leaves of
the Walnut tree," but some of them having their leaves finely cut and
divided almost like the leaves of Fennel (_P. tenuifolia_). They further
vary in that some are herbaceous, disappearing entirely in winter, while
others, Moutan or Tree Pæonies, are shrubs; and in favourable seasons,
when the shrub is not injured by spring frosts, there is no grander
shrub than an old Tree Pæony in full flower.

Of the many different species the best are the Moutans, which, according
to Chinese tradition, have been grown in China for 1500 years, and which
are now produced in great variety of colour; P. corallina, for the
beauty of its coral-like seeds; P. Cretica, for its earliness in
flowering; P. tenuifolia, single and double, for its elegant foliage; P.
Whitmaniana, for its pale yellow but very fleeting flowers, which,
before they are fully expanded, have all the appearance of immense
Globe-flowers (_trollius_); P. lobata, for the wonderful richness of its
bright crimson flowers; and P. Whitleji, a very old and very double form
of P. edulis, of great size, and most delicate pink and white colour.


FOOTNOTES:

[211:1]

     "Which to outbarre, with painful pyonings,
      From sea to sea, he heapt a mighty mound!"

                                    SPENSER, _F. Q._, ii, 10, 46.

[211:2] The name was variously spelt, _e.g._--

     "And other trees there was mane one
      The Pyany, the Poplar, and the Plane."

                                   _The Squyr of Lowe Degre_, 39.


     "The pretie Pinke and purple Pianet."

                        CUTWODE, _Caltha Poetarum_, 1599, st. 24.


     "A Pyon (Pyion A.) dionia, herba est."--_Catholicon Anglicum._




PIPPIN, _see_ APPLE.




PLANE.


     _Daughter._

              I have sent him where a Cedar,
     Higher than all the rest, spreads like a Plane
     Fast by a brook.

                          _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act ii, sc. 6 (4).

There is no certain record how long the Plane has been introduced into
England; it is certainly not a native tree, nor even an European tree,
but came from the East, and was largely planted and much admired both by
the Greeks and Romans. We know from Pliny that it was growing in France
in his day on the part opposite Britain, and the name occurs in the old
vocabularies. But from Turner's evidence in 1548 it must have been a
very scarce tree in the sixteenth century. He says: "I never saw any
Plaine tree in Englande, saving once in Northumberlande besyde Morpeth,
and an other at Barnwell Abbey besyde Cambryge." And more than a hundred
years later Evelyn records a special visit to Lee to inspect one as a
great curiosity. The Plane is not only a very handsome tree, and a fast
grower, but from the fact that it yearly sheds its bark it has become
one of the most useful trees for growing in towns. The wood is of very
little value. To the emblem writers the Plane was an example of
something good to the eye, but of no real use. Camerarius so moralizes
it (Pl. xix.), and, quoting Virgil's "steriles platanos," he says of it,
"umbram non fructum platanus dat."




PLANTAIN.


     (1) _Costard._

     O sir, Plantain, a plain Plantain! no l'envoy, no l'envoy; no
       salve, sir, but a Plantain.

            *       *       *       *       *

     _Moth._

     By saying that a costard was broken in a shin.
     Then call'd you for the l'envoy.

     _Costard._

     True! and I for a Plantain.

                      _Loves Labour's Lost_, act iii, sc. 1 (76).


     (2) _Romeo._

     Your Plantain leaf is excellent for that.

     _Benvolio._

     For what, I pray thee?

     _Romeo._

                            For your broken shin.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act i, sc. 2 (52).


     (3) _Troilus._

     As true as steel, as Plantage to the moon.

                    _Troilus and Cressida_, act iii, sc. 2 (184).


     (4) _Palamon._

           These poore slight sores
     Neede not a Plantin.

                          _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act i, sc. 2 (65).

The most common old names for the Plantain were Waybroad (corrupted to
Weybread, Wayborn, and Wayforn) and Ribwort. It was also called
Lamb's-tongue and Kemps, while the flower spike with the stalk was
called Cocks and Cockfighters (still so called by children).[214:1] The
old name of Ribwort was derived from the ribbed leaves, while Waybroad
marked its universal appearance, scattered by all roadsides and
pathways, and literally bred by the wayside. It has a similar name in
German, Wegetritt, that is Waytread; and on this account the Swedes name
the plant Wagbredblad, and the Indians of North America Whiteman's Foot,
for it springs up near every new settlement, having sprung up after the
English settlers, not only in America, but also in Australia and New
Zealand--

     "Whereso'er they move, before them
      Swarms the stinging fly, the Ahmo,
      Swarms the bee, the honey-maker:
      Wheresoe'er they tread, beneath them
      Springs a flower unknown among us,
      Springs the 'White man's foot' in blossom."

                                         LONGFELLOW'S _Hiawatha_.

And "so it is a mistake to say that Plantain is derived from the
likeness of the plant to the sole of the foot, as in Richardson's
Dictionary. Rather say, because the herb grows under the sole of the
foot."--JOHNSTON. How, or when, or why the plant lost its old English
names to take the Latin name of Plantain, it is hard to say. It occurs
in a vocabulary of the names of plants of the middle of the thirteenth
century--"Plantago, Planteine, Weibrode," and apparently came to us from
the French, "Cy est assets de Planteyne, Weybrede."--WALTER DE
BIBLESWORTH (13th cent.) But with the exception of Chaucer[215:1] I
believe Shakespeare is almost the only early writer that uses the name,
though it is very certain that he did not invent it; but "Plantage" (No
3), which is doubtless the same plant, is peculiar to him.[215:2]

It was as a medical herb that our forefathers chiefly valued the
Plantain, and for medical purposes its reputation was of the very
highest. In a book of recipes (Lacnunga) of the eleventh century, by
Ælfric, is an address to the Waybroad, which is worth extracting at
length--

     "And thou, Waybroad!
      Mother of worts,
      Open from eastward,
      Mighty within;
      Over thee carts creaked,
      Over thee Queens rode,
      Over thee brides bridalled,
      Over thee bulls breathed,
      All these thou withstood'st
      Venom and vile things
      And all the loathly ones
      That through the land rove."

                                        COCKAYNE'S _Translation_.

In another earlier recipe book the Waybroad is prescribed for
twenty-two diseases, one after another; and in another of the same date
we are taught how to apply it: "If a man ache in half his head . . .
delve up Waybroad without iron ere the rising of the sun, bind the roots
about the head with Crosswort by a red fillet, soon he will be well."
But the Plantain did not long sustain its high reputation, which even in
Shakespeare's time had become much diminished. "I find," says Gerard,
"in ancient writers many good-morrowes, which I think not meet to bring
into your memorie againe; as that three roots will cure one griefe, four
another disease, six hanged about the neck are good for another maladie,
&c., all which are but ridiculous toys." Yet the bruised leaves still
have some reputation as a styptic and healing plaster among country
herbalists, and perhaps the alleged virtues are not altogether fanciful.

As a garden plant the Plantain can only be regarded as a weed and
nuisance, especially on lawns, where it is very difficult to destroy
them. Yet there are some curious varieties which may claim a corner
where botanical curiosities are grown. The Plantain seems to have a
peculiar tendency to run into abnormal forms, many of which will be
found described and figured in Dr. Masters' "Vegetable Teratology," and
among these forms are two which are exactly like a double green Rose,
and have been cultivated as the Rose Plantain for many years. They were
grown by Gerard, who speaks of "the beauty which is in the plant," and
compared it to "a fine double Rose of a hoary or rusty greene colour."
Parkinson also grew it and valued it highly.


FOOTNOTES:

[214:1] Of these names Plantain properly belongs to Plantago major;
Lamb's-tongue to P. media; and Kemps, Cocks, and Ribwort to P.
lanceolata.

[215:1]

     "His forehead dropped as a stillatorie
      Were ful of Plantayn and peritorie."

                              _Prologue of the Chanoune's Yeman._

[215:2] Nares, and Schmidt from him, consider Plantage = anything
planted.




PLUMS, WITH DAMSONS AND PRUNES.


     (1) _Constance._

     Give grandam kingdom, and it grandam will
     Give it a Plum, a Cherry, and a Fig.

                                _King John_, act ii, sc. 1 (161).


     (2) _Hamlet._

     The satirical rogue says here that old men have grey beards,
       that their faces are wrinkled, their eyes purging thick
       amber and Plum-tree gum.

                                   _Hamlet_, act ii, sc. 2 (198).


     (3) _Simpcox._

          A fall off a tree.

     _Wife._

     A Plum-tree, master.

            *       *       *       *       *

     _Gloucester._

     Mass, thou lovedst Plums well that wouldst venture so.

     _Simpcox._

     Alas! good master, my wife desired some Damsons,
     And made me climb with danger of my life.

                             _2nd Henry VI_, act ii, sc. 1 (196).


     (4) _Evans._

     I will dance and eat Plums at your wedding.

                   _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act v, sc. 5.[217:1]


     (5)

     The mellow Plum doth fall, the green sticks fast,
     Or, being early pluck'd, is sour to taste.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (527).


     (6)

     Like a green Plum that hangs upon a tree,
     And falls, through wind, before the fall should be.

                                      _Passionate Pilgrim_ (135).


     (7) _Slender._

     Three veneys for a dish of stewed Prunes.

                    _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act i, sc. 1 (295).


     (8) _Falstaff._

     There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed Prune.

                            _1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 3 (127).


     (9) _Pompey._

     Longing (saving your honour's presence) for stewed Prunes.

            *       *       *       *       *

     And longing, as I said, for Prunes.

            *       *       *       *       *

     You being then, if you he remembered, cracking the stones of
       the foresaid Prunes.

                       _Measure for Measure_, act ii, sc. 1 (92).


     (10) _Clown._

     Four pounds of Prunes, and as many of Raisins of the sun.

                              _Winters Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (51).


     (11) _Falstaff._

     Hang him, rogue; he lives upon mouldy stewed Prunes and dried
       cakes.

                             _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (158).

Plums, Damsons, and Prunes may conveniently be joined together, Plums
and Damsons being often used synonymously (as in No. 3), and Prunes
being the dried Plums. The Damsons were originally, no doubt, a good
variety from the East, and nominally from Damascus.[217:2] They seem to
have been considered great delicacies, as in a curious allegorical
drama of the fifteenth century, called "La Nef de Sante," of which an
account is given by Mr. Wright: "Bonne-Compagnie, to begin the day,
orders a collation, at which, among other things, are served Damsons
(_Prunes de Damas_), which appear at this time to have been considered
as delicacies. There is here a marginal direction to the purport that if
the morality should be performed in the season when real Damsons could
not be had, the performers must have some made of wax to look like real
ones" ("History of Domestic Manners," &c.).

The garden Plums are a good cultivated variety of our own wild Sloe, but
a variety that did not originate in England, and may very probably have
been introduced by the Romans. The Sloe and Bullace are, speaking
botanically, two sub-species of Prunus communis, while the Plum is a
third sub-species (P. communis domestica). The garden Plum is
occasionally found wild in England, but is certainly not indigenous. It
is somewhat strange that our wild plant is not mentioned by Shakespeare
under any of its well-known names of Sloe, Bullace, and Blackthorn. Not
only is it a shrub of very marked appearance in our hedgerows in early
spring, when it is covered with its pure white blossoms, but Blackthorn
staves were indispensable in the rough game of quarterstaff, and the
Sloe gave point to more than one English proverb: "as black as a Sloe,"
was a very common comparison, and "as useless as a Sloe," or "not worth
a Sloe," was as common.

     "Sir Amys answered, 'Tho'
      I give thee thereof not one Sloe!
      Do right all that thou may!"

                          _Amys and Amylion_--ELLIS'S _Romances_.


     "The offecial seyde, Thys ys nowth
      Be God, that me der bowthe,
      Het ys not worthe a Sclo."

      _The Frere and His Boy_--RITSON'S _Ancient Popular Poetry_.

Though even as a fruit the Sloe had its value, and was not altogether
despised by our ancestors, for thus Tusser advises--

     "By thend of October go gather up Sloes,
      Have thou in readines plentie of thoes,
      And keepe them in bed-straw, or still on the bow,
      To staie both the flix of thyselfe and thy cow."

As soon as the garden Plum was introduced, great attention seems to have
been paid to it, and the gardeners of Shakespeare's time could probably
show as good Plums as we can now. "To write of Plums particularly," said
Gerard, "would require a peculiar volume. . . . Every clymate hath his
owne fruite, far different from that of other countries; my selfe have
threescore sorts in my garden, and all strange and rare; there be in
other places many more common, and yet yearly commeth to our hands
others not before knowne."


FOOTNOTES:

[217:1] Omitted in the Globe edition.

[217:2] Bullein, in his "Government of Health," 1588, calls them
"Damaske Prunes."




POMEGRANATE.


     (1) _Lafeu._

     Go to, sir, you were beaten in Italy for picking a kernel out
       of a Pomegranate.

                _All's Well that Ends Well_, act ii, sc. 3 (275).


     (2) _Juliet._

     It was the nightingale and not the lark,
     That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
     Nightly she sings on yon Pomegranate tree.[219:1]

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act iii, sc. 5 (2).


     (3) _Francis._

     Anon, anon, sir, Look down into the Pomegarnet, Ralph.

                              _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (41).

There are few trees that surpass the Pomegranate in interest and beauty
combined. "Whoever has seen the Pomegranate in a favourable soil and
climate, whether as a single shrub or grouped many together, has seen
one of the most beautiful of green trees; its spiry shape and
thick-tufted foliage of vigorous green, each growing shoot shaded into
tenderer verdure and bordered with crimson and adorned with the
loveliest flowers; filmy petals of scarlet lustre are put forth from the
solid crimson cup, and the ripe fruit of richest hue and most admirable
shape."--LADY CALCOTT'S _Scripture Herbal_. A simpler but more valued
testimony to the beauty of the Pomegranate is borne in its selection for
the choicest ornaments on the ark of the Tabernacle, on the priest's
vestments, and on the rich capitals of the pillars in the Temple of
Solomon.

The native home of the Pomegranate is not very certainly known, but the
evidence chiefly points to the North of Africa. It was very early
cultivated in Egypt, and was one of the Egyptian delicacies so fondly
remembered by the Israelites in their desert wanderings, and is
frequently met with in Egyptian sculpture. It was abundant in Palestine,
and is often mentioned in the Bible, and always as an object of beauty
and desire. It was highly appreciated by the Greeks and Romans, but it
was probably not introduced into Italy in very early times, as Pliny is
the first author that certainly mentions it, though some critics have
supposed that the _aurea mala_ and _aurea poma_ of Virgil and Ovid were
Pomegranates. From Italy the tree soon spread into other parts of
Europe, taking with it its Roman name of _Punica malus_ or _Pomum
granatum_. _Punica_ showed the country from which the Romans derived it,
while _granatum_ (full of grains) marked the special characteristic of
the fruit that distinguished it from all other so-called Apples. Gerard
says: "Pomegranates grow in hot countries, towards the south in Italy,
Spaine, and chiefly in the kingdom of Granada, which is thought to be so
named of the great multitude of Pomegranates, which be commonly called
_Granata_."[220:1] This derivation is very doubtful, but was commonly
accepted in Gerard's day.[220:2] The Pomegranate lives and flowers well
in England, but when it was first introduced is not recorded. I do not
find it in the old vocabularies, but a prominent place is given to it in
"that Gardeyn, wele wrought," "the garden that so lyked me;"--

     "There were, and that I wote fulle well,
      Of Pomgarnettys a fulle gret delle,
      That is a fruit fulle welle to lyke,
      Namely to folk whaune they ben sike."

                                           _Romaunt of the Rose._

Turner describes it in 1548: "Pomegranat trees growe plentuously in
Italy and in Spayne, and there are certayne in my Lorde's gardene at
Syon, but their fruite cometh never with perfection."[221:1]

Gerard had it in 1596, but from his description it seems that it was a
recent acquisition. "I have recovered," he says, "divers young trees
hereof, by sowing of the seed or grains of the height of three or four
cubits, attending God's leisure for floures and fruit." Three years
later, in 1599, it is noticed for its flowers in Buttes's "Dyet's Dry
Dinner" (as quoted by Brand), where it is asserted that "if one eate
three small Pomegranate flowers (they say) for a whole yeare he shall be
safe from all manner of eyesore;" and Gerard speaks of the "wine which
is pressed forth of the Pomegranate berries named Rhoitas or wine of
Pomegranates," but this may have been imported. But, when introduced, it
at once took kindly to its new home, so that Parkinson was able to
describe its flowers and fruits from personal observation. In all the
southern parts of England it grows very well, and is one of the very
best trees we have to cover a south wall; it also grows well in towns,
as may be seen at Bath, where a great many very fine specimens have been
planted in the areas in front of the houses, and have grown to a
considerable height. When thus planted and properly pruned, the tree
will bear its beautiful flowers from May all through the summer; but
generally the tree is so pruned that it cannot flower. It should be
pruned like a Banksian Rose, and other plants that bear their flowers on
last year's shoots, _i.e._, simply thinned, but not cut back or spurred.
With this treatment the branches may be allowed to grow in their natural
way without being nailed in, and if the single-blossomed species be
grown, the flowers in good summers will bear fruit. In 1876 I counted on
a tree in Bath more than sixty fruit; the fruits will perhaps seldom be
worth eating, but they are curious and handsome. The sorts usually grown
are the pure scarlet (double and single), and a very double variety with
the flowers somewhat variegated. These are the most desirable, but there
are a few other species and varieties, including a very beautiful dwarf
one from the East Indies that is too tender for our climate
out-of-doors, but is largely grown on the Continent as a window plant.


FOOTNOTES:

[219:1] In illustration of Juliet's speech Mr. Knight very aptly quotes
a similar remark from Russell's "History of Aleppo," adding that a
"friend whose observations as a traveller are as accurate as his
descriptions are graphic and forcible, informs us that throughout his
journeys in the East he never heard such a choir of nightingales as in a
row of Pomegranate trees that skirt the road from Smyrna to Bondjia."

[220:1] In a Bill of Medicines furnished for the use of Edward I.
1306-7, is--

     "Item pro malis granatis vi. lx s.
      Item pro vino malorum granatorun xx lb., lx s."

                                _Archæological Journal_, xiv, 27.

[220:2] See Prescott's "Ferdinand and Isabella," vol. iii. p. 346, note
(Ed. 1849)--the arms of the city are a split Pomegranate.

[221:1] "Names of Herbes," s.v. Malus Punica.




POMEWATER, _see_ APPLE.




POPERING, _see_ PEAR.




POPPY.


     _Iago._

             Not Poppy or Mandragora,
     Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
     Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
     Which thou ownedst yesterday.

                                 _Othello_, act iii, sc. 3 (330).

The Poppy had of old a few other names, such as Corn-rose and
Cheese-bowls (a very old name for the flower), and being "of great
beautie, although of evil smell, our gentlewomen doe call it Jone
Silverpin." This name is difficult of explanation, even with Parkinson's
help, who says it meanes "faire without and foule within," but it
probably alludes to its gaudy colour and worthlessness. But these names
are scarcely the common names of the plant, but rather nicknames; the
usual name is, and always has been, Poppy, which is an easily traced
corruption from the Latin _papaver_, the Saxon and Early English names
being variously spelt, _popig_ and _papig_, _popi_ and _papy_; so that
the Poppy is another instance of a very common and conspicuous English
plant known only or chiefly by its Latin name Anglicised.

Our common English Poppy, "being of a beautiful and gallant red colour,"
is certainly one of the handsomest of our wild flowers, and a Wheat
field with a rich undergrowth of scarlet Poppies is a sight very dear to
the artist,[223:1] while the weed is not supposed to do much harm to the
farmer. But this is not the Poppy mentioned by Iago, for its narcotic
qualities are very small; the Poppy that he alludes to is the Opium
Poppy (_P. somniferum_). This Poppy was well known and cultivated in
England long before Shakespeare's day, but only as a garden ornament;
the Opium was then, as now, imported from the East. Its deadly qualities
were well known. Gower describes it--

     "There is growend upon the ground
      Popy that bereth the sede of slepe."

                      _Conf. Aman._, lib. quint. (2, 102 Paulli).

Spenser speaks of the plant as the "dull Poppy," and describing the
Garden of Proserpina, he says--

     "There mournful Cypress grew in greatest store,
      And trees of bitter gall, and Heben sad,
      Dead-sleeping Poppy, and black Hellebore,
      Cold Coloquintida."

                                              _F. Q._, ii, 7, 52.

And Drayton similarly describes it--

     "Here Henbane, Poppy, Hemlock here,
      Procuring deadly sleeping."

                                                     _Nymphal_ v.

The name of opium does not seem to have been in general use, except
among the apothecaries. Chaucer, however, uses it--

     "A claire made of a certayn wyn,
      With necotykes, and opye of Thebes fyn."

                                             _The Knightes Tale._

And so does Milton--

               "Which no cooling herb
     Or medicinal liquor can asswage,
     Nor breath of vernal air from Snowy Alp;
     Sleep hath forsook and given me o'er
     To death's benumming opium as my only cure."

                                              _Samson Agonistes._

Many of the Poppies are very ornamental garden plants. The pretty yellow
Welsh Poppy (_Meconopsis Cambrica_), abundant at Cheddar Cliffs, is an
excellent plant for the rockwork where, when once established, it will
grow freely and sow itself; and for the same place the little Papaver
Alpinum, with its varieties, is equally well suited. For the open border
the larger Poppies are very suitable, especially the great Oriental
Poppy (_P. orientale_) and the grand scarlet Siberian Poppy (_P.
bracteatum_), perhaps the most gorgeous of hardy plants: while among the
rarer species of the tribe we must reckon the Meconopses of the
Himalayas (_M. Wallichi_ and _M. Nepalensis_), plants of singular beauty
and elegance, but very difficult to grow, and still more difficult to
keep, even if once established; for though perfectly hardy, they are
little more than biennials. Besides these Poppies, the large double
garden Poppies are very showy and of great variety in colour, but they
are only annuals.


FOOTNOTES:

[223:1] "We usually think of the Poppy as a coarse flower; but it is the
most transparent and delicate of all the blossoms of the field. The
rest, nearly all of them, depend on the texture of their surface for
colour. But the Poppy is painted _glass_; it never glows so brightly as
when the sun shines through it. Wherever it is seen, against the light
or with the light, always it is a flame, and warms the wind like a blown
ruby."--RUSKIN, _Proserpina_, p. 86.




POTATO.


     (1) _Thersites._

     How the devil Luxury, with his fat rump and Potato-finger,
       tickles these together.

                       _Troilus and Cressida_, act v, sc. 2 (55).


     (2) _Falstaff._

     Let the sky rain Potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green
       Sleeves, hail kissing-comfits, and snow Eringoes.

                     _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act v, sc. 5 (20).

The chief interest in these two passages is that they contain almost the
earliest notice of Potatoes after their introduction into England. The
generally received account is that they were introduced into Ireland in
1584 by Sir Walter Raleigh, and from thence brought into England; but
the year of their first planting in England is not recorded. They are
not mentioned by Lyte in 1586. Gerard grew them in 1597, but only as
curiosities, under the name of Virginian Potatoes (_Battata
Virginianorum_ and _Pappas_), to distinguish them from the Spanish
Potato, or Convolvulus Battatas, which had been long grown in Europe,
and in the first edition of his "Herbal" is his portrait, showing him
holding a Potato in his hand. They seem to have grown into favour very
slowly, for half a century after their introduction, Waller still spoke
of them as one of the tropical luxuries of the Bermudas--

     "With candy'd Plantains and the juicy Pine,
      On choicest Melons and sweet Grapes they dine,
      And with Potatoes fat their wanton swine."

                              _The Battel of the Summer Islands._

Potato is a corruption of Batatas or Patatas.

As soon as the Potato arrived in England, it was at once invested with
wonderful restorative powers, and in a long exhaustive note in Steevens'
Shakespeare, Mr. Collins has given all the passages in the early writers
in which the Potato is mentioned, and in every case they have reference
to these supposed virtues. These passages, which are chiefly from the
old dramatists, are curious and interesting in the early history of the
Potato, and as throwing light on the manners of our ancestors; but as in
every instance they are all more or less indelicate, I refrain from
quoting them here.

As a garden plant, we now restrict the Potato to the kitchen garden and
the field, but it belongs to a very large family, the Solanaceæ or
Nightshades, of which many members are very ornamental, though as they
chiefly come from the tropical regions, there are very few that can be
treated as entirely hardy plants. One, however, is a very beautiful
climber--the Solanum jasminoides from South America--and quite hardy in
the South of England. Trained against a wall it will soon cover it, and
when once established will bear its handsome trusses of white flowers
with yellow anthers in great profusion during the whole summer. A better
known member of the family is the Petunia, very handsome, but little
better than an annual. The pretty Winter Cherry (_Physalis alkekengi_)
is another member of the family, and so is the Mandrake (_see_
MANDRAKE). The whole tribe is poisonous, or at least to be suspected,
yet it contains a large number of most useful plants, as the Potato,
Tomato, Tobacco, Datura, and Cayenne Pepper.




PRIMROSE.


     (1) _Queen._

     The Violets, Cowslips, and the Primroses,
     Bear to my closet.

                                  _Cymbeline_, act i, sc. 5 (83).


     (2) _Queen._

     I would be blind with weeping, sick with groans,
     Look pale as Primrose with blood-drinking sighs,
     And all to have the noble duke alive.

                             _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (62).


     (3) _Arviragus._

                Thou shalt not lack
     The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose.

                                _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (220).


     (4) _Hermia._

     In the wood where often you and I
     Upon faint Primrose-beds were wont to lie.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act i, sc. 1 (214).


     (5) _Perdita._

              Pale Primroses,
     That die unmarried, ere they can behold
     Bright Phœbus in his strength.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (122).


     (6) _Ophelia._

     Like a puff'd and reckless libertine,
     Himself the Primrose path of dalliance treads
     And recks not his own rede.

                                     _Hamlet_, act i, sc. 3 (49).


     (7) _Porter._

     I had thought to have let in some of all professions that go
       the Primrose way to the everlasting bonfire.

                                   _Macbeth_, act ii, sc. 3 (20).


     (8)

     Primrose, first-born child of Ver
     Merry spring-time's harbinger,
       With her bells dim.

                               _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Introd. song.


     (9)

     Witness this Primrose bank whereon I lie.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (151).

Whenever we speak of spring flowers, the first that comes into our
minds is the Primrose. Both for its simple beauty and for its early
arrival among us we give it the first place over

     "Whatsoever other flowre of worth
      And whatso other hearb of lovely hew,
      The joyous Spring out of the ground brings forth
      To cloath herself in colours fresh and new."

It is a plant equally dear to children and their elders, so that I
cannot believe that there is any one (except Peter Bell) to whom

     "A Primrose by the river's brim
      A yellow Primrose is to him--
      And it is nothing more;"

rather I should believe that W. Browne's "Wayfaring Man" is a type of
most English countrymen in their simple admiration of the common
flower--

     "As some wayfaring man passing a wood,
      Whose waving top hath long a sea-mark stood,
      Goes jogging on and in his mind nought hath,
      But how the Primrose finely strews the path,
      Or sweetest Violets lay down their heads
      At some tree's roots or mossy feather beds."

                                   _Britannia's Pastorals_, i, 5.

It is the first flower, except perhaps the Daisy, of which a child
learns the familiar name; and yet it is a plant of unfailing interest to
the botanical student, while its name is one of the greatest puzzles to
the etymologist. The common and easy explanation of the name is that it
means the first Rose of the year, but (like so many explanations that
are derived only from the sound and modern appearance of a a name) this
is not the true account. The full history of the name is too long to
give here, but the short account is this--"The old name was Prime
Rolles--or primerole. Primerole is an abbreviation of Fr.,
_primeverole_: It., _primaverola_, diminutive of _prima vera_ from _flor
di prima vera_, the first spring flower. _Primerole_, as an outlandish
unintelligible word, was soon familiarized into _primerolles_, and this
into _primrose_."--DR. PRIOR. The name Primrose was not at first always
applied to the flower, but was an old English word, used to show
excellence--

     "A fairer nymph yet never saw mine eie,
      She is the pride and Primrose of the rest."

                                          SPENSER, _Colin Clout_.


     "Was not I [the Briar] planted of thine own hande
      To bee the Primrose of all thy lande;
      With flow'ring blossomes to furnish the prime
      And scarlet berries in sommer time?"

                       SPENSER, _Shepherd's Calendar--Februarie_.

It was also a flower name, but not of our present Primrose, but of a
very different plant. Thus in a Nominale of the fifteenth century we
have "hoc ligustrum, a Primerose;" and in a Pictorial Vocabulary of the
same date we have "hoc ligustrum, A{ce} a Prymrose;" and in the
"Promptorium Parvulorum," "Prymerose, primula, calendula,
ligustrum"--and this name for the Privet lasted with a slight alteration
into Shakespeare's time. Turner in 1538 says, "ligustrum arbor est non
herba ut literatorū vulgus credit; nihil que minus est quam a
Prymerose." In Tusser's "Husbandry" we have "set Privie or Prim"
(September Abstract), and--

     "Now set ye may
      The Box and Bay
      Hawthorn and Prim
        For clothe's trim"--(_January Abstract_).

And so it is described by Gerard as the Privet or Prim Print (_i.e._,
_primé printemps_), and even in the seventeenth century, Cole says of
ligustrum, "This herbe is called Primrose." When the name was fixed to
our present plant I cannot say, but certainly before Shakespeare's time,
though probably not long before. It is rather remarkable that the
flower, which we now so much admire, seems to have been very much
overlooked by the writers before Shakespeare. In the very old
vocabularies it does not at all appear by its present Latin name,
Primula vulgaris, but that is perhaps not to be wondered at, as nearly
all the old botanists applied that name to the Daisy. But neither is it
much noticed by any English name. I can only find it in two of the
vocabularies. In an English Vocabulary of the fourteenth century is "Hæc
pimpinella, A{e} primerolle," but it is very doubtful if this can be our
Primrose, as the Pimpernel of old writers was the Burnet. Gower
mentions it as the flower of the star Canis Minor--

     "His stone and herbe as saith the scole
      Ben Achates and Primerole."

                       _Conf. Aman._ lib. sept. (3, 130. Paulli).

And in the treatise of Walter de Biblesworth (13th century) is--

     "Primerole et primeveyre (cousloppe)
      Sur tere aperunt en tems de veyre."

I should think there is no doubt this is our Primrose. Then we have
Chaucer's description of a fine lady--

     "Hir schos were laced on hir legges hyghe
      Sche was a Primerole, a piggesneyghe
      For any lord have liggyng in his bedde,
      Or yet for any gode yeman to wedde."

                                             _The Milleres Tale._

I have dwelt longer than usual on the name of this flower, because it
gives us an excellent example of how much literary interest may be found
even in the names of our common English plants.

But it is time to come from the name to the flower. The English Primrose
is one of a large family of more than fifty species, represented in
England by the Primrose, the Oxlip, the Cowslip, and the Bird's-eye
Primrose of the North of England and Scotland. All the members of the
family, whether British or exotic, are noted for the simple beauty of
their flowers, but in this special character there is none that
surpasses our own. "It is the very flower of delicacy and refinement;
not that it shrinks from our notice, for few plants are more easily
seen, coming as it does when there is a dearth of flowers, when the
first birds are singing, and the first bees humming, and the earliest
green putting forth in the March and April woods; and it is one of those
plants which dislikes to be looking cheerless, but keeps up a
smouldering fire of blossom from the very opening of the year, if the
weather will permit."--FORBES WATSON. It is this character of
cheerfulness that so much endears the flower to us; as it brightens up
our hedgerows after the dulness of winter, the harbinger of many
brighter perhaps, but not more acceptable, beauties to come, it is the
very emblem of cheerfulness. Yet it is very curious to note what
entirely different ideas it suggested to our forefathers. To them the
Primrose seems always to have brought associations of sadness, or even
worse than sadness, for the "Primrose paths" and "Primrose ways" of Nos.
6 and 7 are meant to be suggestive of pleasures, but sinful pleasures.

Spenser associates it with death in some beautiful lines, in which a
husband laments the loss of a young and beautiful wife--

     "Mine was the Primerose in the lowly shade!

            *       *       *       *       *

      Oh! that so fair a flower so soon should fade,
      And through untimely tempest fade away."

                                                _Daphnidia_, 232.

In another place he speaks of it as "the Primrose trew"--_Prothalamion_;
but in another place his only epithet for it is "green," which quite
ignores its brightness--

       "And Primroses greene
     Embellish the sweete Violet."

                                    _Shepherd's Calendar--April._

Shakespeare has no more pleasant epithets for our favourite flower than
"pale," "faint," "that die unmarried;" and Milton follows in the same
strain yet sadder. Once, indeed, he speaks of youth as "Brisk as the
April buds in Primrose season" ("Comus"); but only in three passages
does he speak of the Primrose itself, and in two of these he connects it
with death--

     "Bring the rathe Primrose that forsaken dies,

            *       *       *       *       *

      And every flower that sad embroidery wears."--_Lycidas._


     "O fairest flower, no sooner blown but blasted,
      Soft silken Primrose fading timelesslie;
      Summer's chief honour, if thou hadst outlasted
      Bleak winter's force that made thy blossoms drie."

                                 _On the Death of a Fair Infant._

His third account is a little more joyous--

     "Now the bright morning star, daye's harbinger,
      Comes dancing from the East, and leads with her
      The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
      The yellow Cowslip and the pale Primrose."

                                                _On May Morning._

And nearly all the poets of that time spoke in the same strain, with the
exception of Ben Jonson and the two Fletchers. Jonson spoke of it as
"the glory of the spring" and as "the spring's own spouse." Giles
Fletcher says--

     "Every bush lays deeply perfumed
      With Violets; the wood's late wintry head,
      Wide flaming Primroses set all on fire."

And Phineas Fletcher--

     "The Primrose lighted new her flame displays,
      And frights the neighbour hedge with fiery rays.
      And here and there sweet Primrose scattered.

             *       *       *       *       *

      Nature seem'd work'd by Art, so lively true,
      A little heaven or earth in narrow space she drew."

I can only refer very shortly to the botanical interest of the Primula,
and that only to direct attention to Mr. Darwin's paper in the "Journal
of the Linnæan Society," 1862, in which he records his very curious and
painstaking inquiries into the dimorphism of the Primula, a peculiarity
in the Primula that gardeners had long recognized in their arrangement
of Primroses as "pin-eyed" and "thrum-eyed." It is perhaps owing to this
dimorphism that the family is able to show a very large number of
natural hybrids. These have been carefully studied by Professor Kerner,
of Innspruck, and it seems not unlikely that a further study will show
that all the European so-called species are natural hybrids from a very
few parents.

Yet a few words on the Primrose as a garden plant. If the Primrose be
taken from the hedges in November, and planted in beds thickly in the
garden, they make a beautiful display of flowers and foliage from
February till the beds are required for the summer flowers; and there
are few of our wild flowers that run into so many varieties in their
wild state. In Pembrokeshire and Cardiganshire I have seen the wild
Primrose of nearly all shades of colour, from the purest white to an
almost bright red, and these can all be brought into the garden with a
certainty of success and a certainty of rapid increase. There are also
many double varieties, all of which are more often seen in cottage
gardens than elsewhere; yet no gardener need despise them.

One other British Primrose, the Bird's-eye Primrose, almost defies
garden cultivation, though in its native habitats in the north it grows
in most ungenial places. I have seen places in the neighbourhood of the
bleak hill of Ingleborough, where it almost forms the turf; yet away
from its native habitat it is difficult to keep, except in a greenhouse.
For the cultivation of the other non-English species, I cannot do better
than refer to an excellent paper by Mr. Niven in the "The Garden" for
January 29, 1876, in which he gives an exhaustive account of them.

I am not aware that Primroses are of any use in medicine or cookery, yet
Tusser names the Primrose among "seeds and herbs for the kitchen," and
Lyte says "the Cowslips, Primroses, and Oxlips are now used dayly
amongst other pot herbes, but in physicke there is no great account made
of them." They occur in heraldy. The arms of the Earls of Rosebery
(Primrose) are three Primroses within a double tressure fleury
counter-fleury, or.




PRUNES, _see_ PLUMS.



PUMPION.


     _Mrs. Ford._

     Go to, then. We'll use this unwholesome humidity, this gross
       watery Pumpion.

                   _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iii, sc. 3 (42).

The old name for the Cucumber (in Ælfric's "Vocabulary") is hwer-hwette,
_i.e._, wet ewer, but Pumpion, Pompion, and Pumpkin were general terms
including all the Cucurbitaceæ such as Melons, Gourds, Cucumbers, and
Vegetable Marrows. All were largely grown in Shakespeare's days, but I
should think the reference here must be to one of the large useless
Gourds, for Mrs. Ford's comparison is to Falstaff, and Gourds were grown
large enough to bear out even that comparison. "The Gourd groweth into
any forme or fashion you would have it, . . . being suffered to clime
upon an arbour where the fruit may hang; it hath beene seene to be nine
foot long." And the little value placed upon the whole tribe helped to
bear out the comparison. They were chiefly good to "cure copper faces,
red and shining fierce noses (as red as red Roses), with pimples,
pumples, rubies, and such-like precious faces." This was Gerard's
account of the Cucumber, while of the Cucumber Pompion, which was
evidently our Vegetable Marrow, and of which he has described and
figured the variety which we now call the Custard Marrow, he says, "it
maketh a man apt and ready to fall into the disease called the colericke
passion, and of some the felonie."

Mrs. Ford's comparison of a big loutish man to an overgrown Gourd has
not been lost in the English language, for "bumpkin" is only another
form of "Pumpkin," and Mr. Fox Talbot, in his "English Etymologies," has
a very curious account of the antiquity of the nickname. "The Greeks,"
he says, "called a very weak and soft-headed person a Pumpion, whence
the proverb πεπονος μαλακωτερος, softer than a Pumpion; and even one of
Homer's heroes, incensed at the timidity of his soldiers, exclaims ὠ
πεπονες, you Pumpions! So also _cornichon_ (Cucumber) is a term of
derision in French."

Yet the Pumpion or Gourd had its uses, moral uses. Modern critics have
decided that Jonah's Gourd, "which came up in a night and perished in a
night," was not a Gourd, but the Palma Christi, or Castor-oil tree. But
our forefathers called it a Gourd, and believing that it was so, they
used the Gourd to point many a moral and illustrate many a religious
emblem. Thus viewed it was the standing emblem of the rapid growth and
quick decay of evil-doers and their evil deeds. "Cito nata, cito
pereunt," was the history of the evil deeds, while the doers of them
could only say--

     "Quasi solstitialis herba fui,
      Repente exortus sum, repente occidi."

                                                         PLAUTUS.




QUINCE.


     _Nurse._

     They call for Dates and Quinces in the pastry.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act iv, sc. 4 (2).

Quince is also the name of one of the "homespun actors" in "Midsummer
Night's Dream," and is no doubt there used as a ludicrous name. The name
was anciently spelt "coynes"--

     "And many homely trees ther were
      That Peches, Coynes, and Apples bere,
      Medlers, Plommes, Perys, Chesteyns,
      Cherys, of which many oon fayne is."

                                           _Romaunt of the Rose._

The same name occurs in the old English vocabularies, as in a Nominale
of the fifteenth century, "hæc cocianus, a coventre;" in an English
vocabulary of the fourteenth century, "Hoc coccinum, a quoyne," and in
the treatise of Walter de Biblesworth, in the thirteenth century--

     "Issi troverez en ce verger
      Estang un sek Coigner (a Coyn-tre, Quince-tre)."

And there is little doubt that "Quince" is a corruption of "coynes"
which again is a corruption, not difficult to trace, of Cydonia, one of
the most ancient cities of Crete, where the Quince tree is indigenous,
and whence it derived its name of Pyrus Cydonia, or simply Cydonia. If
not indigenous elsewhere in the East, it was very soon cultivated, and
especially in Palestine. It is not yet a settled point, and probably
never will be, but there is a strong consensus of most of the best
commentators, that the _Tappuach_ of Scripture, always translated Apple,
was the Quince. It is supposed to be the fruit alluded to in the
Canticles, "As the Apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my
beloved among the sons; I sat down under his shadow with great delight,
and his fruit was sweet to my taste;" and in Proverbs, "A word fitly
spoken is like Apples of gold in pictures of silver;" and the tree is
supposed to have given its name to various places in Palestine, as
Tappuach, Beth-Tappuach, and Aen-Tappuach.

By the Greeks and Romans the Quince was held in honour as the fruit
especially sacred to Venus, who is often represented as holding a Quince
in her right hand, the gift which she received from Paris. In other
sculptures "the amorous deities pull Quinces in gardens and play with
them. For persons to send Quinces in presents, to throw them at each
other, to eat them together, were all tokens of love; to dream of
Quinces was a sign of successful love" (Rosenmuller). The custom was
handed down to mediæval times. It was at a wedding feast that "they
called for Dates and Quinces in the pastry;" and Brand quotes a curious
passage from the "Praise of Musicke," 1586 ("Romeo and Juliet" was
published in 1596)--"I come to marriages, wherein as our ancestors did
fondly, and with a kind of doting, maintaine many rites and ceremonies,
some whereof were either shadowes or abodements of a pleasant life to
come, as the eating of a Quince Peare to be a preparative of sweet and
delightful dayes between the married persons."

To understand this high repute in which the Quince was held, we must
remember that the Quince of hot countries differs somewhat from the
English Quince. With us the fruit is of a fine, handsome shape, and of a
rich golden colour when fully ripe, and of a strong scent, which is very
agreeable to many, though too heavy and overpowering to others. But the
rind is rough and woolly, and the flesh is harsh and unpalatable, and
only fit to be eaten when cooked. In hotter countries the woolly rind is
said to disappear, and the fruit can be eaten raw; and this is the case
not only in Eastern countries, but also in the parts of Tropical America
to which the tree has been introduced from Europe.

In England the Quince is probably less grown now than it was in
Shakespeare's time--yet it may well be grown as an ornamental shrub even
by those who do not appreciate its fruit. It forms a thick bush, with
large white flowers, followed in the autumn by its handsome fruit, and
requires no care. "They love shadowy, moist places;" "It delighteth to
grow on plaine and even ground and somewhat moist withall." This was
Lyte's and Gerard's experience, and I have never seen handsomer bushes
or finer fruit than I once saw on some neglected bushes that skirted a
horsepond on a farm in Kent; the trees were evidently revelling in their
state of moisture and neglect. The tree has a horticultural value as
giving an excellent stock for Pear-trees, on which it has a very
remarkable effect, for "Cabanis asserts that when certain Pears are
grafted on the Quince, their seeds yield more varieties than do the
seeds of the same variety of Pear when grafted on the wild
Pear."--DARWIN. Its economic value is considered to be but small, being
chiefly used for Marmalade,[236:1] but in Shakespeare's time, Browne
spoke of it as "the stomach's comforter, the pleasing Quince," and
Parkinson speaks highly of it, for "there is no fruit growing in the
land," he says, "that is of so many excellent uses as this, serving as
well to make many dishes of meat for the table, as for banquets, and
much more for their physical virtues, whereof to write at large is
neither convenient for me nor for this work."


FOOTNOTES:

[236:1] This was a very old use for the Quince. Wynkyn de Worde, in the
"Boke of Kervynge" (p. 266), speaks of "char de Quynce;" and John
Russell, in the "Boke of Nurture" (l. 75), speaks of "chare de Quynces."
This was Quince marmalade.




RADISH.


     (1) _Falstaff._

     When a' was naked, he was, for all the world, like a fork'd
       Radish.

                            _2nd Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 2 (333).


     (2) _Falstaff._

     If I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of Radish.

                             _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (205).

There can be no doubt that the Radish was so named because it was
considered by the Romans, for some reason unknown to us, _the_ root _par
excellence_. It was used by them, as by us, "as a stimulus before meat,
giving an appetite thereunto"--

                       "Acria circum
     Rapula, lactucæ, Radices, qualia lassum
     Pervellunt stomachum."--HORACE.

But it was cultivated, or allowed to grow, to a much larger size than we
now think desirable. Pliny speaks of Radishes weighing 40lb. each, and
others speak even of 60lb. and 100lb. But in Shakespeare's time the
Radish was very much what it is now, a pleasant salad vegetable, but of
no great value. We read, however, of Radishes being put to strange
uses. Lupton, a writer of Shakespeare's day, says: "If you would kill
snakes and adders strike them with a large Radish, and to handle adders
and snakes without harm, wash your hands in the juice of Radishes and
you may do without harm" ("Notable Things," 1586).

We read also of great attempts being made to procure oil from the seed,
but to no great effect. Hakluyt, in describing the sufficiency of the
English soil to produce everything necessary in the manufacture of
cloth, says: "So as there wanteth, if colours might be brought in and
made naturall, but onely oile; the want whereof if any man could devise
to supply at the full with anything that might become naturall in this
realme, he, whatsoever he were that might bring it about, might deserve
immortal fame in this our Commonwealth, and such a devise was offered to
Parliament and refused, because they denied to allow him a certain
liberty, some others having obtained the same before that practised to
work that effect by Radish seed, which onely made a trial of small
quantity, and that went no further to make that oile in plenty, and now
he that offered this devise was a merchant, and is dead, and withal the
devise is dead with him" ("Voiages," vol. ii.).

The Radish is not a native of Britain, but was probably introduced by
the Romans, and was well-known to the Anglo-Saxon gardener under its
present name, but with a closer approach to the Latin, being called
Rædic, or Radiolle.[237:1]

A curious testimony to the former high reputation of the Radish survives
in the "Annual Radish Feast at Levens Hall, a custom dating from time
immemorial, and supposed by some to be a relic of feudal times, held on
May 12th at Levens Hall, the seat of the Hon. Mrs. Howard, and adjoining
the high road about midway between Kendal and Milnthorpe. Tradition hath
it that the Radish feast arose out of a rivalry between the families of
Levens Hall and Dallam Tower, as to which should entertain the
Corporation with their friends and followers, and in which Levens Hall
eventually carried the palm. The feast is provided on the bowling green
in front of the Hall, where several long tables are plentifully spread
with Radishes and brown bread and butter, the tables being repeatedly
furnished with guests" ("Gardener's Chronicle").


FOOTNOTES:

[237:1] "Catholicon Anglicum."




RAISINS.


     _Clown._

     Four pounds of Prunes and as many of Raisins o' the sun.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (51).

Raisins are alluded to, if not actually named, in "1st Henry IV.," act
ii, sc. 4, when Falstaff says: "If reasons were as plentiful as
Blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I----" "It
seems that a pun underlies this, the association of reasons with
Blackberries springing out of the fact that _reasons_ sounded like
_raisins_."--EARLE, _Philology_, &c.

Bearing in mind that Raisin is a corruption of _racemus_, a bunch of
Grapes, we can understand that the word was not always applied, as it is
now, to the dried fruit, but was sometimes applied to the bunch of
Grapes as it hung ripe on the tree--

     "For no man at the firste stroke
      He may not felle down an Oke;
      Nor of the Reisins have the wyne
      Till Grapes be ripe and welle afyne."

                                           _Romaunt of the Rose._

The best dried fruit were Raisins of the sun, _i.e._, dried in the sun,
to distinguish them from those which were dried in ovens. They were, of
course, foreign fruit, and were largely imported. The process of drying
in the sun is still the method in use, at least, with "the finer kinds,
such as Muscatels, which are distinguished as much by the mode of drying
as by the variety and soil in which they are grown, the finest being
dried on the Vines before gathering, the stalk being partly cut through
when the fruits are ripe, and the leaves being removed from near the
clusters, so as to allow the full effect of the sun in ripening."

The Grape thus becomes a Raisin, but it is still further transformed
when it reaches the cook; it then becomes a Plum, for Plum pudding has,
as we all know, Raisins for its chief ingredient and certainly no Plums;
and the Christmas pie into which Jack Horner put in his thumb and pulled
out a Plum must have been a mince-pie, also made of Raisins; but how a
cooked Raisin came to be called a Plum is not recorded. In Devonshire
and Dorsetshire it undergoes a further transformation, for there Raisins
are called Figs, and a Plum pudding is called a Fig pudding.




REEDS.


     (1) _2nd Servant._

     I had as lief have a Reed that will do me no service, as a
       partizan I could not heave.

                      _Antony and Cleopatra_, act ii, sc. 7 (13).


     (2) _Arviragus._

     Fear no more the frown o' the great,
     Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
     Care no more to clothe and eat;
     To thee the Reed is as the Oak;
     The sceptre, learning, physick, must
     All follow this, and come to dust.

                                _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (264).


     (3) _Ariel._

     His tears run down his beard, like winter's drops
     From eaves of Reeds.

                                    _Tempest_, act v, sc. 1 (16).


     (4) _Ariel._

     With hair up-staring--then like Reeds, not hair--

                                     _Ibid._, act i, sc. 2 (213).


     (5) _Hotspur._

                Swift Severn's flood;
     Who then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
     Ran fearfully among the trembling Reeds.

                              _1st Henry IV_, act 1, sc. 3 (103).


     (6) _Portia._

     And speak between the change of man and boy
     With a Reed voice.

                       _Merchant of Venice_, act iii, sc. 4 (66).


     (7) _Wooer._

     In the great Lake that lies behind the Pallace
     From the far shore thick set with Reeds and Sedges.

            *       *       *       *       *

                The Rushes and the Reeds
     Had so encompast it.

                     _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 1 (71, 80).


     (8)

     To Simois' Reedy banks the red blood ran.

                                                _Lucrece_ (1437).

Reed is a general term for almost any water-loving, grassy plant, and so
it is used by Shakespeare. In the Bible it is perhaps possible to
identify some of the Reeds mentioned, with the Sugar Cane in some
places, with the Papyrus in others, and in others with the Arundo donax.
As a Biblical plant it has a special interest, not only as giving the
emblem of the tenderest mercy that will be careful even of "the bruised
Reed," but also as entering largely into the mockery of the Crucifixion:
"They put a Reed in His right hand," and "they filled a sponge full of
vinegar, and put it upon a Reed and gave Him to drink." The Reed in
these passages was probably the Arundo donax, a very elegant Reed, which
was used for many purposes in Palestine, and is a most graceful plant
for English gardens, being perfectly hardy, and growing every year from
12ft. to 14ft. in height, but very seldom flowering.[240:1]

But in Shakespeare, as in most writers, the Reed is simply the emblem of
weakness, tossed about by and bending to a superior force, and of little
or no use--"a Reed that will do me no service" (No. 1). It is also the
emblem of the blessedness of submission, and of the power that lies in
humility to outlast its oppressor--

     "Like as in tempest great,
        Where wind doth bear the stroke,
      Much safer stands the bowing Reed
        Then doth the stubborn Oak."

Shakespeare mentions but two uses to which the Reed was applied, the
thatching of houses (No. 3), and the making of Pan or Shepherd's pipes
(No. 6). Nor has he anything to say of its beauty, yet the Reeds of our
river sides (_Arundo phragmites_) are most graceful plants, especially
when they have their dark plumes of flowers, and this Milton seems to
have felt--

     "Forth flourish't thick the flustering Vine, forth crept
      The swelling Gourd, up stood the Cornie Reed
      Embattled in her field."

                                       _Paradise Lost_, book vii.


FOOTNOTES:

[240:1] I have only been able to find one record of the flowering of
Arundo donax in England--"Mem: Arundo donax in flower, 15th September,
1762, the first time I ever saw it, but this very hot dry summer has
made many exotics flower. . . . It bears a handsome tassel of
flowers."--P. COLLINSON'S _Hortus Collinsonianus_.




RHUBARB.


     _Macbeth._

     What Rhubarb, Cyme, or what purgative drug
     Would scour these English hence?

                                    _Macbeth_, act v, sc. 3 (55).

Andrew Boorde writing from Spayne in 1535, to Thomas Cromwell, says, "I
have sent to your Mastershipp the seeds of Reuberbe the whiche come
forth of Barbary in this parte ytt ys had for a grett tresure."[241:1]
But the plant does not seem to have become established and Shakespeare
could only have known the imported drug, for the Rheum was first grown
by Parkinson, though it had been described in an uncertain way both by
Lyte and Gerard. Lyte said: "Rha, as it is thought, hath great broad
leaves;" and then he says: "We have found here in the gardens of
certaine diligent herboristes that strange plant which is thought by
some to be Rha or Rhabarbum;" but from the figure it is very certain
that the plant was not a Rheum. After the time of Parkinson, it was
largely grown for the sake of producing the drug, and it is still grown
in England to some extent for the same purpose, chiefly in the
neighbourhood of Banbury; though it is doubtful whether any of the
species now grown in England are the true species that has long produced
Turkey Rhubarb. The plant is now grown most extensively as a spring
vegetable, though I cannot find when it first began to be so used.
Parkinson evidently tried it and thought well of it. "The leaves have a
fine acid taste; a syrup, therefore, made with the juice and sugar
cannot but be very effectual in dejected appetites." Yet even in 1807
Professor Martyn, the editor of "Millar's Dictionary," in a long article
on the Rhubarb, makes no mention of its culinary qualities, but in 1822
Phillips speaks of it as largely cultivated for spring tarts, and forced
for the London markets, "medical men recommending it as one of the most
cooling and wholesome tarts sent to table."

As a garden plant the Rhubarb is highly ornamental, though it is seldom
seen out of the kitchen garden, but where room can be given to them,
Rheum palmatum or Rheum officinale, will always be admired as some of
the handsomest of foliage plants. The finest species of the family is
the Himalayan Rheum nobile, but it is exceedingly difficult to grow.
Botanically the Rhubarb is allied to the Dock and Sorrel, and all the
species are herbaceous.


FOOTNOTES:

[241:1] Quoted in Furnival's forewords to Boorde's "Introduction to
Knowledge," p. 56.



RICE.


     _Clown._

     Let me see; what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast?
       Three pound of sugar, five pound of Currants, Rice----What
       will this sister of mine do with Rice?[242:1]

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (38).

Shakespeare may have had no more acquaintance with Rice than his
knowledge of the imported grain, which seems to have been long ago
introduced into England, for in a Nominale of the fifteenth century we
have "Hoc risi, indeclinabile, Ryse." And in the "Promptorium
Parvulorum," "Ryce, frute. Risia, vel risi, n. indecl. secundum quosdam,
vel risium, vel risorum granum (rizi vel granum Indicum)." Turner was
acquainted with it: "Ryse groweth plentuously in watery myddowes between
Myllane and Pavia."[242:2] And Shakespeare may have seen the plant, for
Gerard grew it in his London garden, though "the floure did not show
itselfe by reason of the injurie of our unseasonable yeare 1596." It is
a native of Africa, and was soon transferred to Europe as a nourishing
and wholesome grain, especially for invalids--"sume hoc ptisanarium
oryzæ," says the doctor to his patient in Horace, and it is mentioned
both by Dioscorides and Theophrastus. It has been occasionally grown in
England as a curiosity, but seldom comes to any perfection out-of-doors,
as it requires a mixture of moisture and heat that we cannot easily give
it. There are said to be species in the North of China growing in dry
places, which would perhaps be hardy in England and easier of
cultivation, but I am not aware that they have ever been introduced.


FOOTNOTES:

[242:1] In 1468 the price of rice was 3d. a pound = 3s. of our money
("Babee's Book," xxx.).

[242:2] "Names of Herbes," s.v. Oryza.




ROSES.


     (1) _Titania._

     Some to kill cankers in the Musk-rose buds.

                    _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 3 (3).


     (2) _Titania._

     And stick Musk-Roses in thy sleek, smooth head.

                                      _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (3).


     (3) _Julia._

     The air hath starved the Roses in her cheeks.

                  _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, act iv, sc. 4 (159).


     (4) _Song._

     There will we make our beds of Roses
     And a thousand fragrant posies.

                   _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iii, sc. 1 (19).


     (5) _Autolycus._

     Gloves as sweet as Damask Roses.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (222).


     (6) _Olivia._

     Cæsario, by the Roses of the spring,
     By maidhood, honour, truth, and everything,
     I love thee so.

                           _Twelfth Night_, act iii, sc. 1 (161).


     (7) _Diana._

                  When you have our Roses,
     You barely leave us thorns to prick ourselves
     And mock us with our bareness.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act iv, sc. 2 (18).


     (8) _Lord._

     Let one attend him with a silver basin
     Full of Rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers.

                    _Taming of the Shrew_, Induction, sc. 1 (55).


     (9) _Petruchio._

         I'll say she looks as clear
     As morning Roses newly wash'd with dew.

                                    _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 1 (173).


     (10) _Tyrrell._

     Their lips were four red Roses on a stalk,
     Which in their summer beauty kiss'd each other.

                               _Richard III_, act iv, sc. 3 (12).


     (11) _Friar._

     The Roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade
     To paly ashes.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act iv, sc. 1 (99).


     (12) _Romeo._

     Remnants of packthread and old cakes of Roses
     Were thinly scatter'd, to make up a show.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 1 (47).


     (13) _Hamlet._

     With two Provincial Roses on my razed shoes.

                                  _Hamlet_, act iii, sc. 2 (287).


     (14) _Laertes._

           O Rose of May,
     Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 5 (157).


     (15) _Duke._

     For women are as Roses, whose fair flower
     Being once display'd doth fall that very hour.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act ii, sc. 4 (39).


     (16) _Constance._

     Of Nature's gifts, thou may'st with Lilies boast,
     And with the half-blown Rose.

                               _King John_, act iii, sc. 1 (153).


     (17) _Queen._

     But soft, but see, or rather do not see,
     My fair Rose wither.

                                  _Richard II_, act v, sc. 1 (7).


     (18) _Hotspur._

     To put down Richard, that sweet lovely Rose,
     And plant this Thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke.

                              _1st Henry IV_, act i, sc. 3 (175).


     (19) _Hostess._

     Your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any Rose.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (27).


     (20) _York._

     Then will I raise aloft the milk-white Rose,
     With whose sweet smell the air shall be perfumed.

                              _2nd Henry VI_, act i, sc. 1 (254).


     (21) _Don John._

     I had rather be a canker in a hedge than a Rose in his grace.

                     _Much Ado About Nothing_, act i, sc. 3 (27).


     (22) _Theseus._

     But earthlier happy is the Rose distill'd
     Than that which withering on the virgin Thorn
     Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.[244:1]

                    _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act i, sc. 1 (76).


     (23) _Lysander._

     How now, my love! Why is your cheek so pale?
     How chance the Roses there do fade so fast?

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act i, sc. 1 (128).


     (24) _Titania._

     The seasons alter: hoary-headed frosts
     Fall in the fresh lap of the crimson Rose.

                                    _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 1 (107).


     (25) _Thisbe._

     Of colour like the red Rose on triumphant Brier.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 1 (95).


     (26) _Biron._

     Why should I joy in any abortive mirth?
     At Christmas I no more desire a Rose
     Than wish a snow in May's new-fangled mirth,
     But like of each thing that in season grows.[245:1]

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act i, sc. 1 (105).


     (27) _King_ (reads).

     So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
     To those fresh morning drops upon the Rose.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 3 (26).


     (28) _Boyet._

     Blow like sweet Roses in this summer air.

     _Princess._

     How blow? how blow? Speak to be understood.

     _Boyet._

     Fair ladies mask'd are Roses in their bud;
     Dismask'd, their damask sweet commixture shown,
     Are angels veiling clouds, or Roses blown.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 2 (293).


     (29) _Touchstone._

     He that sweetest Rose will find,
     Must find Love's prick and Rosalind.

                          _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (117).


     (30) _Countess._

                          This Thorn
     Doth to our Rose of youth rightly belong.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act i, sc. 3 (135).


     (31) _Bastard._

                     My face so thin,
     That in mine ear I durst not stick a Rose.

                                 _King John_, act i, sc. 1 (141).


     (32) _Antony._

               Tell him he wears the Rose
     Of youth upon him.

                    _Antony and Cleopatra_, act iii, sc. 13 (20).


     (33) _Cleopatra._

     Against the blown Rose may they stop their nose
     That kneel'd unto the buds.

                                                    _Ibid._ (39).


     (34) _Boult._

     For flesh and blood, sir, white and red, you shall see a Rose;
       and she were a Rose indeed!

                                  _Pericles_, act iv, sc. 6 (37).


     (35) _Gower._

     Even her art sisters the natural Roses.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, chorus (7).
                                           (_See_ CHERRY, No. 5.)


     (36) _Juliet._

     What's in a name? That which we call a Rose
     By any other name would smell as sweet.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 2 (43).


     (37) _Ophelia._

     The expectancy and Rose of the fair state.

                                  _Hamlet_, act iii, sc. 1 (160).


     (38) _Hamlet._

     Such an act . . . takes off the Rose
     From the fair forehead of an innocent love,
     And sets a blister there.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 4 (40).


     (39) _Othello._

          When I have pluck'd the Rose,
     I cannot give it vital growth again,
     It needs must wither. I'll smell it on the tree.

                                    _Othello_, act v, sc. 2 (13).


     (40) _Timon._

     Rose-cheeked youth.

                           _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (86).


     (41) _Othello._

     Thou young and Rose-lipp'd cherubim.

                                   _Othello_, act iv, sc. 2 (63).


     (42)

     Roses, their sharp spines being gone,
     Not royall in their smells alone
     But in their hue.

                               _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Introd. song.


     (43) _Emilia._

                   Of all flowres
     Methinks a Rose is best.

     _Woman._

                              Why, gentle madam?

     _Emilia._

     It is the very Embleme of a maide.
     For when the west wind courts her gently,
     How modestly she blows, and paints the Sun
     With her chaste blushes? When the north winds neere her,
     Rude and impatient, then, like Chastity,
     Shee locks her beauties in her bud againe,
     And leaves him to base Briers.

                                    _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 2 (160).


     (44) _Wooer._

     With cherry lips and cheekes of Damaske Roses.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 2 (95).


     (45) _See_ NETTLES, No. 13.


     (46)

     Roses have thorns and silver fountains mud,
     And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

                                                   _Sonnet_ xxxv.


     (47)

     The Rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
     For that sweet odour that doth in it live.
     The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye
     As the perfumed tincture of the Roses,
     Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly
     When summer's breath their masked buds discloses;
     But, for their virtue only is their show,
     They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade;
     Die to themselves--sweet Roses do not so;
     Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.

                                                    _Sonnet_ liv.


     (48)

     Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
     Roses of shadow, since his Rose is true?

                                                   _Ibid._ lxvii.


     (49)

     Shame, like a canker in the fragrant Rose,
     Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name.

                                                     _Ibid._ xcv.


     (50)

     Nor did I wonder at the Lily's white,
     Nor praise the deep vermilion of the Rose.

                                                  _Ibid._ xcviii.


     (51)

     The Roses fearfully in thorns did stand,
     One blushing shame, another white despair;
     A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both
     And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath.

                                                    _Ibid._ xcix.


     (52)

     I have seen Roses damask'd, red and white,
     But no such Roses see I in her cheeks.

                                                    _Ibid._ cxxx.


     (53)

     More white and red than dove and Roses are.

                                         _Venus and Adonis_ (10).


     (54)

     What though the Rose has prickles? yet 'tis plucked.

                                                   _Ibid._ (574).


     (55)

     Who, when he lived, his breath and beauty set
     Gloss on the Rose, smell to the Violet.

                                                   _Ibid._ (935).


     (56)

     Their silent war of Lilies and of Roses.

                                                  _Lucrece_ (71).


     (57)

     O how her fear did make her colour rise,
     First red as Roses that on lawn we lay,
     Then white as lawn, the Roses took away.

                                                   _Ibid._ (257).


     (58)

     That even for anger makes the Lily pale,
     And the red Rose blush at her own disgrace.

                                                   _Ibid._ (477).


     (59)

     I know what Thorns the growing Rose defends.

                                                   _Ibid._ (492).


     (60)

     Rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase.

                                         _Venus and Adonis._ (3).


     (61)

                                A sudden pale,
     Like lawn being spread upon the blushing Rose,
     Usurps her cheek.

                                                   _Ibid._ (589).


     (62)

     That beauty's Rose might never die.

                                                      _Sonnet_ i.


     (63)

     Nothing this wide universe I call
     Save thou, my Rose; in it thou art my all.

                                                     _Ibid._ cix.


     (64)

                    Rosy lips and cheeks
     Within time's bending sickle's compass come.

                                                    _Ibid._ cxvi.


     (65)

     Sweet Rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded,
     Pluck'd in the bud, and vaded in the spring!

                                  _The Passionate Pilgrim_ (131).

In addition to these many passages, there are perhaps thirty more in
which the Rose is mentioned with reference to the Red and White Roses of
the houses of York and Lancaster. To quote these it would be necessary
to extract an entire act, which is very graphic, but too long. I must,
therefore, content myself with the beginning and the end of the chief
scene, and refer the reader who desires to see it _in extenso_ to "1st
Henry VI.," act ii, sc. 4. The scene is in the Temple Gardens, and
Plantagenet and Somerset thus begin the fatal quarrel--

     _Plantagenet._

     Let him that is a true-born gentleman
     And stands upon the honour of his birth,
     If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
     From off this Brier pluck a White Rose with me.

     _Somerset._

     Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
     But dare maintain the party of the truth,
     Pluck a Red Rose from off this Thorn with me.

And Warwick's wise conclusion on the whole matter is--

                            This brawl to-day,
     Grown to this faction in the Temple Garden,
     Shall send, between the Red Rose and the White,
     A thousand souls to death and deadly night.

There are further allusions to the same Red and White Roses in "3rd
Henry VI.," act i, sc. 1 and 2, act ii, sc. 5, and act v, sc. 1; "1st
Henry VI.," act iv, sc. 1; and "Richard III.," act v, sc. 4.

There is no flower so often mentioned by Shakespeare as the Rose, and he
would probably consider it the queen of flowers, for it was so deemed in
his time. "The Rose doth deserve the cheefest and most principall place
among all flowers whatsoever, being not onely esteemed for his beautie,
vertues, and his fragrant and odoriferous smell, but also because it is
the honore and ornament of our English Scepter."--GERARD. Yet the
kingdom of the Rose even then was not undisputed; the Lily was always
its rival (_see_ LILY), for thus sang Walter de Biblesworth in the
thirteenth century--

     "En ço verger troveroums les flurs
      Des queus issunt les doux odours (swote smel)
      Les herbes ausi pur medicine
      La flur de Rose, la flur de Liz (lilie)
      Liz vaut per royne, Rose pur piz."

But a little later the great Scotch poet Dunbar, who lived from 1460 to
1520, that is, a century before Shakespeare, asserted the dignity of the
Rose as even superior to the Thistle of Scotland.

     "Nor hold none other flower in sic dainty
        As the fresh Rose of colour red and white;
      For if thou dost, hurt is thine honesty,
        Considering that no flower is so perfite,
        So full of virtue, pleasaunce, and delight,
      So full of blissful angelic beauty,
      Imperial birth, honour, and dignity."

Volumes have been written, and many more may still be written, on the
delights of the Rose, but my present business is only with the Roses of
Shakespeare. In many of the above passages the Rose is simply the emblem
of all that is loveliest and brightest and most beautiful upon earth,
yet always with the underlying sentiment that even the brightest has its
dark side, as the Rose has its thorns; that the worthiest objects of our
earthly love are at the very best but short-lived; that the most
beautiful has on it the doom of decay and death. These were the lessons
which even the heathen writers learned from their favourite Roses, and
which Christian writers of all ages loved to learn also, not from the
heathen writers, but from the beautiful flowers themselves. "The Rose is
a beautiful flower," said St. Basil, "but it always fills me with sorrow
by reminding me of my sins, for which the earth was doomed to bear
thorns." And it would be easy to fill a volume, and it would not be a
cheerless volume, with beautiful and expressive passages from poets,
preachers, and other authors, who have taken the Rose to point the moral
of the fleeting nature of all earthly things. Herrick in four lines
tells the whole--

     "Gather ye Roses while ye may
        Old time is still a-flying,
      And the same flower that smiles to-day,
        To-morrow will be dying."

But Shakespeare's notices of the Rose are not all emblematical and
allegorical. He mentions these distinct sorts of Roses--the Red Rose,
the White Rose, the Musk Rose, the Provençal Rose, the Damask Rose, the
Variegated Rose, the Canker Rose, and the Sweet Briar.

The Canker Rose is the wild Dog Rose, and the name is sometimes applied
to the common Red Poppy.

The Red Rose and the Provençal Rose (No. 13) are no doubt the same, and
are what we now call R. centifolia, or the Cabbage Rose; a Rose that has
been supposed to be a native of the South of Europe, but Dr. Lindley
preferred "to place its native country in Asia, because it has been
found wild by Bieberstein with double flowers, on the eastern side of
Mount Caucasus, whither it is not likely to have escaped from a
garden."[250:1] We do not know when it was introduced into England, but
it was familiar to Chaucer--

     "The savour of the Roses swote
      Me smote right to the herté rote,
      As I hadde alle embawmed be.

             *       *       *       *       *

      Of Roses there were grete wone,
      So faire were never in Rone."

_i.e._, in Provence, at the mouth of the Rhone. For beauty in shape and
exquisite fragrance, I consider this Rose to be still unrivalled; but it
is not a fashionable Rose, and is usually found in cottage gardens, or
perhaps in some neglected part of gardens of more pretensions. I believe
it is considered too loose in shape to satisfy the floral critics of
exhibition flowers, and it is only a summer Rose, and so contrasts
unfavourably with the Hybrid Perpetuals. Still, it is a delightful Rose,
delightful to the eye, delightful for its fragrance, and most delightful
from its associations.

The White Rose of York (No. 20) has never been satisfactorily
identified. It was clearly a cultivated Rose, and by some is supposed to
have been only the wild White Rose (_R. arvensis_) grown in a garden.
But it is very likely to have been the Rosa alba, which was a favourite
in English gardens in Shakespeare's time, and was very probably
introduced long before his time, for it is the double variety of the
wild White Rose, and Gerard says of it: "The double White Rose doth grow
wilde in many hedges of Lancashire in great abundance, even as Briers do
with us in these southerly parts, especially in a place of the countrey
called Leyland, and in a place called Roughford, not far from Latham."
It was, therefore, not a new gardener's plant in his time, as has been
often stated. I have little doubt that this is the White Rose of York;
it is not the R. alba of Dr. Lindley's monograph, but the double variety
of the British R. arvensis.

The White Rose has a very ancient interest for Englishmen, for "long
before the brawl in the Temple Gardens, the flower had been connected
with one of the most ancient names of our island. The elder Pliny, in
discussing the etymology of the word Albion, suggests that the land may
have been so named from the White Roses which abounded in it--'Albion
insula sic dicta ab albis rupibus, quas mare alluit, vel ob rosas
albas quibus abundat.' Whatever we may think of the etymological
skill displayed in the suggestion . . . we look with almost a new
pleasure on the Roses of our own hedgerows, when regarding them as
descended in a straight line from the 'rosas albas' of those far-off
summers."--_Quarterly Review_, vol. cxiv.

The Damask Rose (No. 5) remains to us under the same name, telling its
own history. There can be little doubt that the Rose came from Damascus,
probably introduced into Europe by the Crusaders or some of the early
travellers in the East, who speak in glowing terms of the beauties of
the gardens of Damascus. So Sir John Mandeville describes the city--"In
that Cytee of Damasce, there is gret plentee of Welles, and with in the
Cytee and with oute, ben many fayre Gardynes and of dyverse frutes. Non
other Cytee is not lyche in comparison to it, of fayre Gardynes, and of
fayre desportes."--_Voiage and Travaile_, cap. xi. And in our own day
the author of "Eöthen" described the same gardens as he saw them: "High,
high above your head, and on every side all down to the ground, the
thicket is hemmed in and choked up by the interlacing boughs that droop
with the weight of Roses, and load the slow air with their damask
breath. There are no other flowers. The Rose trees which I saw were all
of the kind we call 'damask;' they grow to an immense height and
size."--_Eöthen_, ch. xxvii. It was not till long after the Crusades
that the Damask Rose was introduced into England, for Hakluyt in 1582
says: "In time of memory many things have been brought in that were not
here before, as the Damaske Rose by Doctour Linaker, King Henry the
Seventh and King Henrie the Eight's Physician."--_Voiages_, vol.
ii.[252:1]

As an ornamental Rose the Damask Rose is still a favourite, though
probably the real typical Rosa Damascena is very seldom seen--but it has
been the parent of a large number of hybrid Roses, which the most
critical Rosarian does not reject. The whole family are very
sweet-scented, so that "sweet as Damask Roses" was a proverb, and Gerard
describes the common Damaske as "in other respects like the White Rose;
the especiale difference consisteth in the colour and smell of the
floures, for these are of a pale red colour and of a more pleasant
smell, and fitter for meate or medicine."

The Musk Roses (No. 1) were great favourites with our forefathers. This
Rose (_R. moschata_) is a native of the North of Africa and of Spain,
and has been also found in Nepaul. Hakluyt gives the exact date of its
introduction. "The turkey cockes and hennes," he says, "were brought
about fifty yeres past, the Artichowe in time of King Henry the Eight,
and of later times was procured out of Italy the Muske Rose plant, the
Plumme called the Perdigwena, and two kindes more by the Lord Cromwell
after his travel."--_Voiages_, vol. ii. It is a long straggling Rose,
bearing bunches of single flowers, and is very seldom seen except
against the walls of some old houses. "You remember the great bush at
the corner of the south wall just by the blue drawing-room windows; that
is the old Musk Rose, Shakespeare's Musk Rose, which is dying out
through the kingdom now."--_My Lady Ludlow_, by Mrs. Gaskell. But
wherever it is grown it is highly prized, not so much for the beauty as
for the delicate scent of its flowers. The scent is unlike the scent of
any other Rose, or of any other flower, but it is very pleasant, and not
overpowering; and the plant has the peculiarity that, like the Sweet
Briar, but unlike other Roses, it gives out its scent of its own accord
and unsought, and chiefly in the evening, so that if the window of a
bedroom near which this rose is trained is left open, the scent will
soon be perceived in the room. This peculiarity did not escape the
notice of Lord Bacon. "Because the breath of flowers," he says, "is far
sweeter in the air (when it comes and goes like the warbling of music)
than in the hand, therefore nothing is more fit for that delight than to
know what be the flowers and plants that do best perfume the air. Roses,
damask and red, are fast flowers of their smells, so that you may walk
by a whole row of them, and find nothing of their sweetness, yea, though
it be in a morning's dew. Bays, likewise, yield no smell as they grow,
Rosemary little, nor Sweet Marjoram; that which above all others yields
the sweetest smell in the air is the Violet, especially the white double
Violet which comes twice a year, about the middle of April, and about
Bartholomew-tide; next to that is the Musk-rose."--_Essay of Gardens._

The Roses mentioned in Nos. 34, 51, and 52 as a mixture of red and white
must have been the mottled or variegated Roses, commonly called the York
and Lancaster Roses;[253:1] these are old Roses, and very probably
quite as old as the sixteenth century. There are two varieties: in one
each petal is blotched with white and pink; this is the R. versicolor of
Parkinson, and is a variety of R. Damascena; in the other most of the
petals are white, but with a mixture of pink petals; this is the Rosa
mundi or Gloria mundi, and is a variety of R. Gallica.

These, with the addition of the Eglantine or Sweet Brier (_see_
EGLANTINE), are the only Roses that Shakespeare directly names, and they
were the chief sorts grown in his time, but not the only sorts; and to
what extent Roses were cultivated in Shakespeare's time we have a
curious proof in the account of the grant of Ely Place, in Holborn, the
property of the Bishops of Ely. "The tenant was Sir Christopher Hatton
(Queen Elizabeth's handsome Lord Chancellor) to whom the greater portion
of the house was let in 1576 for the term of twenty-one years. The rent
was a Red Rose, ten loads of hay, and ten pounds per annum; Bishop Cox,
on whom this hard bargain was forced by the Queen, reserving to himself
and his successors the right of walking in the gardens, and gathering
twenty bushels of Roses yearly."--CUNNINGHAM. We have records also of
the garden cultivation of the Rose in London long before Shakespeare's
time. "In the Earl of Lincoln's garden in Holborn in 24 Edw. I., the
only flowers named are Roses, of which a quantity was sold, producing
three shillings and twopence."--HUDSON TURNER.

My space forbids me to enter more largely into any account of these old
species, or to say much of the many very interesting points in the
history of the Rose, but two or three points connected with
Shakespeare's Roses must not be passed over. First, its name. He says
through Juliet (No. 36) that the Rose by any other name would smell as
sweet. But the whole world is against him. Rose was its old Latin name
corrupted from its older Greek name, and the same name, with slight and
easily-traced differences, has clung to it in almost all European
countries.

Shakespeare also mentions its uses in Rose-water and Rose-cakes, and it
was only natural to suppose that a flower so beautiful and so sweet was
meant by Nature to be of great use to man. Accordingly we find that
wonderful virtues were attributed to it,[255:1] and an especial virtue
was attributed to the dewdrops that settled on the full-blown Rose.
Shakespeare alludes to these in Nos. 22 and 27; and from these were made
cosmetics only suited to the most extravagant.

     "The water that did spryng from ground
        She would not touch at all,
      But washt her hands with dew of Heaven
        That on sweet Roses fall."

      _The Lamentable Fall of Queen Ellinor._--Roxburghe Ballads.

And as with their uses, so it was also with their history. Such a flower
must have a high origin, and what better origin than the pretty mediæval
legend told to us by Sir John Mandeville?--"At Betheleim is the Felde
_Floridus_, that is to seyne, the _Feld florisched_; for als moche as a
fayre mayden was blamed with wrong and sclaundered, for whiche cause
sche was demed to the Dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the
whiche she was ladd; and as the Fyre began to brent about hire, sche
made hire preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was not gylty
of that Synne, that He wolde helpe hire and make it to be knowen to alle
men, of his mercyfulle grace. And when sche hadde thus seyd, sche
entered into the Fuyr; and anon was the Fuyr quenched and oute; and the
Brondes that weren brennynge becomen red Roseres, and the Brondes that
weren not kyndled becomen white Roseres, full of Roses. And these weren
the first Roseres and Roses, both white and rede, that evere ony man
saughe."--_Voiage and Travaile_, cap. vi.

With this pretty legend I may well conclude the account of Shakespeare's
Roses, commending, however, M. Biron's sensible remarks on unseasonable
flowers (No. 26) to those who estimate the beauty of a flower or
anything else in proportion to its being produced out of its natural
season.


FOOTNOTES:

[244:1] This was a familiar idea with the old writers: "Therefore,
sister Bud, grow wise by my folly, and know it is far greater happinesse
to lose thy virginity in a good hand than to wither on the stalk whereon
thou growest."--THOMAS FULLER, _Antheologia_, p. 32. (See also Chester's
"Cantoes," No. 13, p. 137, New Shak. Soc.)

[245:1] "Non vivunt contra naturam, qui hieme concupiscunt
rosas?"--SENECA, _Ep._ 122.

[250:1] We have an old record of the existence of large double Roses in
Asia by Herodotus, who tells us, that in a part of Macedonia were the
so-called gardens of Midas, in which grew native Roses, each one having
sixty petals, and of a scent surpassing all others ("Hist.," viii. 138).

[252:1] The Damask Rose was imported into England at an earlier date but
probably only as a drug. It is mentioned in a "Bill of Medicynes
furnished for the use of Edward I., 1306-7: 'Item pro aqua rosata de
Damasc,' lb. xl, iiii_li._"--_Archæological Journal_, vol. xiv. 271.

[253:1] The York and Lancaster Roses were a frequent subject for the
epigram writers; and gave occasion for one of the happiest of English
epigrams. On presenting a White Rose to a Lancastrian lady--

     "If this fair Rose offend thy sight,
        It in thy bosom wear;
      'Twill blush to find itself less white,
        And turn Lancastrian there."

[255:1] "A Rose beside his beauty is a cure."--G. HERBERT, _Providence_.




ROSEMARY.


     (1) _Perdita._

                        Reverend Sirs,
     For you there's Rosemary and Rue; these keep
     Seeming and savour all the winter long;
     Grace and remembrance be to you both.[256:1]

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (73).


     (2) _Bawd._

     Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with Rosemary and bays.

                                 _Pericles_, act iv, sc. 6 (159).


     (3) _Edgar._

     Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices
     Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms
     Pins, wooden pricks, and sprigs of Rosemary.

                                      _Lear_, act ii, sc. 3 (14).


     (4) _Ophelia._

     There's Rosemary, that's for remembrance; pray, love, remember.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 5 (175).


     (5) _Nurse._

     Doth not Rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?

     _Romeo._

     Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.

     _Nurse._

     Ah, mocker! that's the dog's name; R is for the ----.
     No; I know it begins with some other
     letter:--and she hath the prettiest sententious
     of it, of you and Rosemary, that it would do you
     good to hear it.

                         _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 4 (219).


     (6) _Friar._

     Dry up your tears, and stick your Rosemary
     On this fair corse.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 5 (79).

The Rosemary is not a native of Britain, but of the sea-coast of the
South of Europe, where it is very abundant. It was very early introduced
into England, and is mentioned in an Anglo-Saxon Herbarium under its
Latin name of Ros marinus, and is there translated by Bothen, _i.e._
Thyme; also in an Anglo-Saxon Vocabulary of the eleventh century, where
it is translated Feld-madder and Sun-dew. In these places our present
plant may or may not be meant, but there is no doubt that it is the one
referred to in an ancient English poem of the fourteenth century, on the
virtues of herbs, published in Wright and Halliwell's "Reliquiæ
Antiquæ." The account of "The Gloriouse Rosemaryne" is long, but the
beginning and ending are worth quoting--

     "This herbe is callit Rosemaryn
      Of vertu that is gode and fyne;
      But alle the vertues tell I ne cane,
      No I trawe no erthely man.

             *       *       *       *       *

      Of thys herbe telles Galiene
      That in hys contree was a quene,
      Gowtus and Crokyt as he hath tolde,
      And eke sexty yere olde;
      Sor and febyl, where men hyr sey
      Scho semyth wel for to dey;
      Of Rosmaryn scho toke sex pow̄de,
      And grownde hyt wel in a stownde,
      And bathed hir threyes everi day,
      Nine mowthes, as I herde say,
      And afterwarde anoynitte wel hyr hede
      With good bame as I rede;
      Away fel alle that olde flessche,
      And yow̄ge i-sprong tender and nessche;
      So fresshe to be scho then began
      Scho coveytede couplede be to man." (Vol. i, 196).

We can now scarcely understand the high favour in which Rosemary was
formerly held; we are accustomed to see it neglected, or only tolerated
in some corner of the kitchen garden, and not often tolerated there. But
it was very different in Shakespeare's time, when it was in high favour
for its evergreen leaves and fine aromatic scent, remaining a long time
after picking, so long, indeed, that both leaves and scent were almost
considered everlasting. This was its great charm, and so Spenser spoke
of it as "the cheerful Rosemarie" and "refreshing Rosemarine," and good
Sir Thomas More had a great affection for it. "As for Rosemarine," he
said, "I lett it run alle over my garden walls, not onlie because my
bees love it, but because tis the herb sacred to remembrance, and
therefore to friendship; whence a sprig of it hath a dumb language that
maketh it the chosen emblem at our funeral wakes and in our buriall
grounds." And Parkinson gives a similar account of its popularity as a
garden plant: "Being in every woman's garden, it were sufficient but to
name it as an ornament among other sweet herbs and flowers in our
gardens. In this our land, where it hath been planted in noblemen's and
great men's gardens against brick walls, and there continued long, it
riseth up in time unto a very great height, with a great and woody stem
of that compasse that, being cloven out into boards, it hath served to
make lutes or such like instruments, and here with us carpenters' rules
and to divers others purposes." It was the favourite evergreen wherever
the occasion required an emblem of constancy and perpetual remembrance,
such especially as weddings and funerals, at both of which it was
largely used; and so says Herrick of "The Rosemarie Branch"--

     "Grow for two ends, it matters not at all,
      Be't for my bridall or my buriall."

Its use at funerals was very widespread, for Laurembergius records a
pretty custom in use in his day, 1631, at Frankfort: "Is mos apud nos
retinetur, dum cupresso humile, vel rore marino, non solum coronamus
funera jamjam ducenda, sed et iis appendimus ex iisdem herbis litteras
collectas, significatrices nominis ejus quæ defuncta est. Nam in
puellarum funeribus hæc fere fieri solent" ("Horticulturæ," cap. vj.).

Its use at weddings is pleasantly told in the old ballad of "The Bride's
Good-morrow"--

     "The house is drest and garnisht for your sake
        With flowers gallant and green;
      A solemn feast your comely cooks do ready make,
        Where all your friends will be seen:
      Young men and maids do ready stand
      With sweet Rosemary in their hand--
        A perfect token of your virgin's life.
      To wait upon you they intend
      Unto the church to make an end:
        And God make thee a joyfull wedded wife."

                                     _Roxburghe Ballads_, vol. i.

It probably is one of the most lasting of evergreens after being
gathered, though we can scarcely credit the statement recorded by
Phillips that "it is the custom in France to put a branch of Rosemary in
the hands of the dead when in the coffin, and we are told by Valmont
Bomare, in his 'Histoire Naturelle,' that when the coffins have been
opened after several years, the plant has been found to have vegetated
so much that the leaves have covered the corpse." These were the
general and popular uses of the Rosemary, but it was of high repute as a
medicine, and still holds a place, though not so high as formerly, in
the "Pharmacopœia." "Rosemary," says Parkinson, "is almost of as
great use as Bayes, both for inward and outward remedies, and as well
for civill as physicall purposes--inwardly for the head and heart,
outwardly for the sinews and joynts; for civile uses, as all do know, at
weddings, funerals, &c., to bestow among friends; and the physicall are
so many that you might as well be tyred in the reading as I in the
writing, if I should set down all that might be said of it."

With this high character we may well leave this good, old-fashioned
plant, merely noting that the name is popularly but erroneously supposed
to mean the Rose of Mary. It has no connection with either Rose or Mary,
but is the Ros marinus, or Ros Maris (as in Ovid--

     "Ros maris, et laurus, nigraque myrtus olent;"

                                      _De Arte Aman._, iii, 390),

the plant that delights in the sea-spray; and so the old spelling was
Rosmarin. Gower says of the Star Alpheta--

     "His herbe proper is Rosmarine;"

                                        _Conf. Aman._, lib. sept.

a spelling which Shenstone adopted--

     "And here trim Rosmarin that whilom crowned
      The daintiest garden of the proudest peer."

It was also sometimes called Guardrobe, being "put into chests and
presses among clothes, to preserve them from mothes and other vermine."


FOOTNOTES:

[256:1] Grace was symbolized by the Rue, or Herb of Grace, and
remembrance by the Rosemary.




RUE.


     (1) _Perdita._

     For you there's Rosemary and Rue.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (74).
                                         (_See_ ROSEMARY, No. 1.)


     (2) _Gardener._

     Here did she fall a tear; here in this place
     I'll set a bank of Rue, sour Herb of Grace:
     Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall beseen,
     In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

                              _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 4 (104).


     (3) _Antony._

     Grace grow where these drops fall.

                      _Antony and Cleopatra_, act iv, sc. 2 (38).


     (4) _Ophelia._

     There's Rue for you; and here's some for me: we may call it
       Herb-grace o' Sundays: O, you must wear your Rue with a
       difference.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 5 (181).


     (5) _Clown._

     Indeed, sir, she was the Sweet Marjoram of the salad, or
       rather the Herb of Grace.

     _Lafeu._

     They are not salad-herbs, you knave, they are nose-herbs.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act iv, sc. 5 (17).

Comparing (2) and (3) together, there is little doubt that the same herb
is alluded to in both; and it is, perhaps, alluded to, though not
exactly named, in the following:

     _Friar Laurence._

     In man, as well as herbs, grace and rude will.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 3 (28).

Shakespeare thus gives us the two names for the same plant, Rue and Herb
of Grace, and though at first sight there seems to be little or no
connection between the two names, yet really they are so closely
connected, that the one name was derived from, or rather suggested by,
the other. Rue is the English form of the Greek and Latin _ruta_, a word
which has never been explained, and in its earlier English form of
_rude_ came still nearer to the Latin original. But _ruth_ was the
English word for sorrow and remorse, and _to rue_ was to be sorry for
anything, or to have pity;[260:1] we still say a man will rue a
particular action, _i.e._, be sorry for it; and so it was a natural
thing to say that a plant which was so bitter, and had always borne the
name _Rue_ or _Ruth_, must be connected with repentance. It was,
therefore, the Herb of Repentance, and this was soon transformed into
the Herb of Grace (in 1838 Loudon said, "It is to this day called Ave
Grace in Sussex"), repentance being the chief sign of grace; and it is
not unlikely that this idea was strengthened by the connection of Rue
with the bitter herbs of the Bible, though it is only once mentioned,
and then with no special remark, except as a tithable garden herb,
together with Anise and Cummin.

The Rue, like Lavender and Rosemary, is a native of the more barren
parts of the coasts of the Mediterranean, and has been found on Mount
Tabor, but it was one of the earliest occupants of the English Herb
garden. It is very frequently mentioned in the Saxon Leech Books, and
entered so largely into their prescriptions that it must have been very
extensively grown. Its strong aromatic smell,[261:1] and bitter taste,
with the blistering quality of the leaves, soon established its
character as almost a heal-all.

     "Rew bitter a worthy gres (herb)
      Mekyl of myth and vertu is."

                                           _Stockholm MS._, 1305.

Even beasts were supposed to have discovered its virtues, so that
weasels were gravely said, and this by such men as Pliny, to eat Rue
when they were preparing themselves for a fight with rats and serpents.
Its especial virtue was an eye-salve, a use which Milton did not
overlook--

                              "To nobler sights
     Michael from Adam's eyes the filme removed
     Which that false fruit which promised clearer sight
     Had bred; then purged with Euphrasie and Rue
     The visual nerve, for he had much to see:"

                                       _Paradise Lost_, book xi.;

and which was more fully stated in the old lines of the Schola Salerni--

     "Nobilis est Ruta quia lumina reddit acuta;
      Auxilio rutæ, vir lippe, videbis acute;
      Cruda comesta recens oculos Caligine purgat;
      Ruta facit castum, dat lumen, et ingerit astum;
      Cocta facit Ruta et de pollicibus loca tuta."

After reading this high moral and physical character of the herb, it is
rather startling to find that "It is believed that if stolen from a
neighbour's garden it would prosper better." It was, however, an old
belief--

     "They sayen eke stolen sede is butt the bette."

                     _Palladius on Husbandrie_ (c. 1420) iv, 269.

"It is a common received opinion that Rue will grow the better if it
bee filtched out of another man's garden."--HOLLAND'S _Pliny_, xix. 7.

As other medicines were introduced the Rue declined in favour, so that
Parkinson spoke of it with qualified praise--"Without doubt it is a most
wholesom herb, although bitter and strong. Some do rip up a bead-rowl of
the virtues of Rue, . . . but beware of the too-frequent or overmuch use
therof." And Dr. Daubeny says of it, "It is a powerful stimulant and
narcotic, but not much used in modern practise."

As a garden plant, the Rue forms a pretty shrub for a rock-work, if
somewhat attended to, so as to prevent its becoming straggling and
untidy. The delicate green and peculiar shape of the leaves give it a
distinctive character, which forms a good contrast to other plants.


FOOTNOTES:

[260:1]

     "Rewe on my child, that of thyn gentilnesse
      Rewest on every sinful in destresse."

                                CHAUCER, _The Man of Lawes Tale_.

[261:1] "Ranke-smelling Rue."--SPENSER, _Muiopotmos_.




RUSH.


     (1) _Rosalind._

     He taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of
       Rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

                          _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (388).


     (2) _Phœbe._

                 Lean but on a Rush,
     The cicatrice and capable impressure
     Thy palm some moment keeps.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 5 (22).


     (3) _Clown._

     As fit as Tib's Rush for Tom's forefinger.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act ii, sc. 2 (24).


     (4) _Romeo._

                 Let wantons light of heart
     Tickle the senseless Rushes with their heels.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act i, sc. 4 (35).


     (5) _Dromio of Syracuse._

     Some devils ask but the parings of one's nail,
     A Rush, a hair, a drop of blood, a pin,
     A Nut, a Cherry-stone.

                          _Comedy of Errors_, act iv, sc. 3 (72).


     (6) _Bastard._

                 A Rush will be a beam
     To hang thee on.

                                _King John_, act iv, sc. 3 (129).


     (7) _1st Groom._

     More Rushes, more Rushes.

                                _2nd Henry IV_, act v, sc. 5 (1).


     (8) _Eros._

     He's walking in the garden--thus; and spurns
     The Rush that lies before him.

                     _Antony and Cleopatra_, act iii, sc. 5 (17).


     (9) _Othello._

     Man but a Rush against Othello's breast,
     And he retires.

                                   _Othello_, act v, sc. 2 (270).


     (10) _Grumio._

     Is supper ready, the house trimmed, Rushes strewed, cobwebs
       swept?

                       _Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc. 1 (47).


     (11) _Katherine._

     Be it moon or sun, or what you please,
     And if you please to call it a Rush-candle,
     Henceforth I vow it shall be so for me.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 5 (13).


     (12) _Glendower._

     She bids you on the wanton Rushes lay you down,
     And rest your gentle head upon her lap.

                            _1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 1 (214).


     (13) _Marcius._

                        He that depends
     Upon your favours swims with fins of lead
     And hews down Oaks with Rushes.

                                _Coriolanus_, act i, sc. 1 (183).


     (14) _Iachimo._

                     Our Tarquin thus
     Did softly press the Rushes.

                                 _Cymbeline_, act ii, sc. 2 (12).


     (15) _Senator._
                          Our gates
     Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn'd with Rushes!
     They'll open of themselves.

                                 _Coriolanus_, act i, sc. 4 (16).


     (16)

     And being lighted, by the light he spies
     Lucretia's glove, wherein her needle sticks;
     He takes it from the Rushes where it lies.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (316).


     (17) _See_ REEDS, No. 7.


     (18) _Wooer._

                      Rings she made
     Of Rushes that grew by, and to 'em spoke
     The prettiest posies.

                        _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 1 (109).

_See also_ FLAG, REED, _and_ BULRUSH.

Like the Reed, the Rush often stands for any water-loving, grassy
plant, and, like the Reed, it was the emblem of yielding weakness and of
uselessness.[264:1] The three principal Rushes referred to by
Shakespeare are the Common Rush (_Juncus communis_), the Bulrush
(_Scirpus lacustris_), and the Sweet Rush (_Acorus calamus_).

The Common Rush, though the mark of badly cultivated ground, and the
emblem of uselessness, was not without its uses, some of which are
referred to in Nos. 1, 3, and 11. In Nos. 3 and 18 reference is made to
the Rush-ring, a ring, no doubt, originally meant and used for the
purposes of honest betrothal, but afterwards so vilely used for the
purposes of mock marriages, that even as early as 1217 Richard Bishop of
Salisbury had to issue his edict against the use of "annulum de junco."

The Rush betrothal ring is mentioned by Spenser--

     "O thou great shepheard, Lobbin, how great is thy griefe!
      Where bene the nosegayes that she dight for thee?
      The coloured chaplets wrought with a chiefe,
      The knotted Rush-ringes and gilt Rosemarie."

                                 _Shepherd's Calendar--November._

And by Quarles--

                                  "Love-sick swains
     Compose Rush-rings, and Myrtle-berry chains,
     And stuck with glorious King-cups in their bonnets,
     Adorned with Laurel slip, chant true love sonnets."

But the uses of the Rush were not all bad. Newton, in 1587, said of the
Rush--"It is a round smooth shoote without joints or knots, having
within it a white substance or pith, which being drawn forth showeth
like long white, soft, gentle, and round thread, and serveth for many
purposes. Heerewith be made manie pretie imagined devises for Bride-ales
and other solemnities, as little baskets, hampers, frames, pitchers,
dishes, combs, brushes, stooles, chaires, purses with strings, girdles,
and manie such other pretie and curious and artificiall conceits, which
at such times many do take the paines to make and hang up in their
houses, as tokens of good will to the new married Bride; and after the
solemnities ended, to bestow abroad for Bride-gifts or presents." It was
this "white substance or pith" from which the Rush candle (No. 11) was
and still is made: a candle which in early days was probably the
universal candle, which, till within a few years, was the night candle
of every sick chamber, in which most of us can recollect it as a most
ghastly object as it used to stand, "stationed in a basin on the floor,
where it glimmered away like a gigantic lighthouse in a particularly
small piece of water" (Pickwick), till expelled by the night-lights, and
which is still made by Welsh labourers, and, I suppose, in Shakespeare's
time was the only candle used by the poor.

     "If your influence be quite damm'd up
      With black usurping mists, some gentle taper,
      Though a Rush-candle from the wicker hole
      Of some clay habitation, visit us
      With thy long levell'd rule of streaming light."--_Comus._

But the chief use of Rushes in those days was to strew the floors of
houses and churches (Nos. 4, 7, 10, 12, and 14). This custom seems to
have been universal in all houses of any pretence. "William the son of
William of Alesbury holds three roods of land of the Lord the King in
Alesbury in Com. Buck by the service of finding straw for the bed of the
Lord the King, and to strew his chamber, and also of finding for the
King when he comes to Alesbury straw for his bed, and besides this Grass
or Rushes to make his chamber pleasant."--BLUNT'S _Tenures_. The custom
went on even to our own day in Norwich Cathedral, and the "picturesque
custom still lingers in the West of strewing the floors of the churches
on Whit Sunday with Rushes freshly pulled from the meadows. This custom
attains its highest perfection in the church of St. Mary Redcliffe at
Bristol. On 'Rush Sunday' the floor is strewn with Rushes. All the
merchants throw open their conservatories for the vicar to take his
choice of their flowers, and the pulpit, the lectern, the choir, and the
communion rails and table present a scene of great beauty."--_The
Garden_, May, 1877.

For this purpose the Sweet-scented Rush was always used where it could
be procured, and when first laid down it must have made a pleasant
carpet; but it was a sadly dirty arrangement, and gives us a very poor
idea of the cleanliness of even the best houses, though it probably was
not the custom all through the year, as Newton says, speaking of Sedges,
but evidently confusing the Sedge with the Sweet-scented Rush, "with the
which many in this countrie do use in sommer time to straw their
parlours and churches, as well for cooleness as for pleasant
smell."[266:1] This Rush (_Acorus calamus_) is a British plant, with
broad leaves, which have a strong cinnamon-like smell, which obtained
for the plant the old Saxon name of Beewort. Another (so-called) Rush,
the Flowering Rush (_Butomus umbellatus_), is one of the very handsomest
of the British plants, bearing on a long straight stem a large umbel of
very handsome pink flowers. Wherever there is a pond in a garden, these
fine Rushes should have a place, though they may be grown in the open
border where the ground is not too dry.

There is a story told by Sir John Mandeville in connection with Rushes
which is not easy to understand. According to his account, our Saviour's
crown of thorns was made of Rushes! "And zif alle it be so that men seyn
that this Croune is of Thornes, zee shall undirstande that it was of
Jonkes of the See, that is to sey, Russhes of the See, that prykken als
scharpely as Thornes. For I have seen and beholden many times that of
Parys and that of Constantynoble, for thei were bothe on, made of
Russches of the See. But men have departed hem in two parties, of the
which on part is at Parys, and the other part is at Constantynoble--and
I have on of the precyouse Thornes, that semethe licke a white Thorn,
and that was zoven to me for great specyaltee. . . . The Jewes setten
him in a chayere and clad him in a mantelle, and then made thei the
Croune of Jonkes of the See."--_Voiage and Travaile,_ c. 2.

I have no certainty to what Rush the pleasant old traveller can here
refer. I can only guess that as Rushes and Sedges were almost
interchangeable names, he may have meant the Sea Holly, formerly called
the Holly-sedge, of which there is a very appropriate account given in
an old Saxon runelay thus translated by Cockayne: "Hollysedge hath its
dwelling oftenest in a marsh, it waxeth in water, woundeth fearfully,
burneth with blood (_i.e._, draws blood and pains) every one of men who
to it offers any handling."[267:1]


FOOTNOTES:

[264:1]

     "Around the islet at its lowest edge,
          Lo, there beneath, where breaks th' encircling wave,
          The yielding mud is thick with Rushes crowned.
      No other flower with frond or leafy growth
          Or hardened fibre there can life sustain,
          For none bend safely to the watery shock."

                        DANTE, _Purgatorio_, canto i. (Johnston).

[266:1] "In the South of Europe Juniper branches were used for this
purpose, as they still are in Sweden."--_Flora Domestica_, p. 213.

     "As I have seen upon a bridal day,
      Full many maids clad in their best array,
      In honour of the bride, come with their flaskets
      Filled full of flowers, other in wicker baskets
      Bring from the Marish Rushes, to overspread
      The ground whereon to Church the lovers tread."

                                    BROWNE'S _Brit. Past._, i, 2.

[267:1] I leave this as I first wrote it, but I have to thank Mr.
Britten for the very probable suggestion that Sir John Mandeville was
right. Not only does the _Juncus acutus_ "prykken als scharpely as
Thornes," but "what is shown in Paris at the present day as the crown of
Thorns is certainly, as Sir John says, made of rushes; the curious may
consult M. Rohault de Fleury's sumptuous 'Mémoire sur les Instruments de
la Passion,' for a full description of it."




RYE.


     (1) _Iris._

     Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
     Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (60).


     (2) _Iris._

     You sunburnt sicklemen, of August weary,
     Come hither from the furrow and be merry;
     Make holiday; your Rye-straw hats put on.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (135).


     (3) _Song._

     Between the acres of the Rye
     These pretty country folks would lye.

                             _As You Like It_, act v, sc. 3 (23).

The Rye of Shakespeare's time was identical with our own (_Secale
cereale_). It is not a British plant, and its native country is not
exactly known; but it seems probable that both the plant and the name
came from the region of the Caucasus.

As a food-plant Rye was not in good repute in Shakespeare's time. Gerard
said of it, "It is harder to digest than Wheat, yet to rusticke bodies
that can well digest it, it yields good nourishment." But "recent
investigations by Professor Wanklyn and Mr. Cooper appear to give the
first place to Rye as the most nutritious of all our cereals. Rye
contains more gluten, and is pronounced by them one-third richer than
Wheat. Rye, moreover, is capable of thriving in almost any
soil."--_Gardener's Chronicle_, 1877.




SAFFRON.


     (1) _Ceres._

     Who (_i.e._, Iris), with thy Saffron wings upon my flowers,
     Diffusest honeydrops, refreshing showers.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (78).


     (2) _Antipholus of Ephesus._

     Did this companion with the Saffron face
     Revel and feast it at my house to day?

                          _Comedy of Errors_, act iv, sc. 4 (64).


     (3) _Clown._

     I must have Saffron to colour the Warden pies.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (48).


     (4) _Lafeu._

     No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow
       there, whose villanous Saffron would have made all the
       unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour.

                  _All's Well that Ends Well_, act iv, sc. 5 (1).

Saffron (from its Arabic name, _al zahafaran_) was not, in Shakespeare's
time, limited to the drug or to the Saffron-bearing Crocus (_C.
sativus_), but it was the general name for all the Croci, and was even
extended to the Colchicums, which were called Meadow Saffrons.[268:1] We
have no Crocus really a native of Britain, but a few species (C. vernus,
C. nudiflorus, C. aureus, and C. biflorus) have been so naturalized in
certain parts as to be admitted, though very doubtfully, into the
British flora; but the Saffron Crocus can in no way be considered a
native, and the history of its introduction into England is very
obscure. It is mentioned several times in the Anglo-Saxon Leech Books:
"When he bathes, let him smear himself with oil; mingle it with
Saffron."--_Tenth Century Leech Book_, ii. 37. "For dimness of eyes,
thus one must heal it: take Celandine one spoonful, and Aloes, and
Crocus (Saffron in French)."--_Schools of Medicine_, tenth century, c.
22. In these instances it may be only the imported drug; but the name
occurs in an English Vocabulary among the Nomina herbarum: "Hic Crocus,
A{e} Safurroun;" and in a Pictorial Vocabulary of the fourteenth
century, "Hic Crocus, An{ce} Safryn;" so that I think the plant must
have been in cultivation in England at that time. The usual statement,
made by one writer after another, is that it was introduced by Sir
Thomas Smith into the neighbourhood of Walden in the time of Edward
III., but the original authority for this statement is unknown. The most
authentic account is that by Hakluyt in 1582, and though it is rather
long, it is worth extracting in full. It occurs in some instructions in
"Remembrances for Master S.," who was going into Turkey, giving him
hints what to observe in his travels: "Saffron, the best of the
universall world, groweth in this realme. . . . It is a spice that is
cordiall, and may be used in meats, and that is excellent in dying of
yellow silks. This commodity of Saffron groweth fifty miles from
Tripoli, in Syria, on an high hyll, called in those parts Gasian, so as
there you may learn at that part of Tripoli the value of the pound, the
goodnesse of it, and the places of the vent. But it is said that from
that hyll there passeth yerely of that commodity fifteen moiles laden,
and that those regions notwithstanding lacke sufficiency of that
commodity. But if a vent might be found, men would in Essex (about
Saffron Walden), and in Cambridgeshire, revive the trade for the benefit
of the setting of the poore on worke. So would they do in Herefordshire
by Wales, where the best of all England is, in which place the soil
yields the wilde Saffron commonly, which showeth the natural inclination
of the same soile to the bearing of the right Saffron, if the soile be
manured and that way employed. . . It is reported at Saffron Walden that
a pilgrim, proposing to do good to his countrey, stole a head of
Saffron, and hid the same in his Palmer's staffe, which he had made
hollow before of purpose, and so he brought the root into this realme
with venture of his life, for if he had bene taken, by the law of the
countrey from whence it came, he had died for the fact."--_English
Voiages, &c._, vol. ii. From this account it seems clear that even in
Hakluyt's time Saffron had been so long introduced that the history of
its introduction was lost; and I think it very probable that, as was
suggested by Coles in his "Adam in Eden" (1657), we are indebted to the
Romans for this, as for so many of our useful plants. But it is not a
Roman or Italian plant. Spenser wrote of it as--

     "Saffron sought for in Cilician soyle--"[270:1]

and Browne--

     "Saffron confected in Cilicia"--_Brit. Past._, i, 2;

which information they derived from Pliny. It is supposed to be a native
of Asia Minor, but so altered by long cultivation that it never produces
seed either in England or in other parts of Europe.[270:2] This fact led
M. Chappellier, of Paris, who has for many years studied the history of
the plant, to the belief that it was a hybrid; but finding that when
fertilized with the pollen of a Crocus found wild in Greece, and known
as C. sativus var. Græcus (_Orphanidis_), it produces seed abundantly,
he concludes that it is a variety of that species, which it very much
resembles, but altered and rendered sterile by cultivation. It is not
now much cultivated in England, but we have abundant authority from
Tusser, Gerard, Parkinson, Camden, and many other writers, that it was
largely cultivated before and after Shakespeare's time, and that the
quality of the English Saffron was very superior.[271:1] The importance
of the crop is shown by its giving its name to Saffron Walden in
Essex,[271:2] and to Saffron Hill in London, which "was formerly a part
of Ely Gardens" (of which we shall hear again when we come to speak of
Strawberries), "and derives its name from the crops of Saffron which it
bore."--CUNNINGHAM. The plant has in the same way given its name to
Zaffarano, a village in Sicily, near Mount Etna, and to Zafaranboly,
"ville située près Inobole en Anatolie, au sud-est de l'ancienne
Héraclée."--CHAPPELLIER. The plant is largely cultivated in many parts
of Europe, but the chief centres of cultivation are in the
arrondissement of Pithiviers in France, and the province of Arragon in
Spain; and the chief consumers are the Germans. It has also been largely
cultivated in China for a great many years, and the bulbs now imported
from China are found to be, in many points, superior to the
European--"l'invasion Tartare aurait porté le Safran en Chine, et de
leur côté les croisés l'auraient importé en Europe."--CHAPPELLIER.

I need scarcely say that the parts of the plant that produce the Saffron
are the sweet-scented stigmata, the "Crocei odores" of Virgil; but the
use of Saffron has now so gone out of fashion, that it may be well to
say something of its uses in the time of Shakespeare, as a medicine, a
dye, and a confection. On all three points its virtues were so many that
there is a complete literature on Crocus. I need not name all the books
on the subject, but the title page of one (a duodecimo of nearly three
hundred pages) may be quoted as an example: "Crocologia seu curiosa
Croci Regis Vegetabilium enucleatio continens Illius etymologiam,
differencias, tempus quo viret et floret, culturam, collectionem, usum
mechanicum, Pharmaceuticum, Chemico medicum, omnibus pene humani
corporis partibus destinatum additis diversis observationibus et
questionibus Crocum concernentibus ad normam et formam S. R. I. Academiæ
Naturæ curiosorum congesta a Dan: Ferdinando Hertodt, Phys. et Med.
Doc., &c., &c. Jenæ. 1671." After this we may content ourselves with
Gerard's summary of its virtues: "The moderate use of it is good for the
head, and maketh sences more quicke and lively, shaketh off heavy and
drowsie sleep and maketh a man mery." For its use in confections this
will suffice from the "Apparatus Plantarum" of Laurembergius, 1632: "In
re familiari vix ullus est telluris habitatus angulus ubi non sit Croci
quotodiana usurpatio, aspersi vel incocti cibis." And as to its uses as
a dye, its penetrating powers were proverbial, of which Luther's Sermons
will supply an instance: "As the Saffron bag that hath bene ful of
Saffron, or hath had Saffron in it, doth ever after savour and smel of
the swete Saffron that it contayneth; so our blessed Ladye which
conceived and bare Christe in her wombe, dyd ever after resemble the
maners and vertues of that precious babe which she bare" ("Fourth
Sermon," 1548). One of the uses to which Saffron was applied in the
Middle Ages was for the manufacture of the beautiful gold colour used in
the illumination of missals, &c., where the actual gold was not used.
This is the recipe from the work of Theophilus in the eleventh century:
"If ye wish to decorate your work in some manner take tin pure and
finely scraped; melt it and wash it like gold, and apply it with the
same glue upon letters or other places which you wish to ornament with
gold or silver; and when you have polished it with a tooth, take Saffron
with which silk is colored, moistening it with clear of egg without
water, and when it has stood a night, on the following day cover with a
pencil the places which you wish to gild, the rest holding the place of
silver" (Book i, c. 23, Hendrie's translation).

Though the chief fame of the Saffron Crocus is as a field plant, yet it
is also a very handsome flower; but it is a most capricious one, which
may account for the area of cultivation being so limited. In some places
it entirely refuses to flower, as it does in my own garden, where I have
cultivated it for many years but never saw a flower, while in a
neighbour's garden, under apparently the very same conditions of soil
and climate, it flowers every autumn. But if we cannot succeed with the
Saffron Crocus, there are many other Croci which were known in the time
of Shakespeare, and grown not "for any other use than in regard of
their beautiful flowers of several varieties, as they have been
carefully sought out and preserved by divers to furnish a garden of
dainty curiosity." Gerard had in his garden only six species; Parkinson
had or described thirty-one different sorts, and after his time new
kinds were not so much sought after till Dean Herbert collected and
studied them. His monograph of the Crocus, in 1847, contained the
account of forty-one species, besides many varieties. The latest
arrangement of the family by Mr. George Maw, of Broseley, contains
sixty-eight species, besides varieties; of these all are not yet in
cultivation, but every year sees some fresh addition to the number,
chiefly by the unwearied exertions in finding them in their native
habitats, and the liberal distribution of them when found, of Mr. Maw,
to whom all the lovers of the Crocus are deeply indebted. And the Croci
are so beautiful that we cannot have too many of them; they are, for the
most part, perfectly hardy, though some few require a little protection
in winter; they are of an infinite variety of colour, and some flower in
the spring and some in the autumn. Most of us call the Crocus a spring
flower, yet there are more autumnal than vernal species, but it is as a
spring flower that we most value it. The common yellow Crocus is almost
as much "the first-born of the year's delight" as the Snowdrop. No one
can tell its native country, but it has been the brightest ornament of
our gardens, not only in spring, but even in winter, for many years. It
was probably first introduced during Shakespeare's life. "It hath
floures," says Gerard, "of a most perfect shining yellow colour, seeming
afar off to be a hot glowing coal of fire. That pleasant plant was sent
unto me from Robinus, of Paris, that painful and most curious searcher
of simples." From that beginning perhaps it has found its way into every
garden, for it increases rapidly, is very hardy, and its brightness
commends it to all. It is the "most gladsome of the early flowers. None
gives more glowing welcome to the season, or strikes on our first
glance with a ray of keener pleasure, when, with some bright morning's
warmth, the solitary golden fringes have kindled into knots of
thick-clustered yellow bloom on the borders of the cottage garden. At a
distance the eye is caught by that glowing patch, its warm heart open to
the sun, and dear to the honey-gathering bees which hum around the
chalices."--FORBES WATSON.

With this pretty picture I may well close the account of the Crocus, but
not because the subject is exhausted, for it is very tempting to go much
further, and to speak of the beauties of the many species, and of the
endless forms and colours of the grand Dutch varieties; and whatever
admiration may be expressed for the common yellow Dutch Crocus, the same
I would also give to almost every member of this lovely and cheerful
family.


FOOTNOTES:

[268:1] Fuller says of the crocodile--"He hath his name of χροχό-δειλος,
or the Saffron-fearer, knowing himself to be all poison, and it all
antidote."--_Worthies of England_, i, 336, ed. 1811.

[270:1] "Cilician," or "Corycean," were the established classical
epithets to use when speaking of the Saffron. Cowley quotes--

     "Corycii pressura Croci"--LUCAN;


     "Ultima Corycio quæ cadit aura Croco"--MARTIAL;

and adds the note--"Omnes Poetæ hoc quasi solenni quodam Epitheto
utuntur. Corycus nomen urbis et montis in Cilicia, ubi laudatissimus
Crocus nascebatur."--_Plantarum_, lib. i, 49.

[270:2] "Saffron is . . . a native of Cashmere, . . . and the . . .
Saffron Crocus and the Hemp plant have followed their (the Aryans)
migrations together throughout the temperate zone of the
globe."--BIRDWOOD, _Handbook to the Indian Court_, p. 23.

[271:1] "Our English hony and Safron is better than any that commeth
from any strange or foregn land."--BULLEIN, _Government of Health_,
1588.

[271:2] The arms of the borough of Saffron Walden are "three Saffron
flowers walled in."




SAMPHIRE.


     _Edgar._

                        Half-way down
     Hangs one that gathers Samphire, dreadful trade!
     Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.

                                 _King Lear_, act iv, sc. 6 (14).

Being found only on rocks, the Samphire was naturally associated with
St. Peter, and so it was called in Italian Herba di San Pietro, in
English Sampire and Rock Sampier[274:1]--in other words, Samphire is
simply a corruption of Saint Peter. The plant grows round all the coasts
of Great Britain and Ireland, wherever there are suitable rocks on which
it can grow, and on all the coasts of Europe, except the northern
coasts; and it is a plant very easily recognized, if not by its
pale-green, fleshy leaves, yet certainly by its taste, or its "smell
delightful and pleasant." The leaves form the pickle, "the pleasantest
sauce, most familiar, and best agreeing with man's body," but now much
out of fashion. In Shakespeare's time the gathering of Samphire was a
regular trade, and Steevens quotes from Smith's "History of Waterford"
to show the danger attending the trade: "It is terrible to see how
people gather it, hanging by a rope several fathoms from the top of the
impending rocks, as it were in the air." In our own time the quantity
required could be easily got without much danger, for it grows in places
perfectly accessible in sufficient quantity for the present
requirements, for in some parts it grows away from the cliffs, so that
"the fields about Porth Gwylan, in Carnarvonshire, are covered with
it." It may even be grown in the garden, especially in gardens near the
sea, and makes a pretty plant for rockwork.

There is a story connected with the Samphire which shows how botanical
knowledge, like all other knowledge, may be of great service, even where
least expected. Many years ago a ship was wrecked on the Sussex coast,
and a small party were left on a rock not far from land. To their horror
they found the sea rising higher and higher, and threatening before long
to cover their place of refuge. Some of them proposed to try and swim
for land, and would have done so, but just as they were preparing for it
an officer saw a plant of Samphire growing on the rock, and told them
they might stay and trust to that little plant that the sea would rise
no further, for that the Samphire, though always growing within the
spray of the sea, never grows where the sea could actually touch it.
They believed him and were saved.


FOOTNOTES:

[274:1] Dr. Prior.




SAVORY.


     _Perdita._

                   Here's flowers for you;
     Hot Lavender, Mints, Savory, Marjoram.

                           _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4. (103).

Savory might be supposed to get its name as being a plant of special
savour, but the name comes from its Latin name _Saturcia_, through the
Italian _Savoreggia_. It is a native of the South of Europe, probably
introduced into England by the Romans, for it is mentioned in the
Anglo-Saxon recipes under the imported name of Savorie. It was a very
favourite plant in the old herb gardens, and both kinds, the Winter and
Summer Savory, were reckoned "among the farsing or farseting herbes, as
they call them" (Parkinson), _i.e._, herbs used for stuffing.[275:1]
Both kinds are still grown in herb gardens, but are very little used.


FOOTNOTES:

[275:1]

     "His typet was ay farsud ful of knyfes
      And pynnes, for to give fair wyves."

                                     _Canterbury Tale_, Prologue.


     "The farced title running before the King."

                                  _Henry V_, act iv, sc. 1 (431).

The word still exists as "forced;" _e.g._, "a forced leg of mutton,"
"forced meat balls."




SEDGE.


     (1) _2nd Servant._

     And Cytherea all in Sedges hid,
     Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
     Even as the waving Sedges play with wind.

                   _Taming of the Shrew_, Induction, sc. 2. (53).


     (2) _Iris._

     You nymphs, called Naiads, of the winding brooks,
     With your Sedged crowns and ever-harmless looks.

                                  _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (128).


     (3) _Julia._

     The current that with gentle murmur glides,
     Thou knowest, being stopped, impatiently doth rage;
     But when his fair course is not hindered,
     He makes sweet music with the enamell'd stones,
     Giving a gentle kiss to every Sedge
     He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
     And so by many winding nooks he strays
     With willing sport to the wild ocean.

                   _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, act ii, sc. 7 (25).


     (4) _Benedick._

     Alas, poor hurt fowl! now will he creep into Sedges.

                   _Much Ado About Nothing_, act ii, sc. 1 (209).


     (5) _Hotspur._

     The gentle Severn's Sedgy bank.

                               _1st Henry IV_, act i, sc. 3 (98).


     (6) _See_ REEDS, No. 7.

Sedge is from the Anglo-Saxon Secg, and meant almost any waterside
plant. Thus we read of the Moor Secg, and the Red Secg, and the Sea
Holly (_Eryngium maritimum_) is called the Holly Sedge. And so it was
doubtless used by Shakespeare. In our day Sedge is confined to the genus
Carex, a family growing in almost all parts of the world, and containing
about 1000 species, of which we have fifty-eight in Great Britain; they
are most graceful ornaments both of our brooks and ditches; and some of
them will make handsome garden plants. One very handsome
species--perhaps the handsomest--is C. pendula, with long tassel-like
flower-spikes hanging down in a very beautiful form, which is not
uncommon as a wild plant, and can easily be grown in the garden, and
the flower-spikes will be found very handsome additions to tall
nosegays. There is another North American species, C. Fraseri, which is
a good plant for the north side of a rock-work: it is a small plant, but
the flower is a spike of the purest white, and is very curious, and
unlike any other flower.




SENNA.


     _Macbeth._

     What Rhubarb, Senna, or what purgative drug
     Would scour these English hence?[277:1]

                                    _Macbeth_, act v, sc. 3 (55).

Even in the time of Shakespeare several attempts were made to grow the
Senna in England, but without success; so that he probably only knew it
as an important "purgative drug." The Senna of commerce is made from the
leaves of Cassia lanceolata and Cassia Senna, both natives of Africa,
and so unfitted for open-air cultivation in England. The Cassias are a
large family, mostly with handsome yellow flowers, some of which are
very ornamental greenhouse plants; and one from North America, Cassia
Marylandica, may be considered hardy in the South of England.


FOOTNOTES:

[277:1] In this passage the old reading for "Senna" is "Cyme," and this
is the reading of the Globe Shakespeare; but I quote the passage with
"Senna" because it is so printed in many editions.




SPEARGRASS.


     _Peto._

     He persuaded us to do the like.

     _Bardolph._

     Yea, and to tickle our noses with Speargrass to make them
       bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear
       it was the blood of true men.

                             _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (339).

Except in this passage I can only find Speargrass mentioned in Lupton's
"Notable Things," and there without any description, only as part of a
medical recipe: "Whosoever is tormented with sciatica or the hip gout,
let them take an herb called Speargrass, and stamp it and lay a little
thereof upon the grief." The plant is not mentioned by Lyte, Gerard,
Parkinson, or the other old herbalists, and so it is somewhat of a
puzzle. Steevens quotes from an old play, "Victories of Henry the
Fifth": "Every day I went into the field, I would take a straw and
thrust it into my nose, and make my nose bleed;" but a straw was never
called Speargrass. Asparagus was called Speerage, and the young shoots
might have been used for the purpose, but I have never heard of such a
use; Ranunculus flammula was called Spearwort, from its lanceolate
leaves, and so (according to Cockayne) was Carex acuta, still called
Spiesgrass in German. Mr. Beisly suggests the Yarrow or Millfoil; and we
know from several authorities (Lyte, Hollybush, Gerard, Phillip, Cole,
Skinner, and Lindley) that the Yarrow was called Nosebleed; but there
seems no reason to suppose that it was ever called Speargrass, or could
have been called a Grass at all, though the term Grass was often used in
the most general way. Dr. Prior suggests the Common Reed, which is
probable. I have been rather inclined to suppose it to be one of the
Horse-tails (Equiseta).[278:1] They are very sharp and spearlike, and
their rough surfaces would soon draw blood; and as a decoction of
Horse-tail was a remedy for stopping bleeding of the nose, I have
thought it very probable that such a supposed virtue could only have
arisen when remedies were sought for on the principle of "similia
similibus curantur;" so that a plant, which in one form produced
nose-bleeding, would, when otherwise administered, be the natural
remedy. But I now think that all these suggested plants must give way in
favour of the common Couch-grass (_Triticum repens_). In the eastern
counties, this is still called Speargrass; and the sharp underground
stolons might easily draw blood, when the nose is tickled with them. The
old emigrants from the eastern counties took the name with them to
America, but applied it to a Poa (Webster's "Dictionary," s.v.
Speargrass).


FOOTNOTES:

[278:1] "Hippurus Anglice dicitur sharynge gyrs."--TURNER'S _Libellus_,
1538.




SQUASH, _see_ PEAS.




STOVER.


     _Iris._

     Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,
     And flat meads thatch'd with Stover, them to keep.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (62).

In this passage, Stover is probably the bent or dried Grass still
remaining on the land, but it is the common word for hay or straw, or
for "fodder and provision for all sorts of cattle; from _Estovers_, law
term, which is so explained in the law dictionaries. Both are derived
from _Estouvier_ in the old French, defined by Roquefort--'Convenance,
nécessité, provision de tout ce qui est nécessaire.'"--NARES. The word
is of frequent occurrence in the writers of the time of Shakespeare. One
quotation from Tusser will be sufficient--

     "Keepe dry thy straw--

     "If house-roome will serve thee, lay Stover up drie,
      And everie sort by it selfe for to lie.
      Or stack it for litter if roome be too poore,
      And thatch out the residue, noieng thy door."


                                          _November's Husbandry._




STRAWBERRY.


     (1) _Iago._

     Have you not sometimes seen a handkerchief
     Spotted with Strawberries in your wife's hand?[279:1]

                                 _Othello_, act iii, sc. 3 (434).


     (2) _Ely._

     The Strawberry grows underneath the Nettle,
     And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best
     Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality;
     And so the prince obscured his contemplation
     Under the veil of wildness.

                                    _Henry V_, act i, sc. 1 (60).


     (3) _Gloster._

     My Lord of Ely, when I was last in Holborn,
     I saw good Strawberries in your garden there;
     I do beseech you send for some of them.

     _Ely._

     Marry, and will, my Lord, with all my heart.

            *       *       *       *       *

     Where is my lord Protector? I have sent
     For these Strawberries.

                         _King Richard III_, act iii, sc. 4 (32).

The Bishop of Ely's garden in Holborn must have been one of the chief
gardens of England in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, for this
is the third time it has been brought under our notice. It was
celebrated for its Roses (_see_ ROSE); it was so celebrated for its
Saffron Crocuses that part of it acquired the name which it still keeps,
Saffron Hill; and now we hear of its "good Strawberries;" while the
remembrance of "the ample garden," and of the handsome Lord Chancellor
to whom it was given when taken from the bishopric, is still kept alive
in its name of Hatton Garden. How very good our forefathers'
Strawberries were, we have a strong proof in old Isaak Walton's happy
words: "Indeed, my good scholar, we may say of angling as Dr. Boteler
said of Strawberries: 'Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but
doubtless God never did;' and so, if I might be judge, God never did
make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling." I doubt
whether, with our present experience of good Strawberries, we should
join in this high praise of the Strawberries of Shakespeare's or Isaak
Walton's day, for their varieties of Strawberry must have been very
limited in comparison to ours. Their chief Strawberry was the Wild
Strawberry brought straight from the woods, and no doubt much improved
in time by cultivation. Yet we learn from Spenser and from Tusser that
it was the custom to grow it just as it came from the woods.

Spenser says--

     "One day as they all three together went
      Into the wood to gather Strawberries."--_F. Q._, vi. 34;

and Tusser--

     "Wife, into thy garden, and set me a plot
      With Strawbery rootes of the best to be got:
      Such growing abroade, among Thornes in the wood,
      Wel chosen and picked, prove excellent good.

             *       *       *       *       *

      The Gooseberry, Respis, and Roses al three
      With Strawberies under them trimly agree."

                                         _September's Husbandry._

And even in the next century, Sir Hugh Plat said--

     "Strawberries which grow in woods prosper best in gardens."

                                  _Garden of Eden_, i, 20.[281:1]

Besides the wild one (_Fragaria vesca_), they had the Virginian (_F.
Virginiana_), a native of North America, and the parent of our scarlets;
but they do not seem to have had the Hautbois (_F. elatior_), or the
Chilian, or the Carolinas, from which most of our good varieties have
descended.

The Strawberry is among fruits what the Primrose and Snowdrop are among
flowers, the harbinger of other good fruits to follow. It is the
earliest of the summer fruits, and there is no need to dwell on its
delicate, sweet-scented freshness, so acceptable to all; but it has also
a charm in autumn, known, however, but to few, and sometimes said to be
only discernible by few. Among "the flowers that yield sweetest smell in
the air," Lord Bacon reckoned Violets, and "next to that is the Musk
Rose, then the Strawberry leaves dying, with a most excellent cordial
smell." In Mrs. Gaskell's pretty tale, "My Lady Ludlow," the dying
Strawberry leaves act an important part. "The great hereditary faculty
on which my lady piqued herself, and with reason, for I never met with
any other person who possessed it, was the power she had of perceiving
the delicious odour arising from a bed of Strawberry leaves in the late
autumn, when the leaves were all fading and dying." The old lady quotes
Lord Bacon, and then says: "'Now the Hanburys can always smell the
excellent cordial odour, and very delicious and refreshing it is. In the
time of Queen Elizabeth the great old families of England were a
distinct race, just as a cart-horse is one creature and very useful in
its place, and Childers or Eclipse is another creature, though both are
of the same species. So the old families have gifts and powers of a
different and higher class to what the other orders have. My dear,
remember that you try and smell the scent of dying Strawberry leaves in
this next autumn, you have some of Ursula Hanbury's blood in you, and
that gives you a chance.' 'But when October came I sniffed, and sniffed,
and all to no purpose; and my lady, who had watched the little
experiment rather anxiously, had to give me up as a hybrid'" ("Household
Words," vol. xviii.). On this I can only say in the words of an old
writer, "A rare and notable thing, if it be true, for I never proved it,
and never tried it; therefore, as it proves so, praise it."[282:1]
Spenser also mentions the scent, but not of the leaves or fruit, but of
the flowers--

     "Comming to kisse her lyps (such grace I found),
      Me seem'd I smelt a garden of sweet flowres
      That dainty odours from them threw around:

             *       *       *       *       *

      Her goodly bosome, lyke a Strawberry bed,

             *       *       *       *       *

      Such fragrant flowres doe give most odorous smell."[282:2]

                                                   _Sonnet_ lxiv.

There is a considerable interest connected with the name of the plant,
and much popular error. It is supposed to be called Strawberry because
the berries have straw laid under them, or from an old custom of selling
the wild ones strung on straws.[282:3] In Shakespeare's time straw was
used for the protection of Strawberries, but not in the present
fashion--

     "If frost doe continue, take this for a lawe,
      The Strawberies look to be covered with strawe.
      Laid ouerly trim upon crotchis and bows,
      And after uncovered as weather allows."

                                  TUSSER, _December's Husbandry_.

But the name is much more ancient than either of these customs.
Strawberry in different forms, as Strea-berige, Streaberie-wisan,
Streaw-berige, Streaw-berian wisan, Streberilef, Strabery,
Strebere-wise, is its name in the old English Vocabularies, while it
appears first in its present form in a Pictorial Vocabulary of the
fifteenth century, "Hoc ffragrum, A{ce} a Strawbery." What the word
really means is pleasantly told by a writer in Seeman's "Journal of
Botany," 1869: "How well this name indicates the now prevailing practice
of English gardeners laying straw under the berry in order to bring it
to perfection, and prevent it from touching the earth, which without
that precaution it naturally does, and to which it owes its German
_Erdbeere_, making us almost forget that in this instance 'straw' has
nothing to do with the practice alluded to, but is an obsolete
past-participle of 'to strew,' in allusion to the habit of the plant."
This obsolete word is preserved in our English Bibles, "gathering where
thou hast not strawed," "he strawed it upon the water," "straw me with
apples;" and in Shakespeare--

     The bottom poison, and the top o'erstrawed
     With sweets.--_Venus and Adonis._

From another point of view there is almost as great a mistake in the
second half of the name, for in strict botanical language the fruit of
the Strawberry is not a berry; it is not even "exactly a fruit, but is
merely a fleshy receptacle bearing fruit, the true fruit being the ripe
carpels, which are scattered over its surface in the form of minute
grains looking like seeds, for which they are usually mistaken, the
seed lying inside of the shell of the carpel." It is exactly the
contrary to the Raspberry, a fruit not named by Shakespeare, though
common in his time under the name of Rasps. "When you gather the
Raspberry you throw away the receptacle under the name of core, never
suspecting that it is the very part you had just before been feasting
upon in the Strawberry. In the one case, the receptacle robs the carpels
of all their juice in order to become gorged and bloated at their
expense; in the other case, the carpels act in the same selfish manner
upon the receptacles."--LINDLEY, _Ladies' Botany_.

Shakespeare's mention of the Strawberry and the Nettle (No. 2) deserves
a passing note. It was the common opinion in his day that plants were
affected by the neighbourhood of other plants to such an extent that
they imbibed each other's virtues and faults. Thus sweet flowers were
planted near fruit trees, with the idea of improving the flavour of the
fruit, and evil-smelling trees, like the Elder, were carefully cleared
away from fruit trees, lest they should be tainted. But the Strawberry
was supposed to be an exception to the rule, and was supposed to thrive
in the midst of "evil communications" without being corrupted. Preachers
and emblem-writers naturally seized upon this: "In tilling our gardens
we cannot but admire the fresh innocence and purity of the Strawberry,
because although it creeps along the ground, and is continually crushed
by serpents, lizards, and other venomous reptiles, yet it does not
imbibe the slightest impression of poison, or the smallest malignant
quality, a true sign that it has no affinity with poison. And so it is
with human virtues," &c. "In conversation take everything peacefully, no
matter what is said or done. In this manner you may remain innocent
amidst the hissing of serpents, and, as a little Strawberry, you will
not suffer contamination from slimy things creeping near you."--ST.
FRANCIS DE SALES.

I need only add that the Strawberry need not be confined to the kitchen
garden, as there are some varieties which make very good carpet plants,
such as the variegated Strawberry, which, however, is very capricious in
its variegation; the double Strawberry, which bears pretty white
button-like flowers; and the Fragaria lucida from California, which has
very bright shining leaves, and was, when first introduced, supposed to
be useful in crossing with other species; but I have not heard that this
has been successfully effected.


FOOTNOTES:

[279:1] "Mrs. Somerville made for me a delicate outline sketch of what
is called Othello's house in Venice, and a beautifully coloured copy of
his shield surmounted by the Doge's cap, and bearing three Mulberries
for device--proving the truth of the assertion that the _Otelli del
Moro_ were a noble Venetian folk, who came originally from the Morea,
whose device was the Mulberry, the growth of that country, and showing
how curious a jumble Shakespeare has made both of name and device in
calling him a _Moor_, and embroidering his arms on his handkerchief as
_Strawberries_."--F. KEMBLE'S _Records_, vol. i. 145.

[281:1] It seems probable that the Romans only knew of the Wild
Strawberry, of which both Virgil and Ovid speak--

     "Qui legitis flores et humi nascentia fraga."--_Ecl._, ii.


     "Contentique cibis nullo cogente creatis
      Arbuteos fœtus montanaque fraga legebant."--_Metam._, i, 105.

[282:1] "Quæ neque confirmare argumentis neque refellere in animo est;
ex ingenio suo quisque demat vel addat fidem."--TACITUS.

[282:2] The flowers of Fragaria lucida are slightly violet-scented, but
I know of no Strawberry flower that can be said to "give most odorous
smell."

[282:3]

     "The wood nymphs oftentimes would busied be,
      And pluck for him the blushing Strawberry,
      Making from them a bracelet on a bent,
      Which for a favour to this swain they sent."

                                    BROWNE'S _Brit. Past._, i, 2.




SUGAR.


     (1) _Prince Henry._

     But, sweet Ned--to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this
       pennyworth of Sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an
       under-skinker.

            *       *       *       *       *

     To drive away the time till Falstaff comes, I prithee, do thou
       stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer to
       what end he gave me the Sugar.

            *       *       *       *       *

     Nay, but hark you, Francis; for the Sugar thou gavest me,
       'twas a pennyworth, was't not?

                      _1st Henry IV_, act ii, sc. 4 (23, 31, 64).


     (2) _Biron._

     White-handed mistress, one sweet word with thee.

     _Princess._

     Honey, and Milk, and Sugar, there is three.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (230).


     (3) _Quickly._

     And in such wine and Sugar of the best and the fairest, that
       would have won any woman's heart.

                               _Merry Wives_, act ii, sc. 2 (70).


     (4) _Bassanio._

                          Here are sever'd lips
     Parted with Sugar breath; so sweet a bar
     Should sunder such sweet friends.

                      _Merchant of Venice_, act iii, sc. 2 (118).


     (5) _Touchstone._

     Honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to Sugar.

                           _As You Like It_, act iii, sc. 2 (30).


     (6) _Northumberland._

     Your fair discourse hath been as Sugar,
     Making the hard way sweet and delectable.

                                 _Richard II_, act ii, sc. 3 (6).


     (7) _Clown._

     Let me see,--what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast?
       Three pound of Sugar, five pound of Currants.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (39).


     (8) _K. Henry._

     You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more
       eloquence in a Sugar touch of them than in the tongues of
       the French council.

                                   _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (401).


     (9) _Queen Margaret._

     Poor painted Queen, vain flourish of my fortune!
     Why strew'st thou Sugar on that bottled spider,
     Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about?

                               _Richard III_, act i, sc. 3 (241).


     (10) _Gloucester._

     Your grace attended to their Sugar'd words,
     But look'd not on the poison of their hearts.

                              _Richard III_, act iii, sc. 1 (13).


     (11) _Polonius._

               We are oft to blame in this--
     Tis too much proved--that with devotion's visage
     And pious actions we do Sugar o'er
     The devil himself.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iii, sc. 1 (46).


     (12) _Brabantio._

     These sentences, to Sugar, or to gall,
     Being strong on both sides, are equivocal.

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (216).


     (13) _Timon._

                  And never learn'd
     The icy precepts of respect, but follow'd
     The Sugar'd game before thee.

                          _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (257).


     (14) _Pucelle._

     By fair persuasion mix'd with Sugar'd words
     We will entice the Duke of Burgundy.

                             _1st Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 3 (18).


     (15) _K. Henry._

     Hide not thy poison with such Sugar'd words.

                             _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (45).


     (16) _Prince Henry._

     One poor pennyworth of Sugar-candy, to make thee long-winded.

                            _1st Henry IV_, act iii, sc. 3 (180).


     (17)

     Thy Sugar'd tongue to bitter Wormwood taste.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (893).

As a pure vegetable product, though manufactured, Sugar cannot be passed
over in an account of the plants of Shakespeare; but it will not be
necessary to say much about it. Yet the history of the migrations of the
Sugar-plant is sufficiently interesting to call for a short notice.

Its original home seems to have been in the East Indies, whence it was
imported in very early times. It is probably the "sweet cane" of the
Bible; and among classical writers it is named by Strabo, Lucan, Varro,
Seneca, Dioscorides, and Pliny. The plant is said to have been
introduced into Europe during the Crusades, and to have been cultivated
in the Morea, Rhodes, Malta, Sicily, and Spain.[286:1] By the Spaniards
it was taken first to Madeira and the Cape de Verd Islands, and, very
soon after the discovery of America, to the West Indies. There it soon
grew rapidly, and increased enormously, and became a chief article of
commerce, so that though we now almost look upon it as entirely a New
World plant, it is in fact but a stranger there, that has found a most
congenial home.

In 1468 the price of Sugar was sixpence a pound, equal to six shillings
of our money,[287:1] but in Shakespeare's time it must have been very
common,[287:2] or it could not so largely have worked its way into the
common English language and proverbial expressions; and it must also
have been very cheap, or it could not so entirely have superseded the
use of honey, which in earlier times was the only sweetening material.

Shakespeare may have seen the living plant, for it was grown as a
curiosity in his day, though Gerard could not succeed with it: "Myself
did plant some shootes thereof in my garden, and some in Flanders did
the like, but the coldness of our clymate made an end of myne, and I
think the Flemmings will have the like profit of their labour." But he
bears testimony to the large use of Sugar in his day; "of the juice of
the reede is made the most pleasant and profitable sweet called Sugar,
whereof is made infinite confections, sirupes, and such like, as also
preserving and conserving of sundrie fruits, herbes and flowers, as
roses, violets, rosemary flowers and such like."


FOOTNOTES:

[286:1] "It is the juice of certain canes or reedes whiche growe most
plentifully in the Ilandes of Madera, Sicilia, Cyprus, Rhodus and Candy.
It is made by art in boyling of the Canes, much like as they make their
white salt in the Witches in Cheshire."--COGHAN, _Haven of Health_,
1596, p. 110.

[287:1] "Babee's Book," xxx.

[287:2] It is mentioned by Chaucer--

     "Gyngerbred that was so fyn.
      And licorys and eek comyn
      With Sugre that is trye."--_Tale of Sir Thopas._




SWEET MARJORAM, _see_ MARJORAM.




SYCAMORE.


     (1) _Desdemona_ (singing).

     The poor soul sat sighing by a Sycamore tree.

                                   _Othello_, act iv, sc. 3 (41).


     (2) _Benvolio._

     Underneath the grove of Sycamore
     That westward rooteth from the city's side,
     So early walking did I see your son.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act i, sc. 1 (130).


     (3) _Boyet._

     Under the cool shade of a Sycamore
     I thought to close mine eyes some half an hour.

                       _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (89).

In its botanical relationship, the Sycamore is closely allied to the
Maple, and was often called the Great Maple, and is still so called in
Scotland. It is not indigenous in Great Britain, but it has long been
naturalized among us, and has taken so kindly to our soil and climate
that it is one of our commonest trees. It is one of the best of forest
trees for resisting wind; it "scorns to be biassed in its mode of growth
even by the prevailing wind, but shooting its branches with equal
boldness in every direction, shows no weatherside to the storm, and may
be broken, but never can be bended."-_Old Mortality_, c. i.

The history of the name is curious. The Sycomore, or Zicamine tree of
the Bible and of Theophrastus and Dioscorides, is the Fig-mulberry, a
large handsome tree indigenous in Africa and Syria, and largely planted,
partly for the sake of its fruit, and especially for the delicious shade
it gives. With this tree the early English writers were not acquainted,
but they found the name in the Bible, and applied it to any shade-giving
tree. Thus in Ælfric's Vocabulary in the tenth century it is given to
the Aspen--"Sicomorus vel celsa æps." Chaucer gives the name to some
hedge shrub, but he probably used it for any thick shrub, without any
very special distinction--

     "The hedge also that yedde in compas
      And closed in all the greene herbere
      With Sicamour was set and Eglateere,
      Wrethen in fere so well and cunningly
      That every branch and leafe grew by measure
      Plaine as a bord, of an height by and by."

                                       _The Flower and the Leaf._

Our Sycamore would be very ill suited to make the sides and roof of an
arbour, but before the time of Shakespeare it seems certain that the
name was attached to our present tree, and it is so called by Gerard and
Parkinson.

The Sycamore is chiefly planted for its rapid growth rather than for
its beauty. It becomes a handsome tree when fully grown, but as a young
tree it is stiff and heavy, and at all times it is so infested with
honeydew as to make it unfit for planting on lawns or near paths. It
grows well in the north, where other trees will not well flourish, and
"we frequently meet with the tree apart in the fields, or unawares in
remote localities amidst the Lammermuirs and the Cheviots, where it is
the surviving witness of the former existence of a hamlet there. Hence
to the botanical rambler it has a more melancholy character than the
Yew. It throws him back on past days, when he who planted the tree was
the owner of the land and of the Hall, and whose name and race are
forgotten even by tradition. . . . And there is reasonable pride in the
ancestry when a grove of old gentlemanly Sycamores still shadows the
Hall."--JOHNSTON. But these old Sycamores were not planted only for
beauty: they were sometimes planted for a very unpleasant use. "They
were used by the most powerful barons in the West of Scotland for
hanging their enemies and refractory vassals on, and for this reason
were called _dool_ or grief trees. Of these there are three yet
standing, the most memorable being one near the fine old castle of
Cassilis, one of the seats of the Marquis of Ailsa, on the banks of the
River Doon. It was used by the family of Kennedy, who were the most
powerful barons of the West of Scotland, for the purpose above
mentioned."--JOHNS.

The wood of the Sycamore is useful for turning and a few other purposes,
but is not very durable. The sap, as in all the Maples, is full of
sugar, and the pollen is very curious; "it appears globular in the
microscope, but if it be touched with anything moist, the globules burst
open with four valves, and then they appear in the form of a
cross."--MILLER.




THISTLE (_see also_ HOLY THISTLE).


     (1) _Burgundy._

                         And nothing teems
     But hateful Docks, rough Thistles, Kecksies, Burs.

                                    _Henry V_, act v, sc. 2 (51).


     (2) _Bottom._

     Mounsieur Cobweb, good mounsieur, get you your weapons ready
       in your hand, and kill me a red-hipped humble bee on the top
       of a Thistle; and, good mounsieur, bring me the honey-bag.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (10).

Thistle is the old English name for a large family of plants occurring
chiefly in Europe and Asia, of which we have fourteen species in Great
Britain, arranged under the botanical families of Carlina, Carduus, and
Onopordon. It is the recognized symbol of untidiness and carelessness,
being found not so much in barren ground as in good ground not properly
cared for. So good a proof of a rich soil does the Thistle give, that a
saying is attributed to a blind man who was choosing a piece of
land--"Take me to a Thistle;" and Tusser says--

     "Much wetnes, hog-rooting, and land out of hart makes Thistles
     a number foorthwith to upstart. If Thistles so growing proove
     lustie and long, It signifieth land to be hartie and strong."

                                      _October's Husbandry_ (13).

If the Thistles were not so common, and if we could get rid of the
associations they suggest, there are probably few of our wild plants
that we should more admire: they are stately in their foliage and habit,
and some of their flowers are rich in colour, and the Thistledown, which
carries the seed far and wide, is very beautiful, and was once
considered useful as a sign of rain, for "if the down flyeth off
Coltsfoot, Dandelyon, or Thistles when there is no winde, it is a signe
of rain."--COLES.

It had still another use in rustic divination--

     "Upon the various earth's embroidered gown,
      There is a weed upon whose head grows down,
      Sow Thistle 'tis y'clept, whose downy wreath
      If anyone can blow off at a breath
      We deem her for a maid."--BROWNE'S _Brit. Past._, i, 4.

But it is owing to these pretty Thistledowns that the plant becomes a
most undesirable neighbour, for they carry the seed everywhere, and
wherever it is carried, it soon vegetates, and a fine crop of Thistles
very quickly follows. In this way, if left to themselves, the Thistles
will soon monopolize a large extent of country, to the extinction of
other plants, as they have done in parts of the American prairies, and
as they did in Australia, till a most stringent Act of Parliament was
passed about twenty years ago, imposing heavy penalties upon all who
neglected to destroy the Thistles on their land. For these reasons we
cannot admit the Thistle into the garden, at least not our native
Thistles; but there are some foreigners which may well be admitted.
There are the handsome yellow Thistles of the South of Europe
(_Scolymus_), which besides their beauty have a classical interest.
"Hesiod elegantly describing the time of year, says,

     ἠμος δε σκολυμος τ'ανθει,

when the Scolymus flowers, _i.e._, in hot weather or summer ("Op. et
dies," 582). This plant crowned with its golden flowers is abundant
throughout Sicily."--HOGG'S _Classical Plants of Sicily_. There is the
Fish-bone Thistle (_Chamæpeuce diacantha_) from Syria, a very handsome
plant, and, like most of the Thistles, a biennial; but if allowed to
flower and go to seed, it will produce plenty of seedlings for a
succession of years. And there is a grand scarlet Thistle from Mexico,
the Erythrolena conspicua ("Sweet," vol. ii. p. 134), which must be
almost the handsomest of the family, and which was grown in England
fifty years ago, but has been long lost. There are many others that may
deserve a place as ornamental plants, but they find little favour, for
"they are only Thistles."

Any notice of the Thistle would be imperfect without some mention of the
Scotch Thistle. It is the one point in the history of the plant that
protects it from contempt. We dare not despise a plant which is the
honoured badge of our neighbours and relations, the Scotch; which is
ennobled as the symbol of the Order of the Thistle, that claims to be
the most ancient of all our Orders of high honour; and which defies you
to insult it or despise it by its proud mottoes, "Nemo me impune
lacessit," "Ce que Dieu garde, est bien gardé." What is the true Scotch
Thistle even the Scotch antiquarians cannot decide, and in the
uncertainty it is perhaps safest to say that no Thistle in particular
can claim the sole honour, but that it extends to every member of the
family that can be found in Scotland.[292:1]

Shakespeare has noticed the love of the bee for the Thistle, and it
seems that it is for other purposes than honey gathering that he finds
the Thistle useful. For "a beauty has the Thistle, when every delicate
hair arrests a dew-drop on a showery April morning, and when the purple
blossom of a roadside Thistle turns its face to Heaven and welcomes the
wild bee, who lies close upon its flowerets on the approach of some
storm cloud until its shadow be past away. For with unerring instinct
the bee well knows that the darkness is but for a moment, and that the
sun will shine out again ere long."--LADY WILKINSON.


FOOTNOTES:

[292:1] See an interesting and fanciful account of the fitness of the
Thistle as the emblem of Scotland in Ruskin's "Proserpina," pp. 135-139.




THORNS.


     (1) _Ariel._

     Tooth'd Briers, sharp Furzes, pricking Goss, and Thorns,
     Which entered their frail skins.

                                  _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (180).


     (2) _Quince._

     One must come in with a bush of Thorns and a lanthorn, and say
       he comes in to disfigure, or to present, the person of
       Moonshine.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (60).


     (3) _Puck._

     For Briers and Thorns at their apparel snatch.

                                    _Ibid._, act iii, sc. 2 (29).


     (4) _Prologue._

     This man with lanthorn, dog, and bush of Thorn,
     Presenteth Moonshine.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 1 (136).


     (5) _Moonshine._

     All that I have to say, is to tell you that the lanthorn is
       the moon; I, the man in the moon; this Thorn-bush, my
       Thorn-bush; and this dog, my dog.

                                                   _Ibid._ (261).


     (6) _Dumain._

     But, alack, my hand is sworn
     Ne'er to pluck thee from thy Thorn.

                     _Love's Labour's Lost_, act iv, sc. 3 (111).


     (7) _Carlisle._

     The woe's to come; the children yet unborn
     Shall feel this day as sharp to them as Thorn.

                               _Richard II_, act iv, sc. 1 (322).


     (8) _King Henry._

                The care you have of us,
     To mow down Thorns that would annoy our foot,
     Is worthy praise.

                             _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 1 (66).


     (9) _Gloucester._

     And I--like one lost in a Thorny wood,
     That rends the Thorns and is rent with the Thorns,
     Seeking a way, and straying from the way.

                            _3rd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 2 (174).


     (10) _K. Edward._

     Brave followers, yonder stands the Thorny wood.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 4 (67).


     (11) _K. Edward._

     What! can so young a Thorn begin to prick.

                                      _Ibid._, act v, sc. 4 (13).


     (12) _Romeo._

     Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
     Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like Thorn.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act i, sc. 4 (25).


     (13) _Boult._

     A Thornier piece of ground.

                                 _Pericles_, act iv, sc. 6 (153).


     (14) _Leontes._

                Which being spotted
     Is goads, Thorns, Nettles, tails of wasps.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act i, sc. 2 (328).


     (15) _Florizel._

     But O, the Thorns we stand upon!

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 4 (596).


     (16) _Ophelia._

     Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
     Shew me the steep and Thorny path to Heaven.

                                     _Hamlet_, act i, sc. 3 (47).


     (17) _Ghost._

                     Leave her to Heaven,
     And to those Thorns that in her bosom lodge,
     To prick and sting her.

                                      _Ibid._, act i, sc. 5 (86).


     (18) _Bastard._

     I am amazed, methinks, and lose my way
     Among the Thorns and dangers of this world.

                                 _King John_, act iv, sc. 3 (40).

_See also_ ROSE, Nos. 7, 18, 22, 30, the scene in the Temple gardens;
and BRIER, No. 11.

Thorns and Thistles are the typical emblems of desolation and trouble,
and so Shakespeare uses them; and had he spoken of Thorns in this sense
only, I should have been doubtful as to admitting them among his other
plants, but as in some of the passages they stand for the Hawthorn tree
and the Rose bush, I could not pass them by altogether. They might need
no further comment beyond referring for further information about them
to Hawthorn, Briar, Rose, and Bramble; but in speaking of the Bramble I
mentioned the curious legend which tells why the Bramble employs itself
in collecting wool from every stray sheep, and there is another very
curious instance in Blount's "Antient Tenures" of a connection between
Thorns and wool. The original document is given in Latin, and is dated
39th Henry III. It may be thus translated: "Peter de Baldwyn holds in
Combes, in the county of Surrey, by the service to go a wool gathering
for our Lady the Queen among the White Thorns, and if he refuses to
gather it he shall pay into the Treasury of our Lord the King xxs. per
annum." I should almost suspect a false reading, as the editor is
inclined to do, but that many other services, equally curious and
improbable, may easily be found.




THYME.


     (1) _Oberon._

     I know a bank where the wild Thyme blows.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (249).


     (2) _Iago._

     We will plant Nettles or sow Lettuce, set Hyssop and weed up Thyme.

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (324).
                                                  (_See_ HYSSOP.)


     (3) And sweet Time true.

                               _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Introd. song.

It is one of the most curious of the curiosities of English plant names
that the Wild Thyme--a plant so common and so widely distributed, and
that makes itself so easily known by its fine aromatic, pungent scent,
that it is almost impossible to pass it by without notice--has yet no
English name, and seems never to have had one. Thyme is the Anglicised
form of the Greek and Latin _Thymum_, which name it probably got from
its use for incense in sacrifices, while its other name of _serpyllum_
pointed out its creeping habit. I do not know when the word Thyme was
first introduced into the English language, for it is another curious
point connected with the name, that _thymum_ does not occur in the old
English vocabularies. We have in Ælfric's "Vocabulary," "Pollegia,
hyl-wyrt," which may perhaps be the Thyme, though it is generally
supposed to be the Pennyroyal; we have in a Vocabulary of thirteenth
century, "Epitime, epithimum, fordboh," which also may be the Wild
Thyme; we have in a Vocabulary of the fifteenth century, "Hoc sirpillum,
A{ce} petergrys;" and in a Pictorial Vocabulary of the same date, "Hoc
cirpillum, A{ce} a pellek" (which word is probably a misprint, for in
the "Promptorium Parvulorum," c. 1440, it is "Peletyr, herbe, _serpillum
piretrum_"), both of which are almost certainly the Wild Thyme; while in
an Anglo-Saxon Vocabulary of the tenth or eleventh century we have
"serpulum, crop-leac," _i.e._, the Onion, which must certainly be a
mistake of the compiler. So that not even in its Latin form does the
name occur, except in the "Promptorium Parvulorum," where it is "Tyme,
herbe, _Tima_, _Timum_--Tyme, floure, _Timus_;" and in the "Catholicon
Anglicum," when it is "Tyme; _timum epitimum; flos ejus est_." It is
thus a puzzle how it can have got naturalized among us, for in
Shakespeare's time it was completely naturalized.

I have already quoted Lord Bacon's account of it under BURNET, but I
must quote it again here: "Those flowers which perfume the air most
delightfully, not passed by as the rest, but being trodden upon and
crushed, are three--that is Burnet, Wild Thyme, and Water mints;
therefore you are to set whole alleys of them, to have the pleasure when
you walk or tread;" and again in his pleasant description of the heath
or wild garden, which he would have in every "prince-like garden," and
"framed as much as may be to a natural wildness," he says, "I like also
little heaps, in the nature of mole-hills (such as are in wild heaths)
to be set some with Wild Thyme, some with Pinks, some with Germander."
Yet the name may have been used sometimes as a general name for any
wild, strong-scented plant. It can only be in this sense that Milton
used it--

     "Thee, shepherd! thee the woods and desert caves,
      With Wild Thyme and the gadding Vine o'ergrown,
      And all their echoes mourn."

                                                       _Lycidas._

for certainly a desert cave is almost the last place in which we should
look for the true Wild Thyme.

It is as a bee-plant especially that the Thyme has always been
celebrated. Spenser speaks of it as "the bees alluring Tyme," and Ovid
says of it, speaking of Chloris or Flora--

     "Mella meum munus; volucres ego mella daturos
      Ad violam et cytisos, et Thyma cana voco."

                                                      _Fasti_, v.

so that the Thyme became proverbial as the symbol of sweetness. It was
the highest compliment that the shepherd could pay to his mistress--

     "Nerine Galatea, Thymo mihi dulcior Hyblæ."

                                              VIRGIL, _Ecl._ vii.

And it was because of its wild Thyme that Mount Hymettus became so
celebrated for its honey--"Mella Thymi redolentia flore" (Ovid). "Thyme,
for the time it lasteth, yeeldeth most and best honni, and therefore in
old time was accounted chief (Thymus aptissimus ad mellificum--Pastus
gratissimus apibus Thymum est--Plinii, 'His. Nat.')

     'Dum thymo pascentur apes, dum rore cicadæ.'

                                                 VIRGIL, _Georg._

Hymettus in Greece and Hybla in Sicily were so famous for Bees and
Honni, because there grew such store of Tyme; propter hoc Siculum mel
fert palmam, quod ibi Thymum bonum et frequens est."--VARRO, _The
Feminine Monarchie_, 1634.

The Wild Thyme can scarcely be considered a garden plant, except in its
variegated and golden varieties, which are very handsome, but if it
should ever come naturally in the turf, it should be welcomed and
cherished for its sweet scent. The garden Thyme (_T. vulgaris_) must of
course be in every herb garden; and there are a few species which make
good plants for the rockwork, such as T. lanceolatus from Greece, a very
low-growing shrub, with narrow, pointed leaves; T. carnosus, which makes
a pretty little shrub, and others; while the Corsican Thyme (_Mentha
Requieni_) is perhaps the lowest and closest-growing of all herbs,
making a dark-green covering to the soil, and having a very strong
scent, though more resembling Peppermint than Thyme.




TOADSTOOLS, _see_ MUSHROOMS.




TURNIPS.


     _Anne._

     Alas! I had rather be set quick i' the earth
     And boul'd to death with Turnips.

                   _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iii, sc. 4 (89).

The Turnips of Shakespeare's time were like ours, and probably as good,
though their cultivation seems to have been chiefly confined to gardens.
It is not very certain whether the cultivated Turnip is the wild Turnip
improved in England by cultivation, or whether we are indebted for it to
the Romans, and that the wild one is only the degenerate form of the
cultivated plant; for though the wild Turnip is admitted into the
English flora, yet its right to the admission is very doubtful. But if
we did not get the vegetable from the Romans we got its name. The old
name for it was _nœp_, _nep_, or _neps_, which was only the English
form of the Latin _napus_, while Turnip is the corruption of _terræ
napus_, but when the first syllable was added I do not know. There is a
curious perversion in the name, for our Turnip is botanically Brassica
rapa, while the Rape is Brassica napus, so that the English and Latin
have changed places, the Napus becoming a Rape and the Rapa a Nep.

The present large field cultivation of Turnips is of comparatively a
modern date, though the field Turnip and garden Turnip are only
varieties of the same species, while there are also many varieties both
of the field and garden Turnip. "One field proclaims the Scotch variety,
while the bluer cast tells its hardy Swedish origin; the tankard
proclaims a deep soil, and the lover of boiled mutton, rejoicing, sees
the yellower tint of the Dutch or Stone Turnip, which he desires to meet
with again in the market."--PHILLIPS.

It is not very easy to speak of the moral qualities of Turnips, or to
make them the symbols of much virtue, yet Gwillim did so: "He beareth
sable, a Turnip proper, a chief or gutte de Larmes. This is a wholesome
root, and yieldeth great relief to the poor, and prospereth best in a
hot sandy ground, and may signifie a person of good disposition, whose
vertuous demeanour flourisheth most prosperously, even in that soil,
where the searching heat of envy most aboundeth. This differeth much in
nature from that whereof it is said, 'And that there should not be among
you any root that bringeth forth gall and wormwood.'"--GWILLIM'S
_Heraldry_, sec. iii. c. 11.




VETCHES.


     _Iris._

     Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas,
     Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (60).

The cultivated Vetch (_Vicia sativa_) is probably not a British plant,
and it is not very certain to what country it rightly belongs; but it
was very probably introduced into England by the Romans as an excellent
and easily-grown fodder-plant. There are several Vetches that are true
British plants, and they are among the most beautiful ornaments of our
lanes and hedges. Two especially deserve to take a place in the garden
for their beauty; but they require watching, or they will scramble into
parts where their presence is not desirable; these are V. cracca and V.
sylvatica. V. cracca has a very bright pure blue flower, and may be
allowed to scramble over low bushes; V. sylvatica is a tall climber, and
may be seen in copses and high hedges climbing to the tops of the Hazels
and other tall bushes. It is one of the most graceful of our British
plants, and perhaps quite the most graceful of our climbers; it bears an
abundance of flowers, which are pure white streaked and spotted with
pale blue; it is not a very common plant, but I have often seen it in
Gloucestershire and Somersetshire, and wherever it is found it is
generally in abundance.

The other name for the Vetch is Tares, which is, no doubt, an old
English word that has never been satisfactorily explained. The word has
an interest from its biblical associations, though modern scholars
decide that the Zizania is wrongly translated Tares, and that it is
rather a bastard Wheat or Darnel.




VINES.


     (1) _Titania._

     Feed him with Apricocks and Dewberries,
     With purple Grapes, green Figs, and Mulberries.

                 _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iii, sc. 1 (169).


     (2) _Menenius._

     The tartness of his face sours ripe Grapes.

                                 _Coriolanus_, act v, sc. 4 (18).


     (3) _Song._

     Come, thou monarch of the Vine,
     Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne!
     In thy fats our cares be drown'd,
     With thy Grapes our hairs be crown'd.

                     _Antony and Cleopatra_, act ii, sc. 7 (120).


     (4) _Cleopatra._

                          Now no more
     The juice of Egypt's Grape shall moist this lip.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 2 (284).


     (5) _Timon._

     Dry up thy Marrows, Vines, and plough-torn leas.

                          _Timon of Athens_, act iv, sc. 3 (193).


     (6) _Timon._

     Go, suck the subtle blood o' the Grape,
     Till the high fever seethe your blood to froth.

                                                   _Ibid._ (432).


     (7) _Touchstone._

     The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a Grape,
       would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning
       thereby that Grapes were made to eat and lips to open.

                             _As You Like It_, act v, sc. 1 (36).


     (8) _Iago._

     Blessed Fig's end! the wine she drinks is made of Grapes.

                                   _Othello_, act ii, sc 1 (250).


     (9) _Lafeu._

     O, will you eat no Grapes, my royal fox?
     Yes, but you will my noble Grapes, an if
     My royal fox could reach them.

                 _All's Well that Ends Well_, act ii, sc. 1 (73).


     (10) _Lafeu._

     There's one Grape yet.

                                    _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 1 (105).


     (11) _Pompey._

     'Twas in "The Bunch of Grapes," where, indeed, you have a
       delight to sit.

                      _Measure for Measure_, act ii, sc. 1 (133).


     (12) _Constable._

                         Let us quit all
     And give our Vineyards to a barbarous people.

                                   _Henry V_, act iii, sc. 5 (3).


     (13) _Burgundy._

     Her Vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
     Unpruned, dies.      .      .      .
     .     .       .      .      .      .
     Our Vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,
     Defective in their natures, grow to wildness.

                                  _Ibid._, act v, sc. 2 (41, 54).


     (14) _Mortimer._

     And pithless arms, like to a wither'd Vine
     That droops his sapless branches to the ground.

                              _1st Henry VI_, act ii, sc. 5 (11).


     (15) _Cranmer._

     In her days every man shall eat in safety,
     Under his own Vine, what he plants; and sing
     The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours.

                                 _Henry VIII_, act v, sc. 5 (34).


     (16) _Cranmer._

     Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror,
     That were the servants to this chosen infant,
     Shall then be his, and like a Vine grow to him.

                                                    _Ibid._ (48).


     (17) _Lear._

                                 Now, our joy,
     Although the last, not least; to whose young love
     The Vines of France and milk of Burgundy
     Strive to be interess'd.

                                  _King Lear_, act i, sc. 1 (84).


     (18) _Arviragus._

     And let the stinking Elder, grief, untwine
     His perishing root with the increasing Vine!

                                 _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (59).


     (19) _Adriana._

     Thou art an Elm, my husband, I a Vine,
     Whose weakness married to thy stronger state
     Makes me with thy strength to communicate.

                         _Comedy of Errors_, act ii, sc. 2 (176).


     (20) _Gonzalo._

     Bound of land, tilth, Vineyard, none.

                                  _Tempest_, act ii, sc. 1 (152).


     (21) _Iris._

     Thy pole-clipt Vineyard.

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (68).


     (22) _Ceres._

     Vines with clustering bunches growing,
     Plants with goodly burthen bowing.

                                                   _Ibid._ (112).


     (23) _Richmond._

                      The usurping boar,
     That spoil'd your summer fields and fruitful Vines.

                                 _Richard III_, act v, sc. 2 (7).


     (24) _Isabella._

     He hath a garden circummured with brick,
     Whose western side is with a Vineyard back'd;
     And to that Vineyard is a planched gate,
     That makes his opening with this bigger key:
     This other doth command a little door,
     Which from the Vineyard to the garden leads.

                       _Measure for Measure_, act iv, sc. 1 (28).


     (25)

     The Vine shall grow, but we shall never see it.

                         _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act ii, sc. 2 (47).


     (26)

     Even as poor birds, deceived with painted Grapes,
     Do forfeit by the eye and pine the maw.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (601).


     (27)

     For one sweet Grape, who will the Vine destroy?

                                                 _Lucrece_ (215).

Besides these different references to the Grape Vine, some of its
various products are mentioned, as Raisins, wine, aquavitæ or brandy,
claret (the "thin potations" forsworn by Falstaff), sherris-sack or
sherry, and malmsey. But none of these passages gives us much insight
into the culture of the Vine in England, the whole history of which is
curious and interesting.

The Vine is not even a native of Europe, but of the East, whence it was
very early introduced into Europe; so early, indeed, that it has
recently been found "fossil in a tufaceous deposit in the South of
France."--DARWIN. It was no doubt brought into England by the Romans.
Tacitus, describing England in the first century after Christ, says
expressly that the Vine did not, and, as he evidently thought, could not
grow there. "Solum, præter oleam vitemque et cætera calidioribus terris
oriri sueta, patiens frugum, fæcundum." Yet Bede, writing in the eighth
century, describes England as "opima frugibus atque arboribus insula, et
alendis apta pecoribus et jumentis Vineas etiam quibusdam in locis
germinans."[301:1]

From that time till the time of Shakespeare there is abundant proof not
only of the growth of the Vine as we now grow it in gardens, but in
large Vineyards. In Anglo-Saxon times "a Vineyard" is not unfrequently
mentioned in various documents. "Edgar gives the Vineyard situated at
Wecet, with the Vine-dressers."--TURNER'S _Anglo-Saxons_. "'Domesday
Book' contained thirty-eight entries of valuable Vineyards; one in Essex
consisted of six acres, and yielded twenty hogsheads of wine in a good
year. There was another of the same extent at Ware."--H. EVERSHED, in
_Gardener's Chronicle_. So in the Norman times, "Giraldus Cambrensis,
speaking of the Castle of Manorbeer (his birthplace), near Pembroke,
said that it had under its walls, besides a fishpond, a beautiful
garden, enclosed on one side by a Vineyard and on the other by a wood,
remarkable for the projection of its rocks and the height of its Hazel
trees. In the twelfth century Vineyards were not uncommon in
England."--WRIGHT. Neckam, writing in that century, refers to the
usefulness of the Vine when trained against the wall-front: "Pampinus
latitudine suâ excipit æris insultus, cum res ita desiderat, et fenestra
clementiam caloris solaris admittat."--HUDSON TURNER.

In the time of Shakespeare I suppose that most of the Vines in England
were grown in Vineyards of more or less extent, trained to poles. These
formed the "pole-clipt Vineyards" of No. 21, and are thus described by
Gerard: "The Vine is held up with poles and frames of wood, and by that
means it spreadeth all about and climbeth aloft; it joyneth itselfe unto
trees, or whatsoever standeth next unto it"--in other words, the Vine
was then chiefly grown as a standard in the open ground.

There are numberless notices in the records and chronicles of extensive
vineyards in England, which it is needless to quote; but it is worth
noticing that the memory of these Vineyards remains not only in the
chronicles and in the treatises which teach of Vine-culture, but also in
the names of streets, &c., which are occasionally met with. There is
"Vineyard Holm," in the Hampshire Downs, and many other places in
Hampshire; the "Vineyard Hills," at Godalming; the "Vines," at Rochester
and Sevenoaks; the "Vineyards," at Bath and Ludlow; the "Vine Fields,"
near the Abbey at Bury St. Edmunds;[302:1] the "Vineyard Walk" in
Clerkenwell; and "near Basingstoke the 'Vine' or 'Vine House,' in a
richly wooded spot, where, as is said, the Romans grew the first Vine in
Britain, the memory of which now only survives in the Vine
Hounds;"[303:1] and probably a closer search among the names of fields
in other parts would bring to light many similar instances.[303:2]

Among the English Vineyards those of Gloucestershire stood pre-eminent.
William of Malmesbury, writing of Gloucestershire in the twelfth
century, says: "This county is planted thicker with Vineyards than any
other in England, more plentiful in crops, and more pleasant in flavour.
For the wines do not offend the mouth with sharpness, since they do not
yield to the French in sweetness" ("De Gestis Pontif.," book iv.) Of
these Vineyards the tradition still remains in the county. The Cotswold
Hills are in many places curiously marked with a succession of steps or
narrow terraces, called "litchets" or "lynches;" these are traditionally
the sites of the old Vineyards, but the tradition cannot be fully
depended on, and the formation of the terraces has been variously
accounted for. By some they are supposed to be natural formations, but
wherever I have seen them they appear to me too regular and artificial;
nor, as far as I am aware, does the oolite, on which formation these
terraces mostly occur, take the form of a succession of narrow terraces.
It seems certain that the ground was artificially formed into these
terraces with very little labour, and that they were utilized for some
special cultivation, and as likely for Vines as for any other.[303:3] It
is also certain that as the Gloucestershire Vineyards were among the
most ancient and the best in England, so they held their ground till
within a very recent period. I cannot find the exact date, but some time
during the last century there is "satisfactory testimony of the full
success of a plantation in Cromhall Park, from which ten hogsheads of
wine were made in the year. The Vine plantation was discontinued or
destroyed in consequence of a dispute with the Rector on a claim of the
tythes."--RUDGE'S _History of Gloucestershire_. This, however, is not
quite the latest notice I have met with, for Phillips, writing in 1820,
says: "There are several flourishing Vineyards at this time in
Somersetshire; the late Sir William Basset, in that county, annually
made some hogsheads of wine, which was palatable and well-bodied. The
idea that we cannot make good wine from our own Grapes is erroneous; I
have tasted it quite equal to the Grave wines, and in some instances,
when kept for eight or ten years, it has been drunk as hock by the
nicest judges."--_Pomarium Britannicum._ It would have been more
satisfactory if Mr. Phillips had told us the exact locality of any of
these "flourishing Vineyards," for I can nowhere else find any account
of them, except that in a map of five miles round Bath in 1801 a
Vineyard is marked at Claverton, formerly in the possession of the
Bassets, and the Vines are distinctly shown.[304:1] At present the
experiment is again being tried by the Marquis of Bute, at Castle Coch,
near Cardiff, to establish a Vineyard, not to produce fruit for the
market, but to produce wine; and as both soil and climate seem very
suitable, there can be little doubt that wine will be produced of a very
fair character. Whether it will be a commercial success is more
doubtful, but probably that is not of much consequence.

I have dwelt at some length on the subject of the English Vineyards,
because the cultivation of the Vine in Vineyards, like the cultivation
of the Saffron, is a curious instance of an industry foreign to the soil
introduced, and apparently for many years successful,[304:2] and then
entirely, or almost, given up. The reasons for the cessation of the
English Vineyards are not far to seek. Some have attributed it to a
change in the seasons, and have supposed that our summers were formerly
hotter than they are now, bringing as a proof the Vineyards and
English-made wine of other days. This was Parkinson's idea. "Our yeares
in these times do not fall out to be so kindly and hot to ripen the
Grape to make any good wine as formerly they have done." But this is a
mere assertion, and I believe it not to be true. I have little doubt
that quite as good wine could now be made in England as ever was made,
and wine is still made every year in many old-fashioned farmhouses. But
foreign wines can now be produced much better and much cheaper, and that
has caused the cessation of the English Vineyards. It is true that
French and Spanish wines were introduced into England very early, but it
must have been in limited quantities, and at a high price. When the
quantities increased and the price was lowered, it was well to give up
the cultivation of the Vine for some more certain crop better suited to
the soil and the climate, for it must always have been a capricious and
uncertain crop. Hakluyt was one who was very anxious that England should
supply herself with all the necessaries of life without dependence on
foreign countries, yet, writing in Shakespeare's time, he says: "It is
sayd that since we traded to Zante, that the plant that beareth the
Coren is also broughte into this realme from thence, and although it
bring not fruit to perfection, yet it may serve for pleasure, and for
some use, like as our Vines doe which we cannot well spare, although the
climat so colde will not permit us to have good wines of them"
("Voiages, &c.," vol. ii. p. 166). Parkinson says to the same effect:
"Many have adventured to make Vineyards in England, not only in these
later days but in ancient times, as may well witness the sundry places
in this land, entituled by the name of Vineyards, and I have read that
many monasteries in this kingdom having Vineyards had as much wine made
therefrom as sufficed their convents year by year, but long since they
have been destroyed, and the knowledge how to order a Vineyard is also
utterly perished with them. For although divers both nobles and
gentlemen have in these later times endeavoured to plant and make
Vineyards, and to that purpose have caused Frenchmen, being skilfull in
keeping and dressing Vines, to be brought over to perform it, yet either
their skill faileth them or their Vines were not good, or (the most
likely) the soil was not fitting, for they could never make any wine
that was worth the drinking, being so small and heartlesse, that they
soon gave over their practise."

There is no need to say anything of the modern culture of the Vine, or
its many excellent varieties. Even in Virgil's time the varieties
cultivated were so many that he said--

     "Sed neque quam multæ species, nec nomina quæ sint
      Est numerus; neque enim numero comprendere refert;
      Quem qui scire velit, Lybici velit æquoris idem
      Discere quam multæ Zephyro turbentur arenæ;
      Aut ubi navigiis violentior incidit Eurus
      Nosse quot Ionii veniant ad littora fluctus."

                                             _Georgica_, ii, 103.

And now the number must far exceed those of Virgil's time. "The
cultivated varieties are extremely numerous; Count Odart says that he
will not deny that there may exist throughout the world 700 or 800,
perhaps even 1,000 varieties; but not a third of these have any
value."--DARWIN. These are the Grapes that are grown in our hothouses;
some also of a fine quality are produced in favourable years
out-of-doors. There are also a few which are grown as ornamental shrubs.
The Parsley-leaved Vine (_Vitis laciniosa_) is one that has been grown
in England, certainly since the time of Shakespeare, for its pretty
foliage, its fruit being small and few; but it makes a pretty covering
to a wall or trellis. The small Variegated Vine (_Vitis_ or _Cissus
heterophyllus variegatus_) is another very pretty Vine, forming a small
bush that may be either trained to a wall or grown as a low rockwork
bush; it bears a few Grapes of no value, and is perfectly hardy. Besides
these there are several North American species, which have handsome
foliage, and are very hardy, of which the Vitis riparia or Vigne des
Battures is a desirable tree, as "the flowers have an exquisitely fine
smell, somewhat resembling that of Mignonnette."--DON. I mention this
particularly, because in all the old authors great stress is laid on the
sweetness of the Vine in all its parts, a point of excellence in it
which is now generally overlooked. Lord Bacon reckons "Vine flowers"
among the "things of beauty in season" in May and June, and reckons
among the most sweet-scented flowers, next to Musk Roses and Strawberry
leaves dying, "the flower of the Vines; it is a little dust, like the
dust of a bent, which grows among the duster in the first coming
forth." And Chaucer says: "Scorners faren like the foul toode, that may
noughte endure the soote smel of the Vine roote when it
flourisheth."--_The Persones Tale._

Nor must we dismiss the Vine without a few words respecting its sacred
associations, for it is very much owing to these associations that it
has been so endeared to our forefathers and ourselves. Having its native
home in the East, it enters largely into the history and imagery of the
Bible. There is no plant so often mentioned in the Bible, and always
with honour, till the honour culminates in the great similitude, in
which our Lord chose the Vine as the one only plant to which He
condescended to compare Himself--"I am the true Vine!" No wonder that a
plant so honoured should ever have been the symbol of joy and plenty, of
national peace and domestic happiness.


FOOTNOTES:

[301:1] According to Vopiscus, England is indebted to the Emperor Probus
(A.D. 276-282) for the Vine: "Gallis omnibus et Britannis et Hispanis
hinc permisit ut vites haberent, et Vinum conficerent."

[302:1] At Stonehouse "there are two arpens of Vineyard."--_Domesday
Book_, quoted by Rudder. Also "the Vineyard" was the residence of the
Abbots of Gloucester. It was at St. Mary de Lode near Gloucester, and
"the Vineyard and Park were given to the Bishopric of Gloucester at its
foundation and again confirmed 6th Edward VI."--RUDDER.

[303:1] "Edinburgh Review," April, 1860.

[303:2] See Preface to "Palladius on Husbandrie," p. viii. (Early
English Text Society), for a further account of old English Vineyards.

[303:3] For a very interesting account of the formation of lynches, and
their connection with the ancient communal cultivation of the soil see
Seebohm's "English Village Community," p. 5.

[304:1] On this Vineyard Mr. Skrine, the present owner of Claverton, has
kindly informed me that it was sold in 1701 by Mr. Richard Holder for
£21,367, of which £28 was for "four hogsheads of wine of the Vineyards
of Claverton."

[304:2] Andrew Boorde was evidently a lover of good wine, and his
account is: "This I do say that all the kingdoms of the world have not
so many sundry kindes of wine as we in England, and yet _there is
nothing to make of_."--_Breviary of Health_, 1598.




VIOLETS.


     (1) _Queen._

     The Violets, Cowslips, and the Primroses,
     Bear to my closet.

                                  _Cymbeline_, act i, sc. 5 (83).


     (2) _Angelo._

                                    It is I,
     That, lying by the Violet in the sun,
     Do as the carrion does, not as the flower,
     Corrupt with virtuous season.

                      _Measure for Measure_, act ii, sc. 2 (165).


     (3) _Oberon._

     Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (250).


     (4) _Salisbury._

     To gild refined gold, to paint the Lily,
     To throw a perfume on the Violet,
     To smooth the ice, or add another hue
     Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
     To seek the beauteous eye of Heaven to garnish,
     Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.

                                 _King John_, act iv, sc. 2 (11).


     (5) _K. Henry._

     I think the king is but a man, as I am; the
     Violet smells to him as it doth to me.

                                  _Henry V_, act iv, sc. 1 (105).


     (6) _Laertes._

     A Violet in the youth of primy nature,
     Forward, not permanent; sweet, not lasting.
     The perfume and suppliance of a minute;
     No more.

                                      _Hamlet_, act i, sc. 3 (7).


     (7) _Ophelia._

     I would give you some Violets, but they withered all when my
       father died.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 5 (184).


     (8) _Laertes._

                  Lay her i' the earth,
     And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
     May Violets spring!

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 1 (261).


     (9) _Belarius._

                   They are as gentle
     As zephyrs blowing below the Violet,
     Not wagging his sweet head.

                                _Cymbeline_, act iv, sc. 2 (171).


     (10) _Duke._

     That strain again! It had a dying fall:
     O, it came o'er my ear like the sweet sound,
     That breathes upon a bank of Violets,
     Stealing and giving odour!

                               _Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 1 (4).


     (11) _Song of Spring._

     When Daisies pied, and Violets blue, &c.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (904).
                                             (_See_ CUCKOO-BUDS.)


     (12) _Perdita._

                        Violets dim,
     But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
     Or Cytherea's breath.

                            _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (120).


     (13) _Duchess._

     Welcome, my son; Who are the Violets now,
     That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?

                                 _Richard II_, act v, sc. 2 (46).


     (14) _Marina._

                      The yellows, blues,
     The purple Violets and Marigolds,
     Shall as a carpet hang upon thy grave
     While summer-days do last.

                                  _Pericles_, act iv, sc. 1 (16).


     (15)

     These blue-veined Violets whereon we lean
     Never can blab, nor know not what we mean.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (125).


     (16)

     Who when he lived, his breath and beauty set
     Gloss on the Rose, smell to the Violet.

                                                   _Ibid._ (936).


     (17)

     When I behold the Violet past prime,
     And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white,

            *       *       *       *       *

     Then of thy beauty do I question make,
     That thou among the wastes of time must go,
     Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
     And die as fast as they see others grow.

                                                    _Sonnet_ xii.


     (18)

     The forward Violet thus did I chide:
     "Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
     If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
     Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
     In my love's veins thou hast too grossly died."

                                                    _Ibid._ xcix.

There are about a hundred different species of Violets, of which there
are five species in England, and a few sub-species. One of these is the
Viola tricolor, from which is descended the Pansy, or Love-in-Idleness
(_see_ PANSY). But in all the passages in which Shakespeare names the
Violet, he alludes to the purple sweet-scented Violet, of which he was
evidently very fond, and which is said to be very abundant in the
neighbourhood of Stratford-on-Avon. For all the eighteen passages tell
of some point of beauty or sweetness that attracted him. And so it is
with all the poets from Chaucer downwards--the Violet is noticed by all,
and by all with affectation. I need only mention two of the greatest.
Milton gave the Violet a chief place in the beauties of the "Blissful
Bower" of our first parents in Paradise--

                       "Each beauteous flower,
     Iris all hues, Roses, and Jessamin
     Rear'd high their flourish't heads between, and wrought
     Mosaic; underfoot the Violet,
     Crocus and Hyacinth with rich inlay
     Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone
     Of costliest emblem;"

                                        _Paradise Lost_, book iv.

and Sir Walter Scott crowns it as the queen of wild flowers--

     "The Violet in her greenwood bower,
        Where Birchen boughs with Hazels mingle,
      May boast itself the fairest flower
        In glen, in copse, or forest dingle."

Yet favourite though it ever has been, it has no English name. Violet is
the diminutive form of the Latin Viola, which again is the Latin form
of the Greek ἴον. In the old Vocabularies Viola frequently occurs, and
with the following various translations:--"Ban-wyrt," _i.e._, Bone-wort
(eleventh century Vocabulary); "Clœfre," _i.e._, Clover (eleventh
century Vocabulary); "Violé, Appel-leaf" (thirteenth century
Vocabulary);[310:1] "Wyolet" (fourteenth century Vocabulary); "Vyolytte"
(fifteenth century Nominale); "Violetta, A{ce}, a Violet" (fifteenth
century Pictorial Vocabulary); and "Viola Cleafre, Ban-vyrt" (Durham
Glossary). It is also mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon translation of the
Herbarium of Apuleius in the tenth century as "the Herb Viola purpurea;
(1) for new wounds and eke for old; (2) for hardness of the maw"
(Cockayne's translation). In this last example it is most probable that
our sweet-scented Violet is the plant meant, but in some of the other
cases it is quite certain that some other plant is meant, and perhaps in
all. For Violet was a name given very loosely to many plants, so that
Laurembergius says: "Vox Violæ distinctissimis floribus communis
est. Videntur mihi antiqui suaveolentes quosque flores generatim
Violas appellasse, cujuscunque etiam forent generis quasi vi
oleant."--_Apparat. Plant._, 1632. This confusion seems to have arisen
in a very simple way. Theophrastus described the Leucojum, which was
either the Snowdrop or the spring Snowflake, as the earliest-flowering
plant; Pliny literally translated Leucojum into Alba Viola. All the
earlier writers on natural history were in the habit of taking Pliny for
their guide, and so they translated his Viola by any early-flowering
plant that most took their fancy. Even as late as 1693, Samuel Gilbert,
in "The Florists' Vade Mecum," under the head of Violets, only describes
"the lesser early bulbous Violet, a common flower yet not to be wasted,
because when none other appears that does, though in the snow, whence
called Snowflower or Snowdrop;" and I think that even later instances
may be found.

When I say that there is no genuine English name for the Violet, I
ought, perhaps, to mention that one name has been attributed to it, but
I do not think that it is more than a clever guess. "The commentators on
Shakespeare have been much puzzled by the epithet 'happy lowlie down,'
applied to the man of humble station in "Henry IV.," and have proposed
to read 'lowly clown,' or to divide the phrase into 'low lie down,' but
the following lines from Browne clearly prove 'lowly down' to be the
correct term, for he uses it in precisely the same sense--

     'The humble Violet that lowly down
      Salutes the gay nymphs as they trimly pass.'

                                            _Poet's Pleasaunce._"

This may prove that Browne called the Violet a Lowly-down, but it
certainly does not prove that name to have been a common name for the
Violet. It was, however, the character of lowliness combined with
sweetness that gave the charm to the Violet in the eyes of the emblem
writers: it was for them the readiest symbol of the meekness of
humility. "Humilitas dat gratiam" is the motto that Camerarius places
over a clump of Violets. "A true widow is, in the church, as a little
March Violet shedding around an exquisite perfume by the fragrance of
her devotion, and always hidden under the ample leaves of her lowliness,
and by her subdued colouring showing the spirit of her mortification,
she seeks untrodden and solitary places," &c.--ST. FRANCIS DE SALES. And
the poets could nowhere find a fitter similitude for a modest maiden
than

     "A Violet by a mossy stone
      Half hidden from the eye."

Violets, like Primroses, must always have had their joyful associations
as coming to tell that the winter is passing away and brighter days are
near, for they are among

                    "The first to rise
     And smile beneath spring's wakening skies,
             The courier of a band
     Of coming flowers."

Yet it is curious to note how, like Primroses, they have been ever
associated with death, especially with the death of the young. I suppose
these ideas must have arisen from a sort of pity for flowers that were
only allowed to see the opening year, and were cut off before the full
beauty of summer had come. This was prettily expressed by H. Vaughan,
the Silurist:

                 "So violets, so doth the primrose fall
     At once the spring's pride and its funeral,
     Such early sweets get off in their still prime,
     And stay not here to wear the foil of time;
     While coarser flowers, which none would miss, if past,
     To scorching summers and cold winters last."

                                                 _Daphnis_, 1678.

It was from this association that they were looked on as apt emblems of
those who enjoyed the bright springtide of life and no more. This
feeling was constantly expressed, and from very ancient times. We find
it in some pretty lines by Prudentius--

     "Nos tecta fovebimus ossa
      Violis et fronde frequente,
      Titulumque et frigida saxa
      Liquido spargemus odore."

Shakespeare expresses the same feeling in the collection of "purple
Violets and Marigolds" which Marina carries to hang "as a carpet on the
grave" (No. 14), and again in Laertes' wish that Violets may spring from
the grave of Ophelia (No. 8), on which Steevens very aptly quotes from
Persius Satires--

             "e tumulo fortunataque favillâ.
     Nascentur Violæ."

In the same spirit Milton, gathering for the grave of Lycidas--

     "Every flower that sad embroidery wears,"

gathers among others "the glowing Violet;" and the same thought is
repeated by many other writers.

There is a remarkable botanical curiosity in the structure of the Violet
which is worth notice: it produces flowers both in spring and autumn,
but the flowers are very different. In spring they are fully formed and
sweet-scented, but they are mostly barren and produce no seed, while in
autumn they are very small, they have no petals and, I believe, no
scent, but they produce abundance of seed.[313:1]

I need say nothing to recommend the Violet in all its varieties as a
garden plant. As a useful medicinal plant it was formerly in high
repute--

     "Vyolet an erbe cowth
      Is knowyn in ilke manys mowthe,
      As bokys seyn in here language,
      It is good to don in potage,
      In playstrys to wondrys it is comfortyf,
      W{h} oyer erbys sanatyf:"

                                                  _Stockholm MS._

and it still holds a place in the Pharmacopœia, while the chemist
finds the pretty flowers one of the most delicate tests for detecting
the presence of acids and alkalies; but as to the many other virtues of
the Violet I cannot do better than quote Gerard's pleasant and quaint
words: "The Blacke or Purple Violets, or March Violets of the garden,
have a great prerogative above others, not only because the minde
conceiveth a certain pleasure and recreation by smelling and handling of
those most odoriferous flowres, but also for that very many by these
Violets receive ornament and comely grace; for there be made of them
garlands for the head, nosegaies, and poesies, which are delightfull to
looke on and pleasant to smell to, speaking nothing of their appropriate
vertues; yea, gardens themselves receive by these the greatest ornament
of all chiefest beautie and most gallant grace, and the recreation of
the minde which is taken thereby cannot but be very good and honest; for
they admonish and stir up a man to that which is comely and honest, for
flowres through their beautie, variety of colour, and exquisite forme,
do bring to a liberall and greatte many minde the remembrance of
honestie, comelinesse, and all kindes of vertues. For it would be an
unseemely and filthie thing (as a certain wise man saith) for him that
doth looke upon and handle faire and beautifull things, and who
frequenteth and is conversant in faire and beautifull places, to have
his minde not faire but filthie and deformed." With these brave words of
the old gardener I might well close my account of this favourite
flower, but I must add George Herbert's lines penned in the same
spirit--

     "Farewell, dear flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,
      Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament,
                And after death for cures;
      I follow straight without complaint or grief,
      Since if my scent be good, I care not if
                It be as short as yours."

                                                 _Poems on Life._


FOOTNOTES:

[310:1] Appel-leaf is given as the English name for Viola in two other
MS. Glossaries quoted by Cockayne, vol. iii. p. 312.

[313:1] This peculiarity is not confined to the Violet. It is found in
some species of Oxalis, Impatiens, Campanula, Eranthemum, Amphicarpea,
Leeisia, &c. Such plants are technically called Cleistogamous, and are
all self-fertilizing.




WALNUT.


     (1) _Petruchio._

     Why, 'tis a cockle or a Walnut-shell,
     A knack, a toy, a trick, a baby's cap.

                       _Taming of the Shrew_, act iv, sc. 3 (66).


     (2) _Ford._

     Let them say of me, "As jealous as Ford that searched a hollow
       Walnut for his wife's leman."

                   _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act iv, sc. 2 (170).

The Walnut is a native of Persia and China, and its foreign origin is
told in all its names. The Greeks called it Persicon, _i.e._, the
Persian tree, and Basilikon, _i.e._, the Royal tree; the Latins gave it
a still higher rank, naming it Juglans, _i.e._, Jove's Nut. "Hæc glans,
optima et maxima, ab Jove et glande juglans appellata est."--VARRO. The
English names tell the same story. It was first simply called Nut, as
the Nut _par excellence_. "_Juglantis vel nux_, knutu."--ÆLFRIC'S
_Vocabulary_. But in the fourteenth century it had obtained the name of
"Ban-nut," from its hardness. So it is named in a metrical Vocabulary of
the fourteenth century--

       Pomus       Pirus     Corulus nux     Avelanaque      Ficus
     Appul-tre   Peere-tre    Hasyl Note    Bannenote-tre    Fygge;

and this name it still holds in the West of England. But at the same
time it had also acquired the name of Walnut. "_Hec avelana_, A{ce}
Walnot-tree" (Vocabulary fourteenth century). "_Hec avelana_, a Walnutte
and the Nutte" (Nominate fifteenth century). This name is commonly
supposed to have reference to the hard shell, but it only means that
the nut is of foreign origin. "Wal" is another form of Walshe or Welch,
and so Lyte says that the tree is called "in English the Walnut and
Walshe Nut tree." "The word Welsh (_wilisc_, _woelisc_) meant simply a
foreigner, one who was not of Teutonic race, and was (by the Saxons)
applied especially to nations using the Latin language. In the Middle
Ages the French language, and in fact all those derived from Latin, and
called on that account _linguæ Romanæ_, were called in German _Welsch_.
France was called by the mediæval German writers _daz Welsche lant_, and
when they wished to express 'in the whole world,' they said, _in allen
Welschen und in Tiutschen richen_, 'in all Welsh and Teutonic kingdoms.'
In modern German the name _Wälsch_ is used more especially for
Italian."--WRIGHT'S _Celt, Roman, and Saxon_.[315:1] This will at once
explain that Walnut simply means the foreign or non-English Nut.

It must have been a well-established and common tree in Shakespeare's
time, for all the writers of his day speak of it as a high and large
tree, and I should think it very likely that Walnut trees were even more
extensively planted in his day than in our own. There are many noble
specimens to be seen in different parts of England, especially in the
chalk districts, for "it delights," says Evelyn, "in a dry, sound, rich
land, especially if it incline to a feeding chalk or marl; and where it
may be protected from the cold (though it affects cold rather than
extreme heat), as in great pits, valleys, and highway sides; also in
stony ground, if loamy, and on hills, especially chalky; likewise in
cornfields." The grand specimens that may be seen in the sheltered
villages lying under the chalk downs of Wiltshire and Berkshire bear
witness to the truth of Evelyn's remarks. But the finest English
specimens can bear no comparison with the size of the Walnut trees in
warmer countries, and especially where they are indigenous. There they
"sometimes attain prodigious size and great age. An Italian architect
mentions having seen at St. Nicholas, in Lorraine, a single plank of the
wood of the Walnut, 25ft. wide, upon which the Emperor Frederick III.
had given a sumptuous banquet. In the Baidar Valley, near Balaclava, in
the Crimea, stands a Walnut tree at least 1000 years old. It yields
annually from 80,000 to 100,000 Nuts, and belongs to five Tartar
families, who share its produce equally."--_Gardener's Chronicle._

The economic uses of the Walnut are now chiefly confined to the timber,
which is highly prized both for furniture and gun-stocks, and to the
production of oil, which is not much used in Europe, but is highly
valued in the East. "It dries much more slowly than any other distilled
oil, and hence its great value, as it allows the artist as much time as
he requires in order to blend his colours and finish his work. In
conjunction with amber varnish it forms a vehicle which leaves nothing
to be desired, and which doubtless was the vehicle of Van Eyck, and in
many instances of the Venetian masters, and of Correggio."--_Arts of the
Middle Ages_, preface. In mediæval times a high medicinal value was
attached to the fruit, for the celebrated antidote against poison which
was so firmly believed in, and which was attributed to Mithridates, King
of Pontus, was chiefly composed of Walnuts. "Two Nuttes (he is speaking
of Walnuts) and two Figges, and twenty Rewe leaves, stamped together
with a little salt, and eaten fasting, doth defende a man from poison
and pestilence that day."--BULLEIN, _Governmente of Health_, 1558.

The Walnut holds an honoured place in heraldry. Two large Walnut trees
overshadow the tomb of the poet Waller in Beaconsfield churchyard, and
"these are connected with a curious piece of family history. The tree
was chosen as the Waller crest after Agincourt, where the head of the
family took the Duke of Orleans prisoner, and took afterwards as his
crest the arms of Orleans hanging by a label in a Walnut tree with this
motto for the device: _Hæc fructus virtutis._"--_Gardener's Chronicle_,
Aug., 1878.

Walnuts are still very popular, but not as poison antidotes; their
popularity now rests on their use as pickles, their excellence as autumn
and winter dessert fruits, and with pseudo-gipsies for the rich olive
hue that the juice will give to the skin. These uses, together with the
beauty in the landscape that is given by an old Walnut tree, will always
secure for it a place among English trees; yet there can be little doubt
that the Walnut is a bad neighbour to other crops, and for that reason
its numbers in England have been much diminished. Phillips said there
was a decided antipathy between Apples and Walnuts, and spoke of the
Apple tree as--

     "Uneasy, seated by funereal Yew
      Or Walnut (whose malignant touch impairs
      All generous fruits), or near the bitter dews
      Of Cherries."

And in this he was probably right, though the mischief caused to the
Apple tree more probably arises from the dense shade thrown by the
Walnut tree than by any malarious exhalation emitted from it.


FOOTNOTES:

[315:1] See Earle's "Philology of the English Tongue," p. 23.




WARDEN, _see_ PEARS.




WHEAT.


     (1) _Iris._

     Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas
     Of Wheat, Rye, Barley, Vetches, Oats, and Pease.

                                   _Tempest_, act iv, sc. 1 (60).


     (2) _Helena._

     More tuneable than lark to shepherd's ear,
     When Wheat is green, when Hawthorn-buds appear.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act i, sc. 1 (184).


     (3) _Bassanio._

     His reasons are as two grains of Wheat hid in two bushels of
       chaff; you shall seek all day ere you find them, and when
       you have them, they are not worth the search.

                        _Merchant of Venice_, act i, sc. 1 (114).


     (4) _Hamlet._

     As peace should still her Wheaten garland wear.

                                     _Hamlet_, act v, sc. 2 (41).


     (5) _Pompey._

     To send measures of Wheat to Rome.

                      _Antony and Cleopatra_, act ii, sc. 6 (36).


     (6) _Edgar._

     This is the foul fiend Flibbertigibbet. . . . He mildews the
       white Wheat, and hurts the poor creatures of earth.

                               _King Lear_, act iii, sc. 4 (120).


     (7) _Pandarus._

     He that will have a cake out of the Wheat, must needs tarry
       the grinding.

                       _Troilus and Cressida_, act i, sc. 1 (15).


     (8) _Davy._

     And again, sir, shall we sow the headland with Wheat?

     _Shallow._

     With red Wheat, Davy.

                               _2nd Henry IV_, act v, sc. 1 (15).


     (9) _Theseus._

     Your Wheaten wreathe
     Was then nor threashed nor blasted.

                          _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act i, sc. 1 (68).

I might perhaps content myself with marking these passages only, and
dismiss Shakespeare's Wheat without further comment, for the Wheat of
his day was identical with our own; but there are a few points in
connection with English Wheat which may be interesting. Wheat is not an
English plant, nor is it a European plant; its original home is in
Northern Asia, whence it has spread into all civilized countries.[318:1]
For the cultivation of Wheat is one of the first signs of civilized
life; it marks the end of nomadic life, and implies more or less a
settled habitation. When it reached England, and to what country we are
indebted for it, we do not know; but we know that while we are indebted
to the Romans for so many of our useful trees, and fruits, and
vegetables, we are not indebted to them for the introduction of Wheat.
This we might be almost sure of from the very name, which has no
connection with the Latin names, _triticum_ or _frumentum_, but is a
pure old English word, signifying originally _white_, and so
distinguishing it as the white grain in opposition to the darker grains
of Oats and Rye. But besides the etymological evidence, we have good
historical evidence that Cæsar found Wheat growing in England when he
first landed on the shores of Kent. He daily victualled his camp with
British Wheat ("frumentum ex agris quotidie in castra conferebat"); and
it was while his soldiers were reaping the Wheat in the Kentish fields
that they were surrounded and successfully attacked by the British. He
tells us, however, that the cultivation of Wheat was chiefly confined to
Kent, and was not much known inland: "interiores plerique frumenta non
serunt, sed lacte et carne vivunt."--_De Bello Gallico_, v, 14. Roman
Wheat has frequently been found in graves, and strange stories have
been told of the plants that have been raised from these old seeds; but
a more scientific inquiry has proved that there have been mistakes or
deceits, more or less intentional, for "Wheat is said to keep for seven
years at the longest. The statements as to mummy Wheat are wholly devoid
of authenticity, as are those of the Raspberry seeds taken from a Roman
tomb."--HOOKER, "Botany" in _Science Primers_. The oft-repeated stories
about the vitality of mummy Wheat were effectually disposed of when it
was discovered that much of the so-called Wheat was South American
Maize.


FOOTNOTES:

[318:1] Yet Homer considered it to be indigenous in Sicily--Odyss: ix,
109--and Cicero, perhaps on the authority of Homer, says the same:
"Insula Cereris . . . ubi primum fruges inventæ esse dicuntur."--_In
Verrem_, v, 38.




WILLOW.


     (1) _Viola._

     Make me a Willow cabin at your gate.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act i, sc. 5 (287).


     (2) _Benedick._

     Come, will you go with me?

     _Claudio._

     Whither?

     _Benedick._

     Even to the next Willow, about your own business.

                   _Much Ado About Nothing_, act ii, sc. 1 (192).


     _Benedick._

     I offered him my company to a Willow tree, either to make him
       a garland, as being forsaken, or to bind him up a rod, as
       being worthy to be whipped.

                                                   _Ibid._ (223).


     (3) _Nathaniel._

     These thoughts to me were Oaks, to thee like Osiers bow'd.

                     _Love's Labour's Lost_, act iv, sc. 2 (112).


     (4) _Lorenzo._

                      In such a night
     Stood Dido, with a Willow in her hand,
     Upon the wild sea-banks.

                          _Merchant of Venice_, act v, sc. 1 (9).


     (5) _Bona._

     Tell him, in hope he'll prove a widower shortly,
     I'll wear the Willow garland for his sake.

                             _3d Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 3 (227).


     _Post._

     [The same words repeated.]

                                     _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 1 (99).


     (6) _Queen._

     There is a Willow grows aslant a brook,
     That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream.
     There on the pendent boughs her coronet weeds
     Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke.

                                   _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 7 (167).


     (7) _Desdemona_ (singing)--

     The poor soul sat sighing by a Sycamore tree.
               Sing all a green Willow;
     Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,
               Sing Willow, Willow, Willow.
     The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her moans;
               Sing Willow, Willow, Willow.
     Her salt tears fell from her and soften'd the stones,
               Sing Willow, Willow, Willow.
     Sing all a green Willow must be my garland.

                                   _Othello_, act iv, sc. 3 (41).


     (8) _Emilia._

                           I will play the swan,
     And die in music. [_Singing_] Willow, Willow, Willow.

                                     _Ibid._, act v, sc. 2 (247).


     (9) _Wooer._

             Then she sang
     Nothing but Willow, Willow, Willow.

                        _Two Noble Kinsmen_, act iv, sc. 1 (100).


     (10) _Friar._

     I must up-fill this Willow cage of ours
     With baleful Weeds and precious juiced Flowers.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 3 (7).


     (11) _Celia._

     West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom;
     The rank of Osiers by the murmuring stream
     Left on your right hand, brings you to the place.

                            _As You Like It_, act iv, sc. 3 (79).


     (12)

     When Cytherea all in love forlorn
     A longing tarriance for Adonis made
     Under an Osier growing by a brook.

                                         _Passionate Pilgrim_ vi.


     (13)

     Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll constant prove;
     Those thoughts, to me like Oaks, to thee like Osiers bow'd.

                                                       _Ibid._ v.

_See also_ PALM TREE, No. 1, p. 192.

Willow is an old English word, but the more common and perhaps the older
name for the Willow is Withy, a name which is still in constant use, but
more generally applied to the twigs when cut for basket-making than to
the living tree. "Withe" is found in the oldest vocabularies, but we do
not find "Willow" till we come to the vocabularies of the fifteenth
century, when it occurs as "Hæc Salex, A{e} Wyllo-tre;" "Hæc Salix-icis,
a Welogh;" "Salix, Welig." Both the names probably referred to the
pliability of the tree, and there was another name for it, the Sallow,
which was either a corruption of the Latin Salix, or was derived from a
common root. It was also called Osier.

The Willow is a native of Britain. It belongs to a large family
(_Salix_), numbering 160 species, of which we have seventeen distinct
species in Great Britain, besides many sub-species and varieties. So
common a plant, with the peculiar pliability of the shoots that
distinguishes all the family, was sure to be made much use of. Its more
common uses were for basket-making, for coracles, and huts, or
"Willow-cabins" (No. 1), but it had other uses in the elegancies and
even in the romance of life. The flowers of the early Willow (_S.
caprea_) did duty for and were called Palms on Palm Sunday (_see_ PALM),
and not only the flowers but the branches also seem to have been used in
decoration, a use which is now extinct. "The Willow is called _Salix_,
and hath his name _à saliendo_, for that it quicklie groweth up, and
soon becommeth a tree. Heerewith do they in some countries trim up their
parlours and dining roomes in sommer, and sticke fresh greene leaves
thereof about their beds for coolness."--NEWTON'S _Herball for the
Bible_.[321:1]

But if we only look at the poetry of the time of Shakespeare, and much
of the poetry before and after him, we should almost conclude that the
sole use of the Willow was to weave garlands for jilted lovers, male and
female. It was probably with reference to this that Shakespeare
represented poor mad Ophelia hanging her flowers on the "Willow tree
aslant the brook" (No. 6), and it is more pointedly referred to in Nos.
2, 4, 5, 7, 8, and 9. The feeling was expressed in a melancholy ditty,
which must have been very popular in the sixteenth century, of which
Desdemona says a few of the first verses (No. 7), and which concludes
thus--

     "Come all you forsaken and sit down by me,
      He that plaineth of his false love, mine's falser than she;
      The Willow wreath weare I, since my love did fleet,
      A garland for lovers forsaken most meet."

The ballad is entitled "The Complaint of a Lover Forsaken of His
Love--To a Pleasant New Tune," and is printed in the "Roxburghe
Ballads." This curious connection of the Willow with forsaken or
disappointed lovers stood its ground for a long time. Spenser spoke of
the "Willow worne of forlorne paramoures." Drayton says that--

     "In love the sad forsaken wight
      The Willow garland weareth"--

                                                _Muse's Elysium._

and though we have long given up the custom of wearing garlands of any
sort, yet many of us can recollect one of the most popular street songs,
that was heard everywhere, and at last passed into a proverb, and which
began--

     "All round my hat I vears a green Willow
      In token," &c.

It has been suggested by many that this melancholy association with the
Willow arose from its Biblical associations; and this may be so, though
all the references to the Willow that occur in the Bible are, with one
notable exception, connected with joyfulness and fertility. The one
exception is the plaintive wail in the 137th Psalm--

     "By the streams of Babel, there we sat down,
      And we wept when we remembered Zion.
      On the Willows among the rivers we hung our harps."

And this one record has been sufficient to alter the emblematic
character of the Willow--"this one incident has made the Willow an
emblem of the deepest of sorrows, namely, sorrow for sin found out, and
visited with its due punishment. From that time the Willow appears never
again to have been associated with feelings of gladness. Even among
heathen nations, for what reason we know not, it was a tree of evil
omen, and was employed to make the torches carried at funerals. Our own
poets made the Willow the symbol of despairing woe."--JOHNS. This is the
more remarkable because the tree referred to in the Psalms, the Weeping
Willow (_Salix Babylonica_), which by its habit of growth is to us so
suggestive of crushing sorrow, was quite unknown in Europe till a very
recent period. "It grows abundantly on the banks of the Euphrates, and
other parts of Asia, as in Palestine, and also in North Africa;" but it
is said to have been introduced into England during the last century,
and then in a curious way. "Many years ago, the well-known poet,
Alexander Pope, who resided at Twickenham, received a basket of Figs as
a present from Turkey. The basket was made of the supple branches of the
Weeping Willow, the very same species under which the captive Jews sat
when they wept by the waters of Babylon. The poet valued highly the
small and tender twigs associated with so much that was interesting, and
he untwisted the basket, and planted one of the branches in the ground.
It had some tiny buds upon it, and he hoped he might be able to rear it,
as none of this species of Willow was known in England. Happily the
Willow is very quick to take root and grow. The little branch soon
became a tree, and drooped gracefully over the river, in the same manner
that its race had done over the waters of Babylon. From that one branch
all the Weeping Willows in England are descended."--KIRBY'S
_Trees_.[323:1]

There is probably no tree that contributes so largely to the
conveniences of English life as the Willow. Putting aside its uses in
the manufacture of gunpowder and cricket bats, we may safely say that
the most scantily-furnished house can boast of some article of Willow
manufacture in the shape of baskets. British basket-making is, as far as
we know, the oldest national manufacture; it is the manufacture in
connection with which we have the earliest record of the value placed on
British work. British baskets were exported to Rome, and it would almost
seem as if baskets were unknown in Rome until they were introduced from
Britain, for with the article of import came the name also, and the
British "basket" became the Latin "bascauda." We have curious evidence
of the high value attached to these baskets. Juvenal describes Catullus
in fear of shipwreck throwing overboard his most precious treasures:
"precipitare volens etiam pulcherrima," and among these "pulcherrima" he
mentions "bascaudas." Martial bears a still higher testimony to the
value set on "British baskets," reckoning them among the many rich
gifts distributed at the Saturnalia--

     "Barbara de pictis veni bascauda Britannis
      Sed me jam vult dicere Roma suam."--Book xiv, 99.

Many of the Willows make handsome shrubs for the garden, for besides
those that grow into large trees, there are many that are low shrubs,
and some so low as to be fairly called carpet plants. Salix Reginæ is
one of the most silvery shrubs we have, with very narrow leaves; S.
lanata is almost as silvery, but with larger and woolly leaves, and
makes a very pretty object when grown on rockwork near water; S.
rosmarinifolia is another desirable shrub; and among the lower-growing
species, the following will grow well on rockwork, and completely clothe
the surface: S. alpina, S. Grahami, S. retusa, S. serpyllifolia, and S.
reticulata. They are all easily cultivated and are quite hardy.


FOOTNOTES:

[321:1] In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries the Willow does not
appear to have had any value for its medical uses. In the present day
salicine and salicylic acid are produced from the bark, and have a high
reputation as antiseptics and in rheumatic cases.

[323:1] This is the traditional history of the introduction of the
Weeping Willow into England, but it is very doubtful.




WOODBINE, _see_ HONEYSUCKLE.




WORMWOOD.


     (1) _Rosaline._

     To weed this Wormwood from your fruitful brain.

                      _Love's Labour's Lost_, act v, sc. 2 (857).


     (2) _Nurse._

     For I had then laid Wormwood to my dug.

            *       *       *       *       *

     When it did taste the Wormwood on the nipple
     Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act i, sc. 3 (26).


     (3) _Hamlet_ (aside).

     Wormwood, Wormwood.

                                  _Hamlet_, act iii, sc. 2 (191).


     (4)

     Thy secret pleasure turns to open shame,
     Thy private feasting to a public fast,
     Thy smoothing titles to a ragged name,
     Thy sugar'd tongue to bitter Wormwood taste.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (890).

_See also_ DIAN'S BUD.

Wormwood is the product of many species of Artemisia, a family
consisting of 180 species, of which we have four in England. The whole
family is remarkable for the extreme bitterness of all parts of the
plant, so that "as bitter as Wormwood" is one of the oldest proverbs.
The plant was named Artemisia from Artemis, the Greek name of Diana, and
for this reason: "Verily of these three Worts which we named Artemisia,
it is said that Diana should find them, and delivered their powers and
leechdom to Chiron the Centaur, who first from these Worts set forth a
leechdom, and he named these Worts from the name of Diana, Artemis, that
is, Artemisias."--_Herbarium Apulæi_, Cockayne's translation. The
Wormwood was of very high reputation in medicine, and is thus
recommended in the Stockholm MS.:

     "Lif man or woman, more or lesse
      In his head have gret sicknesse
      Or gruiance or any werking
      Awoyne he take wt. owte lettyng
      It is called Sowthernwode also
      And hony eteys et spurge stamp yer to
      And late hy yis drunk, fastined drinky
      And his hed werk away schall synkyn."[325:1]

But even in Shakespeare's time this high character had somewhat abated,
though it was still used for all medicines in which a strong bitter was
recommended. But its chief use seems to have been as a protection
against insects of all kinds, who might very reasonably be supposed to
avoid such a bitter food. This is Tusser's advice about the plant--

     "While Wormwood hath seed get a handful or twaine
      To save against March, to make flea to refraine:
      Where chamber is sweeped and Wormwood is strowne,
      No flea, for his life, dare abide to be knowne.
      What saver is better (if physick be true),
      For places infected than Wormwood and Rue?
      It is as a comfort for hart and the braine,
      And therefore to have it, it is not in vaine."

                                              _July's Husbandry._

This quality was the origin of the names of Mugwort[326:1] and Wormwood.
Its other name (in the Stockholm MS. referred to), Avoyne or Averoyne is
a corruption of the specific name of one of the species, A. Abrotanum.
Southernwood is the southern Wormwood, _i.e._, the foreign, as
distinguished from the native plant. The modern name for the same
species is Boy's Love, or Old Man. The last name may have come from its
hoary leaves, though different explanations are given: the other name is
given to it, according to Dr. Prior, "from an ointment made with its
ashes being used by young men to promote the growth of a beard." There
is good authority for this derivation, but I think the name may have
been given for other reasons. "Boy's Love" is one of the most favourite
cottage-garden plants, and it enters largely into the rustic language of
flowers. No posy presented by a young man to his lass is complete
without Boy's Love; and it is an emblem of fidelity, at least it was so
once. It is, in fact, a Forget-me-Not, from its strong abiding smell; so
St. Francis de Sales applied it: "To love in the midst of sweets, little
children could do that; but to love in the bitterness of Wormwood is a
sure sign of our affectionate fidelity." Not that the Wormwood was ever
named Forget-me-Not, for that name was given to the Ground Pine (_Ajuga
chamæpitys_) on account of its unpleasant and long-enduring smell, until
it was transferred to the Myosotis (which then lost its old name of
Mouse-ear), and the pretty legend was manufactured to account for the
name.

In England Wormwood has almost fallen into complete disuse; but in
France it is largely used in the shape of Absinthe. As a garden plant,
Tarragon, which is a species of Wormwood, will claim a place in every
herb garden, and there are a few, such as A. sericea, A. cana, and A.
alpina, which make pretty shrubs for the rockwork.


FOOTNOTES:

[325:1] Wormwood had a still higher reputation among the ancients, as
the following extract shows:

     Ἀρτεμισία μονόκλωνος.

     Αὐει γὰρ κόπον ἀυδρὸς ὁδοιπόρου, ὅς κ᾽ ένι χέρσιν
     την μονόκλωνον ἔχη· περὶ δ᾿ ἀυ ποσὶν ἕρπετα πάντα
     φεύγει, ἤν τις ἔχη ἐν ὁδῶ, κὰι φάσματα δεινά.

                 _Anonymi Carmen de Herbis, in "Poetæ Bucolici."_

[326:1] In connection with Mugwort there is a most curious account of
the formation of a plant name given in a note in the "Promptorium
Parvulorum," s.v. Mugworte: "Mugwort, al on as seyn some, Modirwort;
lewed folk that in manye wordes conne no rygt sownyge, but ofte shortyn
wordys, and changyn lettrys and silablys, they coruptyn the _o_ in to
_a_ and _d_ in to _g_, and syncopyn _i_ smytyn a-wey _i_ and _r_ and
seyn mugwort."--_Arundel MS._, 42, f. 35 v.




YEW.


     (1) _Song._

     My shroud of white, stuck all with Yew,
     Oh! prepare it.

                             _Twelfth Night_, act ii, sc. 4 (56).


     _(2) 3rd Witch._

     Gall of goat, and slips of Yew
     Sliver'd in the moon's eclipse.

                                   _Macbeth_, act iv, sc. 1 (27).


     (3) _Scroop._

     Thy very beadsmen learn to bend their bows
     Of double-fatal Yew against thy state.

                              _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 2 (116).


     (4) _Tamora._

     But straight they told me they would bind me here
     Unto the body of a dismal Yew.

                         _Titus Andronicus_, act ii, sc. 3 (106).


     (5) _Paris._

     Under yond Yew-trees lay thee all along,
     Holding thine ear close to the hollow ground;
     So shall no foot upon the churchyard tread
     (Being loose, unfirm, with digging up of graves)
     But thou shalt hear it.

                            _Romeo and Juliet_, act v, sc. 3 (3).


     (6) _Balthasar._

     As I did sleep under this Yew tree here,[327:1]
     I dreamt my master and another fought,
     And that my master slew him.

                                                   _Ibid._ (137).

_See also_ HEBENON, p. 118.

The Yew, though undoubtedly an indigenous British plant, has not a
British name. The name is derived from the Latin _Iva_, and "under this
name we find the _Yew_ so inextricably mixed up with the _Ivy_ that, as
dissimilar as are the two trees, there can be no doubt that these names
are in their origin identical." So says Dr. Prior, and he proceeds to
give a long and very interesting account of the origin of the name. The
connection of Yew with _iva_ and _Ivy_ is still shown in the French
_if_, the German _eibe_, and the Portuguese _iva_. _Yew_ seems to be
quite a modern form; in the old vocabularies the word is variously spelt
iw, ewe,[328:1] eugh-tre,[328:2] haw-tre, new-tre, ew, uhe, and iw.

The connection of the Yew with churchyards and funerals is noticed by
Shakespeare in Nos. 1, 5, and 6, and its celebrated connection with
English bow-making in No. 3, where "double-fatal" may probably refer to
its noxious qualities when living and its use for deadly weapons
afterwards. These noxious qualities, joined to its dismal colour, and to
its constant use in churchyards, caused it to enter into the supposed
charms and incantations of the quacks of the Middle Ages. Yet Gerard
entirely denies its noxious qualities: "They say that the fruit thereof
being eaten is not onely dangerous and deadly unto man, but if birds do
eat thereof it causeth them to cast their feathers and many times to
die--all which I dare boldly affirme is altogether untrue; for when I
was yong and went to schoole, divers of my schoolfellowes, and likewise
my selfe, did eat our fils of the berries of this tree, and have not
only slept under the shadow thereof, but among the branches also,
without any hurt at all, and that not at one time but many times."
Browne says the same in his "Vulgar Errors:" "That Yew and the berries
thereof are harmlesse, we know" (book ii. c. 7). There is no doubt that
the Yew berries are almost if not quite harmless,[328:3] and I find them
forming an element in an Anglo-Saxon recipe, which may be worth quoting
as an example of the medicines to which our forefathers submitted. It is
given in a Leech Book of the tenth century or earlier, and is thus
translated by Cockayne: "If a man is in the water elf disease, then are
the nails of his hand livid, and the eyes tearful, and he will look
downwards. Give him this for a leechdom: Everthroat, cassuck, the
netherward part of fane, a yew berry, lupin, helenium, a head of marsh
mallow, fen, mint, dill, lily, attorlothe, pulegium, marrubium, dock,
elder, fel terræ, wormwood, strawberry leaves, consolida; pour them over
with ale, add holy water, sing this charm over them thrice [here follow
some long charms which I need not extract]; these charms a man may sing
over a wound" ("Leech Book," iii. 63).

I need say little of the uses of the Yew wood in furniture, nor of the
many grand specimens of the tree which are scattered throughout the
churchyards of England, except to say that "the origin of planting Yew
trees in churchyards is still a subject of considerable perplexity. As
the Yew was of such great importance in war and field sports before the
use of gunpowder was known, perhaps the parsons of parishes were
required to see that the churchyard was capable of supplying bows to the
males of each parish of proper age; but in this case we should scarcely
have been left without some evidence on the matter. Others again state
that the trees in question were intended solely to furnish branches for
use on Palm Sunday"[329:1] (_see_ PALM, p. 195), "while many suppose
that the Yew was naturally selected for planting around churches on
account of its emblematic character, as expressive of the solemnity of
death, while, from its perennial verdure and long duration, it might be
regarded as a pattern of immortality."--_Penny Magazine_, 1843.

A good list of the largest and oldest Yews in England will be found in
Loudon's "Arboretum."

       *       *       *       *       *

The "dismal Yew" concludes the list of Shakespeare's plants and the
first part of my proposed subject; and while I hope that those readers
who may have gone with me so far have met with some things to interest
them, I hope also they will agree with me that gardening and the love of
flowers is not altogether the modern accomplishment that many of our
gardeners now fancy it to be. Here are two hundred names of plants in
one writer, and that writer not at all writing on horticulture, but only
mentioning plants and flowers in the most incidental manner as they
happened naturally to fall in his way. I should doubt if there is any
similar instance in any modern English writer, and feel very sure that
there is no such instance in any modern English dramatist. It shows how
familiar gardens and flowers were to Shakespeare, and that he must have
had frequent opportunities for observing his favourites (for most surely
he was fond of flowers), not only in their wild and native homes, but in
the gardens of farmhouses and parsonages, country houses, and noblemen's
stately pleasaunces. The quotations that I have been able to make from
the early writers in the ninth and tenth centuries, down to gossiping
old Gerard, the learned Lord Chancellor Bacon, and that excellent old
gardiner Parkinson, all show the same thing, that the love of flowers is
no new thing in England, still less a foreign fashion, but that it is
innate in us, a real instinct, that showed itself as strongly in our
forefathers as in ourselves; and when we find that such men as
Shakespeare and Lord Bacon (to mention no others) were almost proud to
show their knowledge of plants and love of flowers, we can say that such
love and knowledge is thoroughly manly and English.

In the inquiry into Shakespeare's plants I have entered somewhat largely
into the etymological history of the names. I have been tempted into
this by the personal interest I feel in the history of plant names, and
I hope it may not have been uninteresting to my readers; but I do not
think this part of the subject could have been passed by, for I agree
with Johnston: "That there is more interest and as much utility in
settling the nomenclature of our pastoral bards as that of all
herbalists and dry-as-dust botanists" ("Botany of the Eastern Border").
I have also at times entered into the botany and physiology of the
plants; this may have seemed needless to some, but I have thought that
such notices were often necessary to the right understanding of the
plants named, and again I shelter myself under the authority of a
favourite old author: "Consider (gentle readers) what shiftes he shall
be put unto, and how rawe he must needs be in explanation of metaphors,
resemblances, and comparisons, that is ignorant of the nature of herbs
and plants from whence their similitudes be taken, for the inlightening
and garnishing of sentences."--NEWTON'S _Herball for the Bible_.

I have said that my subject naturally divides itself into two parts,
first, The Plants and Flowers named by Shakespeare; second, His
Knowledge of Gardens and Gardening. The first part is now concluded, and
I go to the second part, which will be very much shorter, and which may
be entitled "The Garden-craft of Shakespeare."


FOOTNOTES:

[327:1] The reading of the folio is "young tree," for "Yew tree."

[328:1]

     "An Eu tre (Ewetre); taxus, taximus."--_Catholicon Anglicum._

[328:2]

     "The eugh obedient to the bender's will."--SPENSER, _F. Q._, i. 9.


     "So far as eughen bow a shaft may send."--_F. Q._, ii. 11-19.

[328:3] There are, however, well-recorded instances of death from Yew
berries. The poisonous quality, such as it is, resides in the hard seed,
and not in the red mucilaginous skin, which is the part eaten by
children. (_See_ HEBENON.)

[329:1] "For eucheson we have non Olyfe that bereth grene leves we takon
in stede of hit Hew and Palmes wyth, and beroth abowte in procession and
so this day we callyn palme sonnenday."--_Sermon for "Dominica in ramis
palmarum," Cotton MSS._




PART II.

_THE GARDEN-CRAFT OF SHAKESPEARE._


     "The flowers are sweet, the colours fresh and trim."

                                              _Venus and Adonis._


                          "Retired Leisure
     That in trim Gardens takes his pleasure."

                                          MILTON, _Il Penseroso_.




GARDEN-CRAFT.


Any account of the "Plant-lore of Shakespeare" would be very incomplete
if it did not include his "Garden-craft." There are a great many
passages scattered throughout his works, some of them among the most
beautiful that he ever wrote, in which no particular tree, herb, or
flower is mentioned by name, but which show his intimate knowledge of
plants and gardening, and his great affection for them. It is from these
passages, even more than from the passages I have already quoted, in
which particular flowers are named, that we learn how thoroughly his
early country life had influenced and marked his character, and how his
whole spirit was most naturally coloured by it. Numberless allusions to
flowers and their culture prove that his boyhood and early manhood were
spent in the country, and that as he passed through the parks, fields,
and lanes of his native county, or spent pleasant days in the gardens
and orchards of the manor-houses and farm-houses of the neighbourhood,
his eyes and ears were open to all the sights and sounds of a healthy
country life, and he was, perhaps unconsciously, laying up in his memory
a goodly store of pleasant pictures and homely country talk, to be
introduced in his own wonderful way in tragedies and comedies, which,
while often professedly treating of very different times and countries,
have really given us some of the most faithful pictures of the country
life of the Englishman of Queen Elizabeth's time, drawn with all the
freshness and simplicity that can only come from a real love of the
subject.

"Flowers I noted," is his own account of himself (Sonnet xcix.), and
with what love he noted them, and with what carefulness and faithfulness
he wrote of them, is shown in every play he published, and almost in
every act and every scene. And what I said of his notices of particular
flowers is still more true of his general descriptions--that they are
never laboured, or introduced as for a purpose, but that each passage is
the simple utterance of his ingrained love of the country, the natural
outcome of a keen, observant eye, joined to a great power of faithful
description, and an unlimited command of the fittest language. It is
this vividness and freshness that gives such a reality to all
Shakespeare's notices of country life, and which make them such pleasant
reading to all lovers of plants and gardening.

These notices of the "Garden-craft of Shakespeare" I now proceed to
quote; but my quotations in this part will be made on a different plan
to that which I adopted in the account of his "Plant-lore." I shall not
here think it necessary to quote all the passages in which he mentions
different objects of country life, but I shall content myself with such
passages as throw light on his knowledge of horticulture, and which to
some extent illustrate the horticulture of his day, and these passages I
must arrange under a few general heads. In this way the second part of
my subject will be very much shorter than my first, but I have good
reasons for hoping that those who have been interested in the long
account of the "Plant-lore of Shakespeare" will be equally interested in
the shorter account of his "Garden-craft," and will acknowledge that the
one would be incomplete without the other. I commence with those
passages which treat generally of--


I.--FLOWERS, BLOSSOMS, AND BUDS.

     (1) _Quickly._

     Fairies use flowers for their charactery.

                    _Merry Wives of Windsor_, act v, sc. 5 (77).


     (2) _Oberon._

     She his hairy temples then had rounded
     With coronet of fresh and fragrant flowers;
     And that same dew, which sometime in the buds
     Was wont to swell like round and orient pearls,
     Stood now within the pretty flowerets' eyes,
     Like tears that did their own disgrace bewail.

                   _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act iv, sc. 1 (56).


     (3) _Gaunt._

     Suppose the singing birds musicians,
     The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strew'd,
     The flowers fair ladies.

                                _Richard II_, act i, sc. 3 (288).


     (4) _Katharine._

               When I am dead, good wench,
     Let me be used with honour; strew me over
     With maiden flowers, that all the world may know
     I was a chaste wife to my grave.

                               _Henry VIII_, act iv, sc. 2 (167).


     (5) _Ophelia_ (sings).

     White his shroud as the mountain snow
     Larded with sweet flowers,
     Which bewept to the grave did go
     With true-love showers.

                                    _Hamlet_, act iv, sc. 5 (35).


     (6) _Queen._

     Whiles yet the dew's on ground, gather those flowers.

                                   _Cymbeline_, act i, sc. 5 (1).


     (7) _Song._

     Hark! hark! the lark at Heaven's gate sings,
       And Phœbus 'gins to rise,
     His steeds to water at those springs
       On chaliced flowers that lies.

                                     _Ibid._, act ii, sc. 3 (21).


     (8) _Arviragus._

                 With fairest flowers,
     While summer lasts and I live here, Fidele,
     I'll sweeten thy sad grave.

                                    _Ibid._, act iv, sc. 2 (218).


     (9) _Belarius._

     Here's a few flowers; but 'bout midnight, more;
     The herbs that have on them cold dew o' the night
     Are strewings fitt'st for graves. Upon their faces.
     You were as flowers, now withered; even so
     These herblets shall, which we upon you strew.

                                                   _Ibid._ (283).


     (10) _Juliet._

     This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
     May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.

                         _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 2 (121).


     (11) _Titania._

     An odorous chaplet of sweet summer-buds.

                  _Midsummer Night's Dream_, act ii, sc. 1 (110).


     (12) _Friar Laurence._

     I must up-fill this osier cage of ours
     With baleful weeds, and precious-juiced flowers.
     The earth that's Nature's mother is her tomb;
     What is her burying grave that is her womb,
     And from her womb children of divers kind
     We sucking on her natural bosom find,
     Many for many virtues excellent,
     None but for some and yet all different.
     O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies
     In herbs, plants, stones, and their true qualities:
     For nought so vile that on the earth doth live
     But to the earth some special good doth give,
     Nor aught so good but strain'd from that fair use
     Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse:
     Virtue itself turns vice, being misapplied;
     And vice sometimes by action dignified.
     Within the infant rind of this small flower
     Poison hath residence and medicine power:
     For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;
     Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.
     Two such opposed kings encamp them still
     In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will;
     And where the worser is predominant,
     Full soon the canker death eats up that plant.

                           _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 3 (7).


     (13) _Iago._

     Though other things grow fair against the sun,
     Yet fruits that blossom first will first be ripe.

                                  _Othello_, act ii, sc. 3 (382).


     (14) _Dumain._

     Love, whose month is ever May,
     Spied a blossom, passing fair
     Playing in the wanton air;
     Through the velvet leaves the wind,
     All unseen, can passage find.

                     _Love's Labour's Lost_, act iv, sc. 3 (102).


     (15)

     Fair flowers that are not gathered in their prime
     Rot and consume themselves in little time.

                                        _Venus and Adonis_ (131).


     (16)

     The flowers are sweet, the colours fresh and trim,
     But true-sweet beauty lived and died with him.

                                       _Venus and Adonis_ (1079).


     (17)

     Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May.

                                                  _Sonnet_ xviii.


     (18)

     With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare,
     That Heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.

                                                     _Ibid._ xxi.


     (19)

     The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
     Though to itself it only live and die;
     But if that flower with base infection meet,
     The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
       For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
       Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

                                                    _Ibid._ xciv.


     (20)

     Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell
     Of different flowers in odour and in hue
     Could make me any summer's story tell,
     Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew.

                                                  _Ibid._ xcviii.

"Of all the vain assumptions of these coxcombical times, that which
arrogates the pre-eminence in the true science of gardening is the
vainest. True, our conservatories are full of the choicest plants from
every clime: we ripen the Grape and the Pine-apple with an art unknown
before, and even the Mango, the Mangosteen, and the Guava are made to
yield their matured fruits; but the real beauty and poetry of a garden
are lost in our efforts after rarity, and strangeness, and variety." So,
nearly forty years ago, wrote the author of "The Poetry of Gardening," a
pleasant, though somewhat fantastic essay, first published in the
"Carthusian," and afterwards re-published in Murray's "Reading for the
Rail," in company with an excellent article from the "Quarterly" by the
same author under the title of "The Flower Garden;" and I quote it
because this "vain assumption" is probably stronger and more widespread
now than when that article was written. We often hear and read accounts
of modern gardening in which it is coolly assumed, and almost taken for
granted, that the science of horticulture, and almost the love of
flowers, is a product of the nineteenth century. But the love of flowers
is no new taste in Englishmen, and the science of horticulture is in no
way a modern science. We have made large progress in botanical science
during the present century, and our easy communications with the whole
habitable globe have brought to us thousands of new and beautiful plants
in endless varieties; and we have many helps in gardening that were
quite unknown to our forefathers. Yet there were brave old gardeners in
our forefathers' times, and a very little acquaintance with the
literature of the sixteenth century will show that in Shakespeare's time
there was a most healthy and manly love of flowers for their own sake,
and great industry and much practical skill in gardening. We might,
indeed, go much further back than the fifteenth century, and still find
the same love and the same skill. We have long lists of plants grown in
times before the Conquest, with treatises on gardening, in which there
is much that is absurd, but which show a practical experience in the
art, and which show also that the gardens of those days were by no means
ill-furnished either with fruit or flowers. Coming a little later,
Chaucer takes every opportunity to speak with a most loving affection
for flowers, both wild and cultivated, and for well-kept gardens; and
Spenser's poems show a familiar acquaintance with them, and a warm
admiration for them. Then in Shakespeare's time we have full records of
the gardens and gardening which must have often met his eye; and we find
that they were not confined to a few fine places here and there, but
that good gardens were the necessary adjunct to every country house, and
that they were cultivated with a zeal and a skill that would be a credit
to any gardener of our own day. In Harrison's description of "England in
Shakespeare's Youth," recently published by the new Shakespeare Society,
we find that Harrison himself, though only a poor country parson, "took
pains with his garden, in which, though its area covered but 300ft. of
ground, there was 'a simple' for each foot of ground, no one of them
being common or usually to be had." About the same time Gerard's
Catalogues show that he grew in his London garden more than a thousand
species of hardy plants; and Lord Bacon's famous "Essay on Gardens" not
only shows what a grand idea of gardening he had himself, but also that
this idea was not Utopian, but one that sprang from personal
acquaintance with stately gardens, and from an innate love of gardens
and flowers. Almost at the same time, but a little later, we come to the
celebrated "John Parkinson, Apothecary of London, the King's Herbarist,"
whose "Paradisus Terrestris," first published in 1629, is indeed "a
choise garden of all sorts of rarest flowers." His collection of plants
would even now be considered an excellent collection, if it could be
brought together, while his descriptions and cultural advice show him to
have been a thorough practical gardener, who spoke of plants and gardens
from the experience of long-continued hard work amongst them. And
contemporary with him was Milton, whose numerous descriptions of flowers
are nearly all of cultivated plants, as he must have often seen them in
English gardens.

And so we are brought to the conclusion that in the passages quoted
above in which Shakespeare speaks so lovingly and tenderly of his
favourite flowers, these expressions are not to be put down to the fancy
of the poet, but that he was faithfully describing what he daily saw or
might have seen, and what no doubt he watched with that carefulness and
exactness which could only exist in conjunction with a real affection
for the objects on which he gazed, "the fresh and fragrant flowers,"
"the pretty flow'rets," "the sweet flowers," "the beauteous flowers,"
"the sweet summer buds," "the blossoms passing fair," "the darling buds
of May."


II.--GARDENS.

     (1) _King_ (reads).

     It standeth north-north-east and by east from the west corner
       of thy curious-knotted Garden.

                       _Loves Labour's Lost_, act i, sc. 1 (248).


     (2) _Isabella._

     He hath a Garden circummured with brick,
     Whose western side is with a Vineyard back'd;
     And to that Vineyard is a planched gate
     That makes his opening with this bigger key:
     The other doth command a little door
     Which from the Vineyard to the garden leads.

                       _Measure for Measure_, act iv, sc. 1 (28).


     (3) _Antonio._

     The Prince and Count Claudio, walking in a thick-pleached
       alley in my orchard, were thus much overheard by a man of
       mine.

                      _Much Ado About Nothing_, act i, sc. 2 (9).


     (4) _Iago._

     Our bodies are our Gardens, &c.

                   (_See_ HYSSOP.) _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (323).


     (5) _1st Servant._

     Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
     Keep law and form and due proportion,
     Showing as in a model our firm estate,
     When our sea-walled Garden, the whole land,
     Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up,
     Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruin'd,
     Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs
     Swarming with caterpillars?

                               _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 4 (40).

The flower-gardens of Shakespeare's time were very different to the
flower-gardens of our day; but we have so many good descriptions of them
in books and pictures that we have no difficulty in realizing them both
in their general form and arrangement. I am now speaking only of the
flower-gardens; the kitchen-gardens and orchards were very much like our
own, except in the one important difference, that they had necessarily
much less glass than our modern gardens can command. In the
flower-garden the grand leading principle was uniformity and formality
carried out into very minute details. "The garden is best to be square,"
was Lord Bacon's rule; "the form that men like in general is a square,
though roundness be _forma perfectissima_," was Lawson's rule; and this
form was chosen because the garden was considered to be a purtenance and
continuation of the house, designed so as strictly to harmonize with the
architecture of the building. And Parkinson's advice was to the same
effect: "The orbicular or round form is held in its own proper existence
to be the most absolute form, containing within it all other forms
whatsoever; but few, I think, will chuse such a proportion to be joyned
to their habitation. The triangular or three-square form is such a form
also as is seldom chosen by any that may make another choise. The
four-square form is the most usually accepted with all, and doth best
agree with any man's dwelling."

This was the shape of the ideal garden--

     "And whan I had a while goon,
      I saugh a gardyn right anoon,
      Full long and broad; and every delle
      Enclosed was, and walled welle
      With high walles embatailled.

             *       *       *       *       *

      I felle fast in a waymenting
      By which art, or by what engyne
      I might come into that gardyne;
      But way I couthe fynd noon
      Into that gardyne for to goon.

             *       *       *       *       *

      Tho' gan I go a fulle grete pas,
      Environyng evene in compas,
      The closing of the square walle,
      Tyl that I fonde a wiket smalle
      So shett that I ne'er myght in gon,
      And other entre was ther noon."

                                           _Romaunt of the Rose._

This square enclosure was bounded either by a high wall--"circummured
with brick," "with high walles embatailled,"--or with a thick high
hedge--"encompassed on all the four sides with a stately arched hedge."
These hedges were made chiefly of Holly or Hornbeam, and we can judge of
their size by Evelyn's description of his "impregnable hedge of about
400ft. in length, 9ft. high, and 5ft. in diameter." Many of these hedges
still remain in our old gardens. Within this enclosure the garden was
accurately laid out in formal shapes,[343:1] with paths either quite
straight or in some strictly mathematical figures--

     "And all without were walkes and alleyes dight
      With divers trees enrang'd in even rankes;
      And here and there were pleasant arbors pight,
      And shadie seats, and sundry flowring bankes,
      To sit and rest the walkers' wearie shankes."

                                              _F. Q._, iv, x, 25.

The main walks were not, as with us, bounded with the turf, but they
were bounded with trees, which were wrought into hedges, more or less
open at the sides, and arched over at the top. These formed the "close
alleys," "coven alleys," or "thick-pleached alleys," of which we read in
Shakespeare and others writers of that time. Many kinds of trees and
shrubs were used for this purpose; "every one taketh what liketh him
best, as either Privit alone, or Sweet Bryer and White Thorn interlaced
together, and Roses of one, two, or more sorts placed here and there
amongst them. Some also take Lavender, Rosemary, Sage, Southernwood,
Lavender Cotton, or some such other thing. Some again plant Cornel
trees, and plash them or keep them low to form them into a hedge; and
some again take a low prickly shrub that abideth always green, called in
Latin Pyracantha" (Parkinson). It was on these hedges and their adjuncts
that the chief labour of the garden was spent. They were cut and
tortured into every imaginable shape, for nothing came amiss to the
fancy of the topiarist. When this topiary art first came into fashion in
England I do not know, but it was probably more or less the fashion in
all gardens of any pretence from very early times, and it reached its
highest point in the sixteenth century, and held its ground as the
perfection of gardening till it was driven out of the field in the last
century by the "picturesque style," though many specimens still remain
in England, as at Levens[344:1] and Hardwicke on a large scale, and in
the gardens of many ancient English mansions and old farmhouses on a
smaller scale. It was doomed as soon as landscape gardeners aimed at the
natural, for even when it was still at its height Addison described it
thus: "Our British gardeners, instead of humouring Nature, love to
deviate from it as much as possible. Our trees rise in cones, globes,
and pyramids; we see the mark of the scissors upon every plant and
bush."

But this is a digression: I must return to the Elizabethan garden, which
I have hitherto only described as a great square, surrounded by wide,
covered, shady walks, and with other similar walks dividing the central
square into four or more compartments. But all this was introductory to
the great feature of the Elizabethan garden, the formation of the
"curious-knotted garden." Each of the large compartments was divided
into a complication of "knots," by which was meant beds arranged in
quaint patterns, formed by rule and compass with mathematical precision,
and so numerous that it was a necessary part of the system that the
whole square should be fully occupied by them. Lawn there was none; the
whole area was nothing but the beds and the paths that divided them.
There was Grass in other parts of the pleasure grounds, and apparently
well kept, for Lord Bacon has given his opinion that "nothing is more
pleasant to the eye than green Grass kept finely shorn," but it was
apparently to be found only in the orchard, the bowling-green, or the
"wilderness;" in the flower-garden proper it had no place. The "knots"
were generally raised above the surface of the paths, the earth being
kept in its place by borders of lead, or tiles, or wood, or even bones;
but sometimes the beds and paths were on the same level, and then there
were the same edgings that we now use, as Thrift, Box, Ivy, flints, &c.
The paths were made of gravel, sand, spar, &c., and sometimes with
coloured earths: but against this Lord Bacon made a vigorous protest:
"As to the making of knots or figures with divers coloured earths, that
they may lie under the windows of the house on that side on which the
garden stands they be but toys; you may see as good sights many times in
tarts."

The old gardening books are full of designs for these knots; indeed, no
gardening book of the date seems to have been considered complete if it
did not give the "latest designs," and they seem to have much tried the
wit and ingenuity of the gardeners, as they must have also sorely tried
their patience to keep them in order; and I doubt not that the
efficiency of an Elizabethan gardener was as much tested by his skill
and experience in "knot-work," as the efficiency of a modern gardener is
tested by his skill in "bedding-out," which is the lineal descendant of
"knot-work." In one most essential point, however, the two systems very
much differed. In "bedding-out" the whole force of the system is spent
in producing masses of colours, the individual flowers being of no
importance, except so far as each flower contributes its little share of
colour to the general mass; and it is for this reason that so many of us
dislike the system, not only because of its monotony, but more
especially because it has a tendency "to teach us to think too little
about the plants individually, and to look at them chiefly as an
assemblage of beautiful colours. It is difficult in those blooming
masses to separate one from another; all produce so much the same sort
of impression. The consequence is people see the flowers on the beds
without caring to know anything about them or even to ask their names.
It was different in the older gardens, because there was just variety
there; the plants strongly contrasted with each other, and we were ever
passing from the beautiful to the curious. Now we get little of
quaintness or mystery, or of the strange delicious thought of being lost
or embosomed in a tall rich wood of flowers. All is clear, definite, and
classical, the work of a too narrow and exclusive taste."--FORBES
WATSON. The old "knot-work" was not open to this censure, though no
doubt it led the way which ended in "bedding-out." The beginning of the
system crept in very shortly after Shakespeare's time. Parkinson spoke
of an arrangement of spring flowers which, when "all planted in some
proportion as near one unto another as is fit for them will give such a
grace to the garden that the place will seem like a piece of tapestry of
many glorious colours, to encrease every one's delight." And again--"The
Tulipas may be so matched, one colour answering and setting off another,
that the place where they stand may resemble a piece of curious
needlework or piece of painting." But these plants were all perennial,
and remained where they were once planted, and with this one exception
named by Parkinson, the planting of knot-work was as different as
possible from the modern planting of carpet-beds. The beds were planted
inside their thick margins with a great variety of plants, and
apparently set as thick as possible, like Harrison's garden quoted
above, with its 300 separate plants in as many square feet. These were
nearly all hardy perennials,[347:1] with the addition of a few hardy
annuals, and the great object seems to have been to have had something
of interest or beauty in these gardens at all times of the year. The
principle of the old gardeners was that "Nature abhors a vacuum," and,
as far as their gardens went, they did their best to prevent a vacuum
occurring at any time. In this way I think they surpassed us in their
practical gardening, for, even if they did not always succeed, it was
surely something for them to aim (in Lord Bacon's happy words), "to have
_ver perpetuum_ as the place affords."

Where the space would allow of it, the garden was further decorated with
statues, fountains, "fair mounts," labyrinths, mazes,[347:2] arbours and
alcoves, rocks, "great Turkey jars," and "in some corner (or more) a
true Dial or Clock, and some Antick works" (Lawson). These things were
fitting ornaments in such formal gardens, but the best judges saw that
they were not necessaries, and that the garden was complete without
them. "They be pretty things to look on, but nothing for health or
sweetness." "Such things are for state and magnificence, but nothing to
the true pleasure of a garden."

Such was the Elizabethan garden in its general outlines; the sort of
garden which Shakespeare must have often seen both in Warwickshire and
in London. According to our present ideas such a garden would be far too
formal and artificial, and we may consider that the present fashion of
our gardens is more according to Milton's idea of Eden, in which there
grew--

     "Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice art
      In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon
      Poured forth profuse on hill and dale and plaine."

                                        _Paradise Lost_, book iv.

None of us probably would now wish to exchange the straight walks and
level terraces of the sixteenth century for our winding walks and
undulating lawns, in the laying out of which the motto has been "ars est
celare artem"--

     "That which all faire workes doth most aggrace,
      The art, which all that wrought, appeareth in no place."

                                            _F. Q._, ii, xii, 58.

Yet it is pleasant to look back upon these old gardens, and to see how
they were cherished and beloved by some of the greatest and noblest of
Englishmen. Spenser has left on record his judgment on the gardens of
his day--

     "To the gay gardens his unstaid desire
      Him wholly carried, to refresh his sprights;
      There lavish Nature, in her best attire,
      Poures forth sweete odors and alluring sights:
      And Arte, with her contending, doth aspire
      To excell the naturall with made delights;
      And all, that faire or pleasant may be found,
      In riotous excesse doth there abound.

             *       *       *       *       *

      There he arriving around about doth flie,
      From bed to bed, from one to other border;
      And takes survey, with curious busie eye,
      Of every flowre and herbe there set in order."

                                                    _Muiopotmos._

Clearly in Spenser's eyes the formalities of an Elizabethan garden (for
we must suppose he had such in his thoughts) did not exclude nature or
beauty.

It was also with such formal gardens in his mind and before his eyes
that Lord Bacon wrote his "Essay on Gardens," and commenced it with the
well-known sentence (for I must quote him once again for the last time),
"God Almighty first planted a garden, and indeed it is the purest of all
human pleasures; it is the greatest refreshment to the spirits of man,
without which buildings and palaces are but gross handiworks; and a man
shall ever see, that when ages grow to civility and elegance, men come
to build stately sooner than to garden finely, as if gardening were the
greater perfection." And, indeed, in spite of their stiffness and
unnaturalness, there must have been a great charm in those gardens, and
though it would be antiquarian affectation to attempt or wish to
restore them, yet there must have been a stateliness about them which
our gardens have not, and they must have had many points of real comfort
which it seems a pity to have lost. Those long shady "covert alleys,"
with their "thick-pleached" sides and roof, must have been very pleasant
places to walk in, giving shelter in winter, and in summer deep shade,
with the pleasant smell of Sweet Brier and Roses. They must have been
the very places for a thoughtful student, who desired quiet and
retirement for his thoughts--

     "And adde to these retired leisure
      That in trim gardens takes his pleasure"--

                                                  _Il Penseroso._

and they must have been also "pretty retiring places for conference" for
friends in council. The whole fashion of the Elizabethan garden has
passed away, and will probably never be revived; but before we condemn
it as a ridiculous fashion, unworthy of the science of gardening, we may
remember that it held its ground in England for nearly two hundred
years, and that during that time the gardens of England and the flowers
they bore won not the cold admiration, but the warm affection of the
greatest names in English history, the affection of such a queen as
Elizabeth,[349:1] of such a grave and wise philosopher as Bacon, of such
a grand hero as Raleigh, of such poets as Spenser and Shakespeare.


FOOTNOTES:

[343:1] These beds (as we should now call them) were called "tables" or
"plots"--

     "Mark out the tables, ichon by hem selve
      Sixe foote in brede, and xii in length is beste
      To clense and make on evey side honest."

                               _Palladius on Husbandrie_, i. 116.

"Note this generally that all plots are square."--LAWSON'S _New
Orchard_, p. 60.

[344:1] For an account of Levens, with a plate of the Topiarian garden,
see "Archæological Journal," vol. xxvi.

[347:1] Including shrubs--

                            "'Tis another's lot
     To light upon some gard'ner's curious knot,
     Where she upon her breast (love's sweet repose),
     Doth bring the Queen of flowers, the English Rose."

                                    BROWNE'S _Brit. Past._, i, 2.

[347:2] For a good account of mazes and labyrinths see "Archæological
Journal," xiv. 216.

[349:1] Queen Elizabeth's love of gardening and her botanical knowledge
were celebrated in a Latin poem by an Italian who visited England in
1586, and wrote a long poem under the name of "Melissus."--See
_Archæologia_, vol. vii. 120.


III.--GARDENERS.

     (1) _Queen._

     But stay, here come the gardeners;
     Let's step into the shadow of these trees.

            *       *       *       *       *

     Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,
     How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?
     What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
     To make a second fall of cursed man?
     Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
     Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,
     Divine his downfal?

                           _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 4 (24, 72).


     (2) _Clown._

     Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners,
       ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession.

                                     _Hamlet_, act v, sc. 1 (34).

Very little is recorded of the gardeners of the sixteenth century, by
which we can judge either of their skill or their social position.
Gerard frequently mentions the names of different persons from whom he
obtained plants, but without telling us whether they were professional
or amateur gardeners or nurserymen; and Hakluyt has recorded the name of
Master Wolfe as gardener to Henry VIII. Certainly Richard II.'s Queen
did not speak with much respect to her gardener, reproving him for his
"harsh rude tongue," and addressing him as a "little better thing than
earth"--but her angry grief may account for that. Parkinson also has not
much to say in favour of the gardeners of his day, but considers it his
duty to warn his readers against them: "Our English gardeners are all,
or the most of them, utterly ignorant in the ordering of their
outlandish (_i.e._, exotic) flowers as not being trained to know
them. . . . And I do wish all gentlemen and gentlewomen, whom it may
concern for their own good, to be as careful whom they trust with the
planting and replanting of their fine flowers, as they would be with so
many jewels, for the roots of many of them being small and of great
value may soon be conveyed away, and a clean tale fair told, that such a
root is rotten or perished in the ground if none be seen where it should
be, or else that the flower hath changed his colour when it hath been
taken away, or a counterfeit one hath been put in the place thereof; and
thus many have been deceived of their daintiest flowers, without remedy
or true knowledge of the defect." And again, "idle and ignorant
gardeners who get names by stealth as they do many other things." This
is not a pleasant picture either of the skill or honesty of the
sixteenth-century gardeners, but there must have been skilled gardeners
to keep those curious-knotted gardens in order, so as to have a "_ver
perpetuum_ all the year." And there must have been men also who had a
love for their craft; and if some stole the rare plants committed to
their charge, we must hope that there were some honest men amongst them,
and that they were not all like old Andrew Fairservice, in "Rob Roy,"
who wished to find a place where he "wad hear pure doctrine, and hae a
free cow's grass, and a cot and a yard, and mair than ten punds of
annual fee," but added also, "and where there's nae leddy about the town
to count the Apples."


IV.--GARDENING OPERATIONS.


A. PRUNING, ETC.

     (1) _Orlando._

     But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree,
     That cannot so much as a blossom yield
     In lieu of all thy pains and industry.

                            _As you Like It_, act ii, sc. 3 (63).


     (2) _Gardener._

     Go, bind thou up yon dangling Apricocks,
     Which, like unruly children, make their sire
     Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight:
     Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
     Go thou, and like an executioner,
     Cut off the heads of too-fast growing sprays,
     That look too lofty in our commonwealth:
     All must be even in our government.
     You thus employ'd, I would go root away
     The noisome weeds, which without profit suck
     The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

            *       *       *       *       *

                   O, what pity is it,
     That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land
     As we this garden! We at time of year
     Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees,
     Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
     With too much riches it confound itself:
     Had he done so to great and growing men,
     They might have lived to bear and he to taste
     Their fruits of duty; superfluous branches
     We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
     Had he done so, himself had borne the crown
     Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

                               _Richard II_, act iii, sc. 4 (29).

This most interesting passage would almost tempt us to say that
Shakespeare was a gardener by profession; certainly no other passages
that have been brought to prove his real profession are more minute than
this. It proves him to have had practical experience in the work, and I
think we may safely say that he was no mere 'prentice hand in the use of
the pruning knife.

The art of pruning in his day was probably exactly like our own, as far
as regarded fruit trees and ordinary garden work, but in one important
particular the pruner's art of that day was a for more laborious art
than it is now. The topiary art must have been the triumph of pruning,
and when gardens were full of castles, monsters, beasts, birds, fishes,
and men, all cut out of Box and Yew, and kept so exact that they boasted
of being the "living representations" and "counterfeit presentments" of
these various objects, the hands and head of the pruner could seldom
have been idle; the pruning knife and scissors must have been in
constant demand from the first day of the year to the last. The pruner
of that day was, in fact, a sculptor, who carved his images out of Box
and Yew instead of marble, so that in an amusing article in the
"Guardian" for 1713 (No. 173), said to have been written by Pope, is a
list of such sculptured objects for sale, and we are told that the
"eminent town gardener had arrived to such perfection that he cuts
family pieces of men, women, and children. Any ladies that please may
have their own effigies in Myrtle, or their husbands in Hornbeam. He is
a Puritan wag, and never fails when he shows his garden to repeat that
passage in the Psalms, 'Thy wife shall be as the fruitful Vine, and thy
children as Olive branches about thy table.'"


B. MANURING, ETC.

     _Constable._

     And you shall find his vanities forespent
     Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
     Covering discretion with a coat of folly;
     As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
     That shall first spring and be most delicate.

                                   _Henry V_, act ii, sc. 4 (36).

The only point that needs notice under this head is that the word
"manure" in Shakespeare's time was not limited to its present modern
meaning. In his day "manured land" generally meant cultured land in
opposition to wild and barren land.[353:1] So Falstaff uses the word--

     Hereof comes it that Prince Harry is valiant; for the cold
       blood he did naturally inherit of his father, he hath, like
       lean, sterile and bare land, manured, husbanded, and tilled
       with excellent endeavour of drinking good and good store of
       fertile sherris, that he is become very hot and valiant.

                             _2nd Henry IV_, act iv, sc. 3 (126).

And in the same way Iago says--

     Either to have it (a garden) sterile with idleness or manured
       with industry.

                                   _Othello_, act i, sc. 3 (296).

Milton and many other writers used the word in this its original sense;
and Johnson explains it "to cultivate by manual labour," according to
its literal derivation. In one passage Shakespeare uses the word
somewhat in the modern sense--

     _Carlisle._ The blood of English shall manure the ground.

                               _Richard II_, act iv, sc. 1 (137).

But generally he and the writers of that and the next century expressed
the operation more simply and plainly, as "covering with ordure," or as
in the English Bible, "I shall dig about it and dung it."


C. GRAFTING.

     (1) _Buckingham._

     Her royal stock graft with ignoble plants.

                             _Richard III_, act iii, sc. 7 (127).


     (2) _Dauphin._

     O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us,
     The emptying of our fathers' luxury,
     Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
     Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,
     And overlook their grafters?

                                   _Henry V_, act iii, sc. 5 (5).


     (3) _King._

                          His plausive words
     He scatter'd not in ears, but grafted them,
     To grow there and to bear.

                  _All's Well that Ends Well_, act i, sc. 2 (53).


     (4) _Perdita._

     The fairest flowers o' the season
     Are our Carnations and streak'd Gillyvors,
     Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
     Our rustic garden's barren; I care not
     To get slips of them.

     _Polixenes._

                           Wherefore, gentle maiden,
     Do you neglect them?

     _Perdita._
                          For I have heard it said
     There is an art which in their piedness shares
     With great creating Nature.

     _Polixenes._

                                 Say there be;
     Yet Nature is made better by no mean,
     But Nature makes that mean: so, over that art
     Which you say adds to Nature, is an art
     That Nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we marry
     A gentle scion to the wildest stock,
     And make conceive a bark of baser kind
     By bud of nobler race: this is an art
     Which does mend nature, change it rather, but
     The art itself is nature.

     _Perdita._

                               So it is.

     _Polixenes._

     Then make your garden rich in Gillyvors,
     And do not call them bastards.

     _Perdita._

                                    I'll not put
     The dibble in the earth to set one slip of them.

                             _Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 4 (81).

The various ways of propagating plants by grafts, cuttings, slips, and
artificial impregnation (all mentioned in the above passages), as used
in Shakespeare's day, seem to have been exactly like those of our own
time, and so they need no further comment.


FOOTNOTES:

[353:1] The Act 31 Eliz. c. 7, enacts that "noe person shall within this
Realme of England make buylde or erect any Buyldinge or Howsinge . . . .
as a Cottage for habitation . . . . unlesse the same person do assigne
and laye to the same Cottage or Buyldinge fower acres of Grounde at the
least . . . to be contynuallie occupied and manured therewith." Gerard's
Chapter on Vines is headed, "Of the manured Vine."


V.--GARDEN ENEMIES.


A. WEEDS.

     (1) _Hamlet._

     How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
     Seem to me all the uses of this world!
     Fye on it, ah fye! 'tis an unweeded garden
     That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
     Possess it merely.

                                    _Hamlet_, act i, sc. 2 (133).


     (2) _Titus._

               Such withered herbs as these
     Are meet for plucking up.

                        _Titus Andronicus_, act iii, sc. 1 (178).


     (3) _York._

     Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
     My Uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
     More than my brother. "Ay," quoth my Uncle Glo'ster,
     "Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace;"
     And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
     Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.

                               _Richard III_, act ii, sc. 4 (10).


     (4) _Queen._

     Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
     Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden,
     And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.

                             _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 1 (31).


     (5)

     Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring,
     Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers.

                                                 _Lucrece_ (869).


     (6) _K. Henry._

     Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.

                              _2nd Henry IV_, act iv, sc. 4 (54).

The weeds of Shakespeare need no remark; they were the same as ours;
and, in spite of our improved cultivation, our fields and gardens are
probably as full of weeds as they were three centuries ago.


B. BLIGHTS, FROSTS, ETC.

     (1) _York._

     Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
     And caterpillars eat my leaves away.

                             _2nd Henry VI_, act iii, sc. 1 (89).


     (2) _Montague._

     But he, his own affection's counsellor,
     Is to himself--I will not say, how true--
     But to himself so sweet and close,
     So far from sounding and discovery,
     As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
     Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
     Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act i, sc. 1 (153).


     (3) _Imogene._

                       Comes in my father,
     And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
     Shakes all our buds from growing.

                                  _Cymbeline_, act i, sc. 3 (35).


     (4) _Bardolph._

                           A cause on foot
     Lives so in hope as in an early spring
     We see the appearing buds--which to prove fruit,
     Hope gives not so much warrant as despair
     That frost will bite them.

                               _2nd Henry IV_, act i, sc. 3 (37).


     (5) _Violet._

                    She never told her love,
     But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
     Feed on her damask cheek.

                            _Twelfth Night_, act ii, sc. 4 (113).


     (6) _Proteus._

     Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
     The eating canker dwells, so eating love
     Inhabits in the finest wits of all.

     _Valentine._

     And writers say as the most forward bud
     Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
     Even so by love the young and tender wit
     Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,
     Losing his verdure even in the prime
     And all the fair effects of future hopes.

                    _Two Gentlemen of Verona_, act i, sc. 1 (42).


     (7) _Capulet._

     Death lies on her like an untimely frost
     Upon the sweetest flower of the field.

                          _Romeo and Juliet_, act iv, sc. 5 (28).


     (8) _Lysimachus._

                        O sir, a courtesy
     Which if we should deny, the most just gods
     For every graff would send a caterpillar,
     And so afflict our province.

                                   _Pericles_, act v, sc. 1 (58).


     (9) _Wolsey._

     This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
     The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow blossoms,
     And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
     The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
     And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
     His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
     And then he falls, as I do.

                              _Henry VIII_, act iii, sc. 2 (352).


     (10) _Saturninus._

     These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
     As Flowers with frost, or Grass beat down with storms.

                          _Titus Andronicus_, act iv, sc. 4 (70).


     (11)

     No man inveigh against the withered flower,
     But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd;
     Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour,
     Is worthy blame.

                                                _Lucrece_ (1254).


     (12)

           For never-resting time leads summer on
           To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
           Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
           Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness everywhere;
           Then, were not summer's distillation left,
           A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
           Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
           Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was;
     But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
     Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.[357:1]

                                                      _Sonnet_ v.

With this beautiful description of the winter-life of hardy perennial
plants, I may well close the "Plant-lore and Garden-craft of
Shakespeare." The subject has stretched to a much greater extent than I
at all anticipated when I commenced it, but this only shows how large
and interesting a task I undertook, for I can truly say that my
difficulty has been in the necessity for condensing my matter, which I
soon found might be made to cover a much larger space than I have given
to it; for my object was in no case to give an exhaustive account of the
flowers, but only to give such an account of each plant as might
illustrate its special use by Shakespeare.

Having often quoted my favourite authority in gardening matters, old
"John Parkinson, Apothecary, of London," I will again make use of him to
help me to say my last words: "Herein I have spent my time, pains, and
charge, which, if well accepted, I shall think well employed. And thus I
have finished this work, and have furnished it with whatsoever could
bring delight to those that take pleasure in those things, which how
well or ill done I must abide every one's censure; the judicious and
courteous I only respect; and so Farewell."


FOOTNOTES:

[357:1]

                    "Flowers depart
     To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
               Where they together,
               All the hard weather
     Dead to the world, keep house unknown."

                                        G. HERBERT, _The Flower_.




APPENDIX I.

_THE DAISY:_

_ITS HISTORY, POETRY, AND BOTANY._

     There's a Daisy.--_Ophelia._


     Daisies smel-lesse, yet most quaint.

                               _Two Noble Kinsmen_, Introd. song.


The following Paper on the Daisy was written for the Bath Natural
History and Antiquarian Field Club, and read at their meeting, January
14th, 1874. It was then published in "The Garden," and a few copies were
reprinted for private circulation. I now publish it as an Appendix to
the "Plant-lore of Shakespeare," with very few alterations from its
original form, preferring thus to reprint it _in extenso_ than to make
an abstract of it for the illustration of Shakespeare's Daisies.




THE DAISY.


I almost feel that I ought to apologize to the Field Club for asking
them to listen to a paper on so small a subject as the Daisy. But,
indeed, I have selected that subject because I think it is one
especially suited to a Naturalists' Field Club. The members of such a
club, as I think, should take notice of everything. Nothing should be
beneath their notice. It should be their province to note a multitude of
little facts unnoticed by others; they should be "minute philosophers,"
and they might almost take as their motto the wise words which Milton
put into the mouth of Adam, after he had been instructed to "be lowlie
wise" (especially in the study of the endless wonders of sea, and earth,
and sky that surrounded him)--

                                 "To know
     That which before us lies in daily life,
     Is the prime wisdom."--_Paradise Lost_, viii. (192).

I do not apologize for the lowness and humbleness of my subject, but,
with "no delay of preface" (Milton), I take you at once to it. In
speaking of the Daisy, I mean to confine myself to the Daisy, commonly
so-called, merely reminding you that there are also the Great or Ox-eye,
or Moon Daisy (_Chrysanthemum leucanthemum_), the Michaelmas Daisy
(_Aster_), and the Blue Daisy of the South of Europe (_Globularia_).
The name has been also given to a few other plants, but none of them are
true Daisies.

I begin with its name. Of this there can be little doubt; it is the
"Day's-eye," the bright little eye that only opens by day, and goes to
sleep at night. This, whether the true derivation or not, is no modern
fancy. It is, at least, as old as Chaucer, and probably much older. Here
are Chaucer's well-known words--

        "Men by reason well it calle may
     The Daïsie, or else the Eye of Day,
     The Empresse and the flowre of flowres all."

And Ben Jonson boldly spoke of them as "bright Daye's-eyes."

There is, however, another derivation. Dr. Prior says: "Skinner derives
it from dais or canopy, and Gavin Douglas seems to have understood it in
the sense of a small canopy in the line:

     "The Daisie did unbraid her crounall small.

"Had we not the A.-S. dæges-eage, we could hardly refuse to admit that
this last is a far more obvious and probable explanation of the word
than the pretty poetical thought conveyed in Day's-eye." This was Dr.
Prior's opinion in his first edition of his valuable "Popular Names of
British Plants;" but it is withdrawn in his second edition, and he now
is content with the Day's-eye derivation. Dr. Prior has kindly informed
me that he rejected it because he can find no old authority for
Skinner's derivation, and because it is doubtful whether the Daisy in
Gavin Douglas's line does not mean a Marigold, and not what we call a
Daisy. The derivation, however, seemed worth a passing notice. Its other
English names are Dog Daisy, to distinguish it from the large Ox-eyed
Daisy; Banwort, "because it helpeth bones[362:1] to knit agayne"
(Turner); Bruisewort, for the same reason; Herb Margaret, from its
French name; and in the North, Bairnwort, from its associations with
childhood. As to its other names, the plant seems to have been unknown
to the Greeks, and has no Greek name, but is fortunate in having as
pretty a name in Latin as it has in English. Its modern botanical name
is Bellis, and it has had the name from the time of Pliny. Bellis must
certainly come from _bellus_ (pretty), and so it is at once stamped as
the pretty one even by botanists--though another derivation has been
given to the name, of which I will speak soon. The French call it
Marguerite, no doubt for its pearly look, or Pasquerette, to mark it as
the spring flower; the German name for it is very different, and not
easy to explain--Gänseblume, _i.e._, Goose-flower; the Danish name is
Tusinfryd (thousand joys); and the Welsh, Sensigl (trembling star).

As Pliny is the first that mentions the plant, his account is worth
quoting. "As touching a Daisy," he says (I quote from Holland's
translation, 1601), "a yellow cup it hath also, and the same is crowned,
as it were, with a garland, consisting of five and fifty little leaves,
set round about it in manner of fine pales. These be flowers of the
meadow, and most of such are of no use at all, no marvile, therefore, if
they be namelesse; howbeit, some give them one tearme and some another"
(book xxi. cap. 8). And again, "There is a hearbe growing commonly in
medows, called the Daisie, with a white floure, and partly inclining to
red, which, if it is joined with Mugwort in an ointment, is thought to
make the medicine farre more effectual for the King's evil" (book xxvi.
cap. 5).

We have no less than three legends of the origin of the flower. In one
legend, not older, I believe, than the fourteenth century (the legend is
given at full length by Chaucer in his "Legende of Goode Women"),
Alcestis was turned into a Daisy. Another legend records that "this
plant is called Bellis, because it owes its origin to Belides, a
granddaughter to Danaus, and one of the nymphs called Dryads, that
presided over the meadows and pastures in ancient times. Belides is said
to have encouraged the suit of Ephigeus, but whilst dancing on the grass
with this rural deity she attracted the admiration of Vertumnus, who,
just as he was about to seize her in his embrace, saw her transformed
into the humble plant that now bears her name." This legend I have only
seen in Phillips's "Flora Historica." I need scarcely tell you that
neither Belides or Ephigeus are classical names--they are mediæval
inventions. The next legend is a Celtic one; I find it recorded both by
Lady Wilkinson and Mrs. Lankester. I should like to know its origin; but
with that grand contempt for giving authorities which lady-authors too
often show, neither of these ladies tells us whence she got the legend.
The legend says that "the virgins of Morven, to soothe the grief of
Malvina, who had lost her infant son, sang to her, 'We have seen, O!
Malvina, we have seen the infant you regret, reclining on a light mist;
it approached us, and shed on our fields a harvest of new flowers. Look,
O! Malvina. Among these flowers we distinguish one with a golden disk
surrounded by silver leaves; a sweet tinge of crimson adorns its
delicate rays; waved by a gentle wind, we might call it a little infant
playing in a green meadow; and the flower of thy bosom has given a new
flower to the hills of Cromla.'" Since that day the daughters of Morven
have consecrated the Daisy to infancy. "It is," said they, "the flower
of innocence, the flower of the newborn." Besides these legends, the
Daisy is also connected with the legendary history of St. Margaret. The
legend is given by Chaucer, but I will tell it to you in the words of a
more modern poet--

     "There is a double flouret, white and rede,
      That our lasses call Herb Margaret
      In honour of Cortona's penitent;
      Whose contrite soul with red remorse was rent.
      While on her penitence kind Heaven did throwe
      The white of puritie surpassing snowe;
      So white and rede in this faire floure entwine,
      Which maids are wont to scatter on her shrine."

                 _Catholic Florist_, Feb. 22, St. Margaret's Day.

Yet, in spite of the general association of Daisies with St. Margaret,
Mrs. Jameson says that she has seen one, and only one, picture of St.
Margaret with Daisies.

The poetry or poetical history of the Daisy is very curious. It begins
with Chaucer, whose love of the flower might almost be called an
idolatry. But, as it begins with Chaucer, so, for a time, it almost ends
with him. Spenser, Shakespeare, and Milton scarcely mention it. It holds
almost no place in the poetry of the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries; but, at the close of the eighteenth century, it has the good
luck to be uprooted by Burns's plough, and he at once sings its dirge
and its beauties; and then the flower at once becomes a celebrity.
Wordsworth sings of it in many a beautiful verse; and I think it is
scarcely too much to say that since his time not an English poet has
failed to pay his homage to the humble beauty of the Daisy. I do not
purpose to take you through all these poets--time and knowledge would
fail me to introduce you to them all. I shall but select some of those
which I consider best worth selection. I begin, of course, with Chaucer,
and even with him I must content myself with a selection--

     "Of all the floures in the mede,
      Then love I most those floures white and redde;
      Such that men callen Daisies in our town.
      To them I have so great affection,
      As I said erst when comen is the Maye,
      That in my bedde there dawneth me no daie,
      That I n'am up and walking in the mede
      To see this floure against the sunné sprede.
      When it upriseth early by the morrow,
      That blessed sight softeneth all my sorrow.
      So glad am I, when that I have presence
      Of it, to done it all reverence--
      As she that is of all floures the floure,
      Fulfilled of all virtue and honoure;
      And ever ylike fair and fresh of hue,
      And ever I love it, and ever ylike new,
      And ever shall, till that mine heart die,
      All swear I not, of this I will not lye.
      There loved no wight hotter in his life,
      And when that it is eve, I run blithe,
      As soon as ever the sun gaineth west,
      To see this floure, how it will go to rest.
      For fear of night, so hateth she darkness,
      Her cheer is plainly spread in the brightness
      Of the sunne, for there it will unclose;
      Alas, that I ne had English rhyme or prose
      Suffisaunt this floure to praise aright."

I could give you several other quotations from Chaucer, but I will
content myself with this, for I think unbounded admiration of a flower
can scarcely go further than the lines I have read to you.

In an early poem published by Ritson is the following--

     "Lenten ys come with love to toune
      With blosmen ant with briddes roune
          That al thys blisse bryngeth;
      Dayeseyes in this dales,
      Notes suete of nyghtegales
          Vch foul song singeth."

                      _Ancient Songs and Ballads_, vol. i, p. 63.

Stephen Hawes, who lived in the time of Henry VII., wrote a poem called
the "Temple of Glass." In that temple he tells us--

            "I saw depycted upon a wall,
     From est to west, fol many a fayre image
     Of sundry lovers.     .     .     .    ."

And among these lovers--

     "And Alder next was the freshe quene,
      I mean Alceste, the noble true wife,
      And for Admete howe she lost her life,
      And for her trouthe, if I shall not lye,
      How she was turned into a Daysye."

We next come to Spenser. In the "Muiopotmos," he gives a list of flowers
that the butterfly frequents, with most descriptive epithets to each
flower most happily chosen. Among the flowers are--

     "The Roses raigning in the pride of May,
      Sharp Isope good for greene woundes' remedies,
      Faire Marigoldes, and bees-alluring Thyme,
      Sweet Marjoram, and Daysies decking prime."

By "decking prime" he means they are the ornament of the morning.[366:1]
Again he introduces the Daisy in a stanza of much beauty, that commences
the June Eclogue of the "Shepherd's Calendar."

     "Lo! Colin, here the place whose pleasaunt syte
      From other shades hath weand my wandring minde.
      Tell me, what wants me here to work delyte?
      The simple ayre, the gentle warbling winde,
      So calm, so cool, as no where else I finde;
      The Grassie ground, with daintie Daysies dight;
      The Bramble bush, where byrdes of every kinde
      To the waters' fall their tunes attemper right."

From Spenser we come to Shakespeare, and when we remember the vast
acquaintance with flowers of every kind that he shows, and especially
when we remember how often he almost seems to go out of his way to tell
of the simple wild flowers of England, it is surprising that the Daisy
is almost passed over entirely by him. Here are the passages in which he
names the flowers. First, in the poem of the "Rape of Lucrece," he has a
very pretty picture of Lucrece as she lay asleep--

     "Without the bed her other faire hand was
      On the green coverlet, whose perfect white
      Showed like an April Daisy on the Grass."

In "Love's Labour's Lost" is the song of Spring, beginning--

     "When Daisies pied, and Violets blue;
        And Lady-smocks all silver-white,
      And Cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
        Do paint the meadows with delight."

In "Hamlet" Daisies are twice mentioned in connection with Ophelia in
her madness. "There's a Daisy!" she said, as she distributed her
flowers; but she made no comment on the Daisy as she did on her other
flowers. And, in the description of her death, the Queen tells us that--

     "There with fantastick garlands did she come
      Of Crow-flowers, Nettles, Daisies, and Long Purples."

And in "Cymbeline" the General Lucius gives directions for the burial of
Cloten--

                                 "Let us
     Find out the prettiest Daisied plot we can,
     And make him with our pikes and partisans
     A grave."

And in the introductory song to the "Two Noble Kinsmen," which is
claimed by some as Shakespeare's, we find among the other flowers of
spring--

     "Daisies smel-lesse, yet most quaint."

These are the only places in which the Daisy is mentioned in
Shakespeare's plays, and it is a little startling to find that of these
six one is in a song for clowns, and two others are connected with the
poor mad princess. I hope that you will not use Shakespeare's authority
against me, that to talk of Daisies is only fit for clowns and madmen.

Contemporary with Shakespeare was Cutwode, who in the "Caltha Poetarum,"
published in 1599, thus describes the Daisy--

     "On her attends the Daisie dearly dight
        that pretty Primula of Lady Ver
      As handmaid to her Mistresse day and night
        so doth she watch, so waiteth she on her,
      With double diligence, and dares not stir,
      A fairer flower perfumes not forth in May
      Then is this Daisie or this Primula.

      About her neck she wears a rich wrought ruffe,
        with double sets most brave and broad bespread,
      Resembling lovely Lawn or Cambrick stuffe
        pind up and prickt upon her yealow head,
      Wearing her haire on both sides of her shead;
      And with her countenance she hath acast
      Wagging the wāton with each wynd and blast."

                                                   Stanza 21, 22.

Drayton, in the "Polyolbion," 15th Song, represents the Naiads engaged
in twining garlands for the marriage of Tame and Isis, and considering
that he--

     "Should not be dressed with flowers to garden that belong
      (His bride that better fitteth), but only such as spring
      From the replenisht meads and fruitful pasture neere,"

they collect among other wild flowers--

     "The Daysie over all those sundry sweets so thick
      As nature doth herself, to imitate her right;
      Who seems in that her pearle so greatly to delight
      That every plaine therewith she powdereth to beholde."

And to the same effect, in his "Description of Elysium"--

     "There Daisies damask every place,
        Nor once their beauties lose,
      That when proud Phœbus turns his face,
        Themselves they scorn to close."

Browne, contemporary with Shakespeare, has these pretty lines on the
Daisy--

     "The Daisy scattered on each mead and down,
      A golden tuft within a silver crown;
      (Fair fall that dainty flower! and may there be
      No shepherd graced that doth not honour thee!)."

                                            _Brit. Past._, ii. 3.

And the following must be about the same date--

     "The pretty Daisy which doth show
      Her love to Phœbus, bred her woe;
          (Who joys to see his cheareful face,
          And mournes when he is not in place)--
      'Alacke! alacke! alacke!' quoth she,
      'There's none that ever loves like me.'"

        _The Deceased Maiden's Lover_--Roxburghe Ballads, i, 341.

I am not surprised to find that Milton barely mentions the Daisy. His
knowledge of plants was very small compared to Shakespeare's, and seems
to have been, for the most part, derived from books. His descriptions of
plants all savour more of study than the open air. I only know of two
places in which he mentions the Daisy. In the "l'Allegro" he speaks of
"Meadows trim with Daisies pied," and in another place he speaks of
"Daisies trim." But I am surprised to find the Daisy overlooked by two
such poets as Robert Herrick and George Herbert. Herrick sang of flowers
most sweetly, few if any English poets have sung of them more sweetly,
but he has little to say of the Daisy. He has one poem, indeed,
addressed specially to a Daisy, but he simply uses the little flower,
and not very successfully, as a peg on which to hang the praises of his
mistress. He uses it more happily in describing the pleasures of a
country life--

     "Come live with me and thou shalt see
      The pleasures I'll prepare for thee,
      What sweets the country can afford,
      Shall bless thy bed and bless thy board.
      .      .      .  Thou shalt eat
      The paste of Filberts for thy bread,
      With cream of Cowslips buttered;
      Thy feasting tables shall be hills,
      With Daisies spread and Daffodils."

And again--

     "Young men and maids meet,
      To exercise their dancing feet,
      Tripping the comely country round,
      With Daffodils and Daisies crowned."

George Herbert had a deep love for flowers, and a still deeper love for
finding good Christian lessons in the commonest things about him. He
delights in being able to say--

     "Yet can I mark how herbs below
        Grow green and gay;"

but I believe he never mentions the Daisy.

Of the poets of the seventeenth century I need only make one short
quotation from Dryden--

     "And then the band of flutes began to play,
      To which a lady sang a tirelay:
      And still at every close she would repeat
      The burden of the song--'The Daisy is so sweet,
      The Daisy is so sweet'--when she began
      The troops of knights and dames continued on
      The consort; and the voice so charmed my ear
      And soothed my soul that it was heaven to hear."

I need not dwell on the other poets of the seventeenth century. In most
of them a casual allusion to the Daisy may be found, but little more.
Nor need I dwell at all on the poets of the eighteenth century. In the
so-called Augustan age of poetry, the Daisy could not hope to attract
any attention. It was the correct thing if they had to speak of the
country to speak of the "Daisied" or "Daisy-spangled" meads, but they
could not condescend to any nearer approach to the little flower. If
they had they would have found that they had chosen their epithet very
badly. I never yet saw a "Daisy-spangled" meadow.[370:1] The flowers may
be there, but the long Grasses effectually hide them. And so I come _per
saltum_ to the end of the eighteenth century, and at once to Burns, who
brought the Daisy again into notice. He thus regrets the uprooting of
the Daisy by his plough--

     "Wee, modest, crimson-tippèd flower,
      Thou'st met me in an evil hour;
      For I must crush amongst the stour
              Thy slender stem.
      To spare thee now is past my power,
              Thou bonny gem.

      Cold blew the bitter, biting north,
      Upon thy humble birth,
      Yet cheerfully thou venturest forth
              Amid the storm,
      Scarce reared above the Parent-earth
              Thy tender form.

      The flaunting flowers our gardens yield
      High sheltering woods and walks must shield;
      But thou, between the random bield
              Of clod or stone,
      Adorn'st the rugged stubble field,
              Unseen, alone.

      There, in thy scanty mantle clad,
      Thy snowy bosom sunward spread,
      Thou lift'st thy unassuming head
              In humble guise;
      But now the share uptears thy bed,
              And low thou lies!"

With Burns we may well join Clare, another peasant poet from
Northamptonshire, whose poems are not so much known as they deserve to
be. His allusions to wild flowers always mark his real observation of
them, and his allusions to the Daisy are frequent; thus--

     "Smiling on the sunny plain
        The lovely Daisies blow,
      Unconscious of the careless feet
        That lay their beauties low."

Again, alluding to his own obscurity--

     "Green turfs allowed forgotten heap,
        Is all that I shall have,
      Save that the little Daisies creep
        To deck my humble grave."

Again, in his description of evening, he does not omit to notice the
closing of the Daisy at sunset--

     "Now the blue fog creeps along,
      And the birds forget their song;
      Flowers now sleep within their hoods,
      Daisies button into buds."

And so we come to Wordsworth, whose love of the Daisy almost equalled
Chaucer's. His allusions and addresses to the Daisy are numerous, but I
have only space for a small selection. First, are two stanzas from a
long poem specially to the Daisy--

     "When soothed awhile by milder airs,
      Thee Winter in the garland wears,
      That thinly shades his few gray hairs,
          Spring cannot shun thee.
      While Summer fields are thine by right,
      And Autumn, melancholy wight,
      Doth in thy crimson head delight
          When rains are on thee.

      Child of the year that round dost run
      Thy course, bold lover of the sun,
      And cheerful when thy day's begun
          As morning leveret.
      Thy long-lost praise thou shalt regain,
      Dear shalt thou be to future men,
      As in old time, thou not in vain
          Art nature's favourite."

The other poem from Wordsworth that I shall read to you is one that has
received the highest praise from all readers, and by Ruskin (no mean
critic, and certainly not always given to praises) is described as "two
delicious stanzas, followed by one of heavenly imagination."[372:1] The
poem is "An Address to the Daisy"--

     "A nun demure--of holy port;
      A sprightly maiden--of love's court,
      In thy simplicity the sport
          Of all temptations.
      A queen in crown of rubies drest,
      A starveling in a scanty vest,
      Are all, as seems to suit thee best,
          Thy appellations.

      I see thee glittering from afar,
      And then thou art a pretty star,
      Not quite so fair as many are
          In heaven above thee.
      Yet like a star with glittering crest,
      Self-poised in air thou seem'st to rest;
      Let peace come never to his rest
          Who shall reprove thee.

      Sweet flower, for by that name at last,
      When all my reveries are past,
      I call thee, and to that cleave fast.
          Sweet silent creature,
      That breath'st with me in sun and air;
      Do thou, as thou art wont, repair
      My heart with gladness, and a share
          Of thy meek nature."

With these beautiful lines I might well conclude my notices of the
poetical history of the Daisy, but, to bring it down more closely to our
own times, I will remind you of a poem by Tennyson, entitled "The
Daisy." It is a pleasant description of a southern tour brought to his
memory by finding a dried Daisy in a book. He says--

            "We took our last adieu,
     And up the snowy Splugen drew,
     But ere we reached the highest summit,
     I plucked a Daisy, I gave it you,
     It told of England then to me,
     And now it tells of Italy."

Thus I have picked several pretty flowers of poetry for you from the
time of Chaucer to our own. I could have made the posy fifty-fold
larger, but I could, probably, have found no flowers for the posy more
beautiful, or more curious, than these few.

I now come to the botany of the Daisy. The Daisy belongs to the immense
family of the Compositæ, a family which contains one-tenth of the
flowering plants of the world, and of which nearly 10,000 species are
recorded. In England the order is very familiar, as it contains three of
our commonest kinds, the Daisy, the Dandelion, and the Groundsel. It may
give some idea of the large range of the family when we find that there
are some 600 recorded species of the Groundsel alone, of which eleven
are in England. I shall not weary you with a strictly scientific
description of the Daisy, but I will give you instead Rousseau's
well-known description. It is fairly accurate, though not strictly
scientific: "Take," he says, "one of those little flowers, which cover
all the pastures, and which every one knows by the name of Daisy. Look
at it well, for I am sure you would never have guessed from its
appearance that this flower, which is so small and delicate, is really
composed of between two and three hundred other flowers, all of them
perfect, that is, each of them having its corolla, stamens, pistil, and
fruit; in a word, as perfect in its species as a flower of the Hyacinth
or Lily. Every one of these leaves, which are white above and red
underneath, and form a kind of crown round the flower, appearing to be
nothing more than little petals, are in reality so many true flowers;
and every one of those tiny yellow things also which you see in the
centre, and which at first you have perhaps taken for nothing but
stamens, are real flowers. . . . Pull out one of the white leaves of the
flower; you will think at first that it is flat from one end to the
other, but look carefully at the end by which it was fastened to the
flower, and you will see that this end is not flat, but round and hollow
in the form of a tube, and that a little thread ending in two horns
issues from the tube. This thread is the forked style of the flower,
which, as you now see, is flat only at top. Next look at the little
yellow things in the middle of the flower, and which, as I have told
you, are all so many flowers; if the flower is sufficiently advanced,
you will see some of them open in the middle and even cut into several
parts. These are the monopetalous corollas. . . . . This is enough to
show you by the eye the possibility that all these small affairs, both
white and yellow, may be so many distinct flowers, and this is a
constant fact" (Quoted in Lindley's "Ladies' Botany," vol. i.)[374:1]

But Rousseau does not mention one feature which I wish to describe to
you, as I know few points in botany more beautiful than the arrangement
by which the Daisy is fertilized. In the centre of each little flower is
the style surrounded closely by the anthers. The end of the style is
divided, but, as long as it remains below among the anthers, the two
lips are closed. The anthers are covered, more or less, with pollen; the
style has its outside surface bristling with stiff hairs. In this
condition it would be impossible for the pollen to reach the interior
(stigmatic) surfaces of the divided style, but the style rises, and as
it rises it brushes off the pollen from the anthers around it. Its lips
are closed till it has risen well above the whole flower, and left the
anthers below; then it opens, showing its broad stigmatic surface to
receive pollen from other flowers, and distribute the pollen it has
brushed off, not to itself (which it could not do), but to other flowers
around it. By this provision no flower fertilizes itself, and those of
you who are acquainted with Darwin's writings will know how necessary
this provision may be in perpetuating flowers. The Daisy not only
produces double flowers, but also the curious proliferous flower called
Hen and Chickens, or Childing Daisies, or Jackanapes on Horseback. These
are botanically very interesting flowers, and though I, on another
occasion, drew your attention to the peculiarity, I cannot pass it over
in a paper specially devoted to the Daisy. The botanical interest is
this: It is a well-known fact in botany, that all the parts of a
plant--root, stem, flowers and their parts, thorns, fruits, and even the
seeds, are only different forms of leaves, and are all interchangeable,
and the Hen and Chickens Daisy is a good proof of it. Underneath the
flowerhead of the Daisy is a green cushion, composed of bracts; in the
Hen and Chickens Daisy some of these bracts assume the form of flowers,
and are the chickens. If the plant is neglected, or does not like its
soil, the chickens again become bracts.

The only other point in the botany of the Daisy that occurs to me is its
geographical range. The old books are not far wrong when they say "it
groweth everywhere." It does not, however, grow in the Tropics. In
Europe it is everywhere, from Iceland to the extreme south, though not
abundant in the south-easterly parts. It is found in North America very
sparingly, and not at all in the United States. It is also by no means
fastidious in its choice of position--by the river-side or on the
mountain-top it seems equally at home, though it somewhat varies
according to its situation, but its most chosen habitat seems to be a
well-kept lawn. There it luxuriates, and defies the scythe and the
mowing machine. It has been asserted that it disappears when the ground
is fed by sheep, and again appears when the sheep are removed, but this
requires confirmation. Yet it does not lend itself readily to gardening
purposes. It is one of those--

     "Flowers, worthy of Paradise, which not nice art
      In beds and curious knots, but Nature's boon
      Pour'd forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain,
      Both where the morning sun first warmly smote
      The open field, and where the unpierc'd shade
      Imbrown'd the noontide bowers."

                                        _Paradise Lost_, iv, 240.

Under cultivation it becomes capricious; the sorts degenerate and
require much care to keep them true. As to its time of flowering it is
commonly considered a spring and summer flower; but I think one of its
chief charms is that there is scarcely a day in the whole year in which
you might not find a Daisy in flower.

I have now gone through something of the history, poetry, and botany of
the Daisy, but there are still some few points which I could not well
range under either of these three heads, yet which must not be passed
over. In painting, the Daisy was a favourite with the early Italian and
Flemish painters, its bright star coming in very effectively in their
foregrounds. Some of you will recollect that it is largely used in the
foreground of Van Eyck's grand picture of the "Adoration of the Lamb,"
now at St. Bavon's, in Ghent. In sculpture it was not so much used, its
small size making it unfit for that purpose. Yet you will sometimes see
it, both in the stone and wood carvings of our old churches. In heraldry
it is not unknown. When Philip the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, was about to
marry Margaret of Flanders, he instituted an order of Daisies; and in
Chifflet's Lilium Francicum (1658) is a plate of his arms, France and
Flanders quarterly surrounded by a collar of Daisies. A family named
Daisy bear three Daisies on their coat of arms. In an old picture of
Chaucer, a Daisy takes the place in the corner usually allotted to the
coat of arms in mediæval paintings. It was assumed as an heraldic
cognizance by St. Louis of France in honour of his wife Margaret; by the
good Margaret of Valois, Queen of Navarre; by Margaret of Anjou, the
unfortunate wife of our Henry VI.; while our Margaret, Countess of
Richmond, mother of our Henry VII., and dear to Oxford and Cambridge as
the foundress of the Margaret Professorships, and of Christ College in
Cambridge, bore three Daisies on a green turf.

To entomologists the Daisy is interesting as an attractive flower to
insects; for "it is visited by nine hymenoptera, thirteen diptera, three
coleoptera, and two lepidoptera--namely, the least meadow-brown and the
common blue butterflies."[377:1]

In medicine, I am afraid, the Daisy has so lost its virtues that it has
no place in the modern pharmacopœia: but in old days it was not so.
Coghan says "of Deysies, they are used to be given in potions in
fractures of the head and deep wounds of the breast. And this experience
I have of them, that the juyce of the leaves and rootes of Deysies being
put into the nosethrils purgeth the brain; they are good to be used in
pottage."[377:2] Gerard says, "the Daisies do mitigate all kinds of
paines, especially in the joints, and gout proceeding from a hot or dry
humoure, if they be stamped with new butter, unsalted, and applied upon
the pained place." Nor was this all. In those days, doctors prescribed
according to the so-called "doctrines of signatures," _i.e._, it was
supposed that Nature had shown, by special marks, for what special
disease each plant was useful; and so in the humble growth of the little
low-growing Daisy the doctors read its uses, and here they are. "It is
said that the roots thereof being boyled in milk, and given to little
puppies, will not suffer them to grow great."--COLE'S _Adam in Eden_.
One more virtue. Miss Pratt says that "an author, writing in 1696, tells
us that they who wish to have pleasant dreams of the loved and absent,
should put 'Dazy roots under their pillow.'"

On the English language, the Daisy has had little influence, though some
have derived "lackadaisy" and "lackadaisical" from the Daisy, but there
is, certainly, no connection between the words. Daisy, however, was
(and, perhaps, still is) a provincial adjective in the eastern counties.
A writer in "Notes and Queries" (2nd Series, ix. 261) says that Samuel
Parkis, in a letter to George Chalmers, dated February 16, 1799, notices
the following provincialisms: "Daisy: remarkable, extraordinary
excellent, as 'She's a Daisy lass to work,' _i.e._, 'She is a good
working girl.' 'I'm a Daisy body for pudding,' _i.e._, 'I eat a great
deal of pudding.'"

And I must not leave the Daisy without noticing one special charm, that
it is peculiarly the flower of childhood. The Daisy is one of the few
flowers of which the child may pick any quantity without fear of
scolding from the surliest gardener. It is to the child the herald of
spring, when it can set its little foot on six at once, and it readily
lends itself to the delightful manufacture of Daisy chains.

     "In the spring and play-time of the year,
      . . . . the little ones, a sportive team,
      Gather king-cups in the yellow mead,
      And prank their hair with Daisies."--COWPER.

It is then the special flower of childhood, but we cannot entirely give
it up to our children. And I have tried to show you that the humble
Daisy has been the delight of many noble minds, and may be a fit subject
of study even for those children of a larger growth who form the "Bath
Field Club."


FOOTNOTES:

[362:1] "In the curious Treatise of the Virtues of Herbs, Royal MS. 18,
a. vi, fol. 72 b, is mentioned: 'Brysewort, or Bonwort, or Daysye,
_consolida minor_, good to breke bocches.'"--_Promptorium Parvulorum_,
p. 52, note. See also a good note on the same word in "Babee's Book," p.
185.

[366:1] This is the general interpretation, but "decking prime" may mean
the ornament of spring.

[370:1] This statement has been objected to, but I retain it, because in
speaking of a meadow, I mean what is called a meadow in the south of
England, a lowland, and often irrigated, pasture. In such a meadow
Daisies have no place. In the North the word is more loosely used for
any pasture, but in the South the distinction is so closely drawn that
hay dealers make a great difference in their prices for "upland" or
"meadow hay."

[372:1] "Modern Painters," vol. ii. p. 186.

[374:1] In the "Cornhill Magazine" for January, 1878, is a pleasant
paper on "Dissecting a Daisy," treating a little of the Daisy, but still
more of the pleasures that a Daisy gives to different people, and the
different reasons for the different sorts of pleasure. See also on the
same subject the "Cornhill" for June, 1882.

[377:1] Boulger in "Nature," Aug., 1878. The insects are given in Herman
Muller's "Befructting der Blumen."

[377:2] "Haven of Health," 1596, p. 83.




APPENDIX II.

_THE SEASONS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS._

     _Biron._ I like of each thing that in season grows.

                            _Love's Labour's Lost_, act i, sc. 1.


This paper was read to the New Shakespeare Society in June, 1880, and
to the Bath Literary Club in the following November. The subject is so
closely connected with the "Plant-lore of Shakespeare," that I add it as
an Appendix.




THE SEASONS OF SHAKESPEARE'S PLAYS.


In this paper I do not propose to make any exhaustive inquiry into the
seasons of Shakespeare's plays, but (at Mr. Furnivall's suggestion) I
have tried to find out whether in any case the season that was in the
poet's mind can be discovered by the flowers or fruits, or whether,
where the season is otherwise indicated, the flowers and fruits are in
accordance. In other words, my inquiry is simply confined to the
argument, if any, that may be derived from the flowers and fruits,
leaving out of the question all other indications of the seasons.

The first part of the inquiry is, what plants or flowers are mentioned
in each play? They are as follows:--


COMEDIES.

_Tempest._ Apple, crab, wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, peas, briar,
furze, gorse, thorns, broom, cedar, corn, cowslip, nettle, docks,
mallow, filbert, heath, ling, grass, nut, ivy, lily, piony, lime,
mushrooms, oak, acorn, pignuts, pine, reed, saffron, sedges, stover,
vine.

_Two Gentlemen of Verona._ Lily, roses, sedges.

_Merry Wives._ Pippins, buttons (?), balm, bilberry, cabbage, carrot,
elder, eringoes, figs, flax, hawthorn, oak, pear, plums, prunes,
potatoes, pumpion, roses, turnips, walnut.

_Twelfth Night._ Apple, box, ebony, flax, nettle, olive, squash,
peascod, codling, roses, violet, willow, yew.

_Measure for Measure._ Birch, burs, corn, garlick, medlar, oak, myrtle,
peach, prunes, grapes, vine, violet.

_Much Ado._ Carduus benedictus, honeysuckle, woodbine, oak, orange,
rose, sedges, willow.

_Midsummer Night's Dream._ Crab, apricots, beans, briar, red rose,
broom, bur, cherry, corn, cowslip, dewberries, oxlip, violet, woodbine,
eglantine, elm, ivy, figs, mulberries, garlick, onions, grass, hawthorn,
nuts, hemp, honeysuckle, knot-grass, leek, lily, peas, peas-blossom,
oak, acorn, oats, orange, love-in-idleness, primrose, musk-rose buds,
musk-roses, rose, thistle, thorns, thyme, grapes, violet, wheat.

_Love's Labour's Lost._ Apple, pomewater, crab, cedar, lemon, cockle,
mint, columbine, corn, daisies, lady-smocks, cuckoo-buds, ebony, elder,
grass, lily, nutmeg, oak, osier, oats, peas, plantain, rose, sycamore,
thorns, violets, wormwood.

_Merchant of Venice._ Apple, grass, pines, reed, wheat, willow.

_As You Like It._ Acorns, hawthorn, brambles, briar, bur, chestnut,
cork, nuts, holly, medlar, moss, mustard, oak, olive, palm, peascod,
rose, rush, rye, sugar, grape, osier.

_All's Well._ Briar, date, grass, nut, marjoram, herb of grace, onions,
pear, pomegranate, roses, rush, saffron, grapes.

_Taming of Shrew._ Apple, crab, chestnut, cypress, hazel, oats, onion,
love-in-idleness, mustard, parsley, roses, rush, sedges, walnut.

_Winter's Tale._ Briars, carnations, gillyflower, cork, oxlips, crown
imperial, currants, daffodils, dates, saffron, flax, lilies,
flower-de-luce, garlick, ivy, lavender, mints, savory, marjoram,
marigold, nettle, oak, warden, squash, pines, prunes, primrose,
damask-roses, rice, raisins, rosemary, rue, thorns, violets.

_Comedy of Errors._ Balsam, ivy, briar, moss, rush, nut, cherrystone,
elm, vine, grass, saffron.


HISTORIES.

_King John._ Plum, cherry, fig, lily, rose, violet, rush, thorns.

_Richard II._ Apricots, balm, bay, corn, grass, nettles, pines, rose,
rue, thorns, violets, yew.

_1st Henry IV._ Apple-john, pease, beans, blackberries, camomile,
fernseed, garlick, ginger, moss, nettle, oats, prunes, pomegranate,
radish, raisins, reeds, rose, rush, sedges, speargrass, thorns.

_2nd Henry IV._ Aconite, apple-john, leathercoats, aspen, balm,
carraways, corn, ebony, elm, fennel, fig, gooseberries, hemp,
honeysuckle, mandrake, olive, peach, peascod, pippins, prunes, radish,
rose, rush, wheat.

_Henry V._ Apple, balm, docks, elder, fig, flower-de-luce, grass, hemp,
leek, nettle, fumitory, kecksies, burs, cowslips, burnet, clover,
darnel, strawberry, thistles, vine, violet, hemlock.

_1st Henry VI._ Briar, white and red rose, corn, flower-de-luce, vine.

_2nd Henry VI._ Crab, cedar, corn, cypress, fig, flax, flower-de-luce,
grass, hemp, laurel, mandrake, pine, plums, damsons, primrose, thorns.

_3d Henry VI._ Balm, cedar, corn, hawthorn, oaks, olive, laurel, thorns.

_Richard III._ Balm, cedar, roses, strawberry, vines.

_Henry VIII._ Apple, crab, bays, palms, broom, cherry, cedar, corn,
lily, vine.


TRAGEDIES.

_Troilus and Cressida._ Almond, balm, blackberry, burs, date, nut,
laurels, lily, toadstool, nettle, oak, pine, plantain, potato, wheat.

_Timon of Athens._ Balm, balsam, oaks, briars, grass, medlar, moss,
olive, palm, rose, grape.

_Coriolanus._ Crab, ash, briars, cedar, cockle, corn, cypress, garlick,
mulberry, nettle, oak, orange, palm, rush, grape.

_Macbeth._ Balm, chestnut, corn, hemlock, insane root, lily, primrose,
rhubarb, senna (cyme), yew.

_Julius Cæsar._ Oak, palm.

_Antony and Cleopatra._ Balm, figs, flag, laurel, mandragora, myrtle,
olive, onions, pine, reeds, rose, rue, rush, grapes, wheat, vine.

_Cymbeline._ Cedar, violet, cowslip, primrose, daisies, harebell,
eglantine, elder, lily, marybuds, moss, oak, acorn, pine, reed, rushes,
vine.

_Titus Andronicus._ Aspen, briars, cedar, honeystalks, corn, elder,
grass, laurel, lily, moss, mistletoe, nettles, yew.

_Pericles._ Rosemary, bay, roses, cherry, corn, violets, marigolds,
rose, thorns.

_Romeo and Juliet._ Bitter-sweeting, dates, hazel, mandrake, medlar,
nuts, popering pear, pink, plantain, pomegranate, quince, roses,
rosemary, rush, sycamore, thorn, willow, wormwood, yew.

_King Lear._ Apple, balm, burdock, cork, corn, crab, fumiter, hemlock,
harlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, darnel, flax, hawthorn, lily,
marjoram, oak, oats, peascod, rosemary, vines, wheat, samphire.

_Hamlet._ Fennel, columbine, crow-flower, nettles, daisies, long purples
or dead-men's-fingers, flax, grass, hebenon, nut, palm, pansies,
plum-tree, primrose, rose, rosemary, rue, herb of grace, thorns,
violets, wheat, willow, wormwood.

_Othello._ Locusts, coloquintida, figs, nettles, lettuce, hyssop, thyme,
poppy, mandragora, oak, rose, rue, rush, strawberries, sycamore, grapes,
willow.

_Two Noble Kinsmen._ Apricot, bulrush, cedar, plane, cherry, corn,
currant, daffodils, daisies, flax, lark's heels, marigolds, narcissus,
nettles, oak, oxlips, plantain, reed, primrose, rose, thyme, rush.

This I believe to be a complete list of the flowers of Shakespeare
arranged according to the plays, and they are mentioned in one of three
ways--first, adjectively, as "flaxen was his pole," "hawthorn-brake,"
"barley-broth," "thou honeysuckle villain," "onion-eyed,"
"cowslip-cheeks," but the instances of this use by Shakespeare are not
many; second, proverbially or comparatively, as "tremble like aspen,"
"we grew together like to a double cherry seeming parted," "the stinking
elder, grief," "thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine," "not worth a
gooseberry." There are numberless instances of this use of the names of
flowers, fruits, and trees, but neither of these uses give any
indication of the seasons; and in one or other of these ways they are
used (and only in these ways) in the following plays:--_Tempest_, _Two
Gentlemen of Verona_, _Measure for Measure_, _Merchant of Venice_, _As
You Like It_, _Taming of the Shrew_, _Comedy of Errors_, _Macbeth_,
_King John_, _1st Henry IV._, _2nd Henry VI._, _3rd Henry VI._, _Henry
VIII._, _Troilus and Cressida_, _Coriolanus_, _Julius Cæsar_,
_Pericles_, _Othello_. These therefore may be dismissed at once. There
remain the following plays in which indications of the seasons intended
either in the whole play or in the particular act may be traced. In some
cases the traces are exceedingly slight (almost none at all); in others
they are so strongly marked that there is little doubt that Shakespeare
used them of set purpose and carefully:--_Merry Wives_, _Twelfth Night_,
_Much Ado_, _Midsummer Night's Dream_, _Love's Labour's Lost_, _As You
Like It_, _All's Well_, _Winter's Tale_, _Richard II._, _1st Henry IV._,
_Henry V._, _2nd Henry VI._, _Richard III._, _Timon of Athens_, _Antony
and Cleopatra_, _Cymbeline_, _Titus Andronicus_, _Romeo and Juliet_,
_King Lear_, _Hamlet_, and _Two Noble Kinsmen_.

_Merry Wives._ Herne's oak gives the season intended--

                          "Herne the hunter,
     Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,
     Doth _all the winter time_ at still midnight
     Walk round about an oak with ragged horns."

If Shakespeare really meant to place the scene in mid-winter, there may
be a fitness in Mrs. Quickly's looking forward to "a posset at night, at
the latter end of a sea-coal fire," for it was a "raw rheumatick day"
(act iii, sc. 1), in Pistol's--

     "Take heed, ere summer comes, or cuckoo birds do sing,"

in Ford's "birding" and "hawking," and in the concluding words--

                             "Let us every one go home,
     And laugh this sport o'er by a country fire" (act v, sc. 5);

but it is not in accordance with the literature of the day to have
fairies dancing at midnight in the depth of winter.

_Twelfth Night._ We know that the whole of this play occupies but a few
days, and is chiefly "matter for a May morning." This gives emphasis to
Olivia's oath, "By the roses of the Spring . . . I love thee so" (act
ii, sc. 4).

_Much Ado._ The season must be summer. There is the sitting out of doors
in the "still evening, hushed on purpose to grace harmony;" and it is
the time of year for the full leafage when Beatrice might

           "Steal into the pleached bower,
     Where honeysuckles, ripen'd by the sun,
     Forbid the sun to enter" (act iii, sc. 1).

_Midsummer Night's Dream._ The name marks the season, and there is a
profusion of flowers to mark it too. It may seem strange to us to have
"Apricocks" at the end of June, but in speaking of the seasons of
Shakespeare and others it should be remembered that their days were
twelve days later than ours of the same names; and if to this is added
the variation of a fortnight or three weeks, which may occur in any
season in the ripening of a fruit, "apricocks" might well be sometimes
gathered on their Midsummer day. But I do not think even this elasticity
will allow for the ripening of mulberries and purple grapes at that
time, and scarcely of figs. The scene, however, being laid in Athens and
in fairyland, must not be too minutely criticized in this respect. But
with the English plants the time is more accurately observed. There is
the "_green_ corn;" the "dewberries," which in a forward season may be
gathered early in July; the "lush woodbine" in the fulness of its
lushness at that time; the pansies, or "love-in-idleness," which (says
Gerard) "flower not onely in the spring, but for the most part all
sommer thorowe, even untill autumne;" the "sweet musk-roses and the
eglantine," also in flower then, though the musk-roses, being rather
late bloomers, would show more of the "musk-rose buds" in which Titania
bid the elves "kill cankers" than of the full-blown flower; while the
thistle would be exactly in the state for "Mounsieur Cobweb" to "kill a
good red-hipped humble bee on the top of it" to "bring the honey-bag" to
Bottom. Besides these there are the flowers on the "bank where the wild
thyme blows; where oxlips and the nodding violet grows," and I think the
distinction worth noting between the "_blowing_" of the wild thyme,
which would then be at its fullest, and the "_growing_" of the oxlips
and the violet, which had passed their time of blowing, but the living
plants continued "growing."[386:1]

_Love's Labour's Lost._ The general tone of the play points to the full
summer, the very time when we should expect to find Boyet thinking "to
close his eyes some half an hour under the cool shade of a sycamore"
(act v, sc. 2).

_All's Well that Ends Well._ There is a pleasant note of the season in--

     "The time will bring on summer,
      When briars will have leaves as well as thorns,
      And be as sweet as sharp" (act iv, sc. 4);

but probably that is only a proverbial expression of hopefulness, and
cannot be pushed further.

_Winter's Tale._ There seems some little confusion in the season of the
fourth act--the feast for the sheep-shearing, which is in the very
beginning of summer--yet Perdita dates the season as "the year growing
ancient"--

     "Nor yet on summer's death, nor on the birth
      Of trembling winter"--

and gives Camillo the "flowers of middle summer." The flowers named are
all summer flowers; carnations or gilliflowers, lavender, mints, savory,
marjoram, and marigold.

_Richard II._ There are several marked and well-known dates in this
play, but they are not much marked by the flowers. The intended combat
was on St. Lambert's day (17th Sept.), but there is no allusion to
autumn flowers. In act iii, sc. 3, which we know must be placed in
August, there is, besides the mention of the summer dust, King Richard's
sad strain--

     "Our sighs, and they (tears) shall lodge the summer corn,"

and in the same act we have the gardener's orders to trim the rank
summer growth of the "dangling apricocks," while in the last act, which
must be some months later, we have the Duke of York speaking of "this
new spring of time," and the Duchess asking--

                            "Who are the violets now
     That strew the green lap of the new-come spring?"

and though in both cases the words may be used proverbially, yet it
seems also probable that they may have been suggested by the time of
year.

_2nd Henry IV._ There is one flower-note in act ii, sc. 4, where the
Hostess says to Falstaff, "Fare thee well! I have known thee these
twenty-five years come peascod time," of which it can only be said that
it must have been spoken at some other time than the summer.

_Henry V._ The exact season of act v, sc. 1, is fixed by St. David's day
(March 1) and the leek.

_1st Henry VI._ The scene in the Temple gardens (act ii, sc. 4), where
all turned on the colour of the roses, must have been at the season when
the roses were in full bloom, say June.

_Richard III._ Here too the season of act ii, sc. 4, is fixed by the
ripe strawberries brought by the Bishop of Ely to Richard. The exact
date is known to be June 13, 1483.

_Timon of Athens._ An approximate season for act iv, sc. 3, might be
guessed from the medlar offered by Apemantus to Timon. Our medlars are
ripe in November.

_Antony and Cleopatra._ The figs and fig-leaves brought to Cleopatra
give a slight indication of the season of act v.[388:1]

_Cymbeline._ Here there is a more distinct plant-note of the season of
act i, sc. 3. The queen and her ladies, "whiles yet the dew's on ground,
gather flowers," which at the end of the scene we are told are violets,
cowslips, and primroses, the flowers of the spring. In the fourth act
Lucius gives orders to "find out the prettiest daisied plot we can," to
make a grave for Cloten; but daisies are too long in flower to let us
attempt to fix a date by them.

_Hamlet._ In this play the season intended is very distinctly marked by
the flowers. The first act must certainly be some time in the winter,
though it may be the end of winter or early spring--"The air bites
shrewdly, it is very cold." Then comes an interval of two months or
more, and Ophelia's madness must be placed in the early summer, _i.e._,
in the end of May or the beginning of June; no other time will all the
flowers mentioned fit, but for that time they are exact. The violets
were "all withered;" but she could pick fennel and columbines, daisies
and pansies in abundance, while the evergreen rosemary and rue ("which
we may call Herb of Grace on Sundays") would be always ready. It was the
time of year when trees were in their full leafage, and so the "willow
growing aslant the brook would show its hoar leaves in the glassy
stream," while its "slivers," would help her in making "fantastic
garlands" "of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples," or
"dead men's fingers," all of which she would then be able to pick in
abundance in the meadows, but which in a few weeks would be all gone.
Perhaps the time of year may have suggested to Laertes that pretty but
sad address to his sister,

                    "O Rose of May!
     Dear maid, kind sister, sweet Ophelia!"

_Titus Andronicus._ There is a plant-note in act ii, sc. 2--

     "The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,
      O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe."

_Romeo and Juliet._ A slight plant-note of the season may be detected in
the nightly singing of the nightingale in the pomegranate tree in the
third act.

_King Lear._ The plants named point to one season only, the spring. At
no other time could the poor mad king have gone singing aloud,

     "Crowned with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,
      With harlock, hemlocks, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
      And darnel."

I think this would also be the time for gathering the fresh shoots of
the samphire; but I do not know this for certain.[389:1]

_Two Noble Kinsmen._ Here the season is distinctly stated for us by the
poet. The scene is laid in May, and the flowers named are all in
accordance--daffodils, daisies, marigolds, oxlips, primrose, roses, and
thyme.

I cannot claim any great literary results from this inquiry into the
seasons of Shakespeare as indicated by the flowers named; on the
contrary, I must confess that the results are exceedingly small--I might
almost say, none at all--still I do not regret the time and trouble that
the inquiry has demanded of me. In every literary inquiry the value of
the research is not to be measured by the visible results. It is
something even to find out that there are no results, and so save
trouble to future inquirers. But in this case the research has not been
altogether in vain. Every addition, however small, to the critical study
of our great Poet has its value; and to myself, as a student of the
Natural History of Shakespeare, the inquiry has been a very pleasant
one, because it has confirmed my previous opinion, that even in such
common matters as the names of the most familiar every-day plants he
does not write in a careless hap-hazard way, naming just the plant that
comes uppermost in his thoughts, but that they are all named in the most
careful and correct manner, exactly fitting into the scenes in which
they are placed, and so giving to each passage a brightness and a
reality which would be entirely wanting if the plants were set down in
the ignorance of guess-work. Shakespeare knew the plants well; and
though his knowledge is never paraded, by its very thoroughness it
cannot be hid.


FOOTNOTES:

[386:1] If "the rite of May" (act iv, sc. 1) is to be strictly limited
to May-Day, the title of a "_Midsummer_ Night's Dream" does not apply.
The difficulty can only be met by supposing the scene to be laid at any
night in May, even in the last night, which would coincide with our 12th
of June.

[388:1] "The Alexandrine figs are of the black kind having a white rift
or Chanifre, and are surnamed Delicate. . . . Certain figs there be,
which are both early and also lateward; . . . . they are ripe first in
harvest, and afterwards in time of vintage; . . . . also some there be
which beare thrice a year" (Pliny, _Nat. Hist._ b. xv., c. 18, P.
Holland's translation, 1601).

[389:1] The objection to fixing the date of the play in spring is that
Cordelia bids search to be made for Lear "in every acre of the
high-grown field." If this can only refer to a field of corn at its full
growth, there is a confusion of seasons. But if the larger meaning is
given to "field," which it bears in "flowers of the field," "beasts of
the field," the confusion is avoided. The words would then refer to the
wild overgrowth of an open country.




APPENDIX III.

_NAMES OF PLANTS._

     _Juliet._

     What's in a name? That which we call a Rose
     By any other name would smell as sweet.

                               _Romeo and Juliet_, act ii, sc. 2.




NAMES OF PLANTS.


Finding that many are interested in the old names of the plants named by
Shakespeare, I give in this appendix the names of the plants, showing at
one view how they were written and explained by different writers in the
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The list might have been very largely
increased, especially by giving the forms used at an earlier date, but
my object is to show the forms of the names in which they were (or might
have been) familiar to Shakespeare. The authors quoted are these:

     1440. "Promptorium Parvulorum."
     1483. "Catholicon Anglicum."
     1548. Turner's "Names of Herbes," and "Herbal," 1568.
     1597. Gerard's "Herbal."
     1611. Cotgrave's "Dictionarie."[393:1]


ACONITUM.

_Turner._ Aconitum.

_Gerard._ Of Wolfes-banes and Monkeshoods.

_Cotgrave._ Aconit; Aconitum, _A most venemous hearbe, of two principall
kindes_; viz., _Libbard's-bane, and Wolfe-bane_.


ACORN.

_Promptorium._ Accorne, or archarde, frute of the oke; _Glans_.

_Catholicon._ An Acorne; _hæc glans dis, hec glandicula_.

_Cotgrave._ Gland; _An Acorne_; _Mast of Oakes or other trees_.


ALMOND.

_Promptorium._ Almaund, frute; _Amigdalum_.

_Catholicon._ An Almond tre; _amigdalus_.

_Turner._ The Almon tree.

_Gerard._ The Almond tree.

_Cotgrave._ Amygdales; _Almonds_.


ALOES.

_Turner._ Aloe.

_Gerard._ Of Herbe Aloe, or Sea Houseleeke.

_Cotgrave._ Aloës; _The hearbe Aloes_, _Sea Houseleeke_, _Sea aigreen_.


APPLE.

_Promptorium._ Appule, frute; _Pomum_, _malum_.

_Catholicon._ An Appylle; _pomum_, _malum_, _pomulum_.

_Turner._ Apple tree.

_Gerard._ The Apple tree.

_Cotgrave._ Pomme; _An Apple_.


APRICOTS.

_Turner._ Abricok.

_Gerard._ The Aprecocke or Abrecocke tree.

_Cotgrave._ Abricot; _The Abricot, or Apricocke Plum_.


ASH.

_Promptorium._ Asche tre; _Fraxinus_.

_Turner._ Ashe tree.

_Gerard._ The Ash tree.

_Cotgrave._ Fraisne; _An Ash tree_.


ASPEN.

_Promptorium._ Aspe tre; _Tremulus_.

_Turner._ Asp tree.

_Gerard._ The Aspen tree.

_Cotgrave._ Tremble; _An Aspe or Aspen tree_.


BALM AND BALSAM.

_Promptorium._ Bawme, herbe or tre; _Balsamus_, _melissa_, _melago_.

_Catholicon._ Balme; _balsamum_, _colo balsamum_, _filo balsamum_,
_opobalsamum_.

_Turner._ Baume.

_Gerard._ Balme or Balsam tree.

_Cotgrave._ Basme; _Balme_, _balsamum, or more properly the balsamum
tree, from which distils our Balme_.


BARLEY.

_Promptorium._ Barlycorne; _Ordeum_, _triticum_.

_Catholicon._ Barly; _Ordeum_, _ordeolum_.

_Turner._ Barley.

_Gerard._ Of Barley.

_Cotgrave._ Orge; _Barlie_.


BARNACLE.

_Catholicon._ A Barnakylle; avis est.

_Gerard._ Of the Goose tree, Barnacle tree, or the tree bearing geese.

_Cotgrave._ Bernaque; _The foule called a Barnacle_.


BAY.

_Promptorium._ Bay, frute; _Bacca_.

_Catholicon._ A Bay; _bacca, est fructus lauri et olive_.

_Turner._ Bay tree.

_Gerard._ Of the Bay or Laurel tree.

_Cotgrave._ Laurier; _A Laurell or Bay tree_.


BEANS.

_Promptorium._ Bene corne; _Faba_.

_Catholicon._ A Bene; _faba_, _fabella_.

_Turner._ Beane.

_Gerard._ Beane and his kinds.

_Cotgrave._ Febue; _A Beane_.


BILBERRY.

_Catholicon._ A Blabery.

_Cotgrave._ Hurelles; _Whoortle berries_, _wyn-berries_, _Bill-berries_,
_Bull-berries_.


BIRCH.

_Promptorium._ Byrche tre; _Lentiscus_, _cinus_.

_Catholicon._ Byrke; _Lentiscus_.

_Turner._ Birch tree; Birke tree.

_Gerard._ Of the Birch tree.

_Cotgrave._ Bouleau; _Birche_.


BLACKBERRIES.

_Turner._ Blake bery bush.

_Gerard._ Blacke-berry.

_Cotgrave._ Meuron; _A blacke, or bramble berrie_.


BOX.

_Promptorium._ Box tre; _Buxus_.

_Catholicon._ A Box tre; _buxus buxum_.

_Turner._ Box.

_Gerard._ Of the Box tree.

_Cotgrave._ Blanc bois; _Box_, _&c._


BRAMBLE.

_Promptorium._ Brymbyll.

_Turner._ Bramble bushe.

_Gerard._ Of the Bramble or blacke-berry bush.

_Cotgrave._ Ronce; _A Bramble or Brier_.


BRIER.

_Promptorium._ Brere or Brymmeylle; _Tribulus_, _vepris_.

_Catholicon._ A Brere; _carduus_, _tribulus_, _vepres_, _veprecula_.

_Turner._ Brier tree.

_Gerard._ The Brier or Hep tree.

_Cotgrave._ See BRAMBLE.


BROOM.

_Promptorium._ Brome, brusche; _Genesta_, _mirica_.

_Catholicon._ Brune; _genesta_, _merica_, _tramarica_.

_Turner._ Broume.

_Gerard._ Broome.

_Cotgrave._ Genest; _Broome_.


BULRUSH.

_Promptorium._ Holrysche or Bulrysche; _Papirus_.

_Cotgrave._ Jonc; _A Rush, or Bulrush_.


BURS AND BURDOCK.

_Catholicon._ A Burre; _bardona_, _glis_, _lappa_, _paliurus_.

_Turner._ Clote Bur.

_Gerard._ Clote Burre, or Burre Docke.

_Cotgrave._ Bardane la grande; _The burre-dock_, _clote_, _bur_, _great
burre_.


BURNET.

_Turner._ Burnet.

_Gerard._ Burnet.

_Cotgrave._ Pimpinelle; _Burnet_.


CABBAGE.

_Turner._ Colewurtes.

_Gerard._ Cabbage or Colewort.

_Cotgrave._ Chou Cabu; _Cabbage_, _White Colewort_, _headed Colewort_,
_leafed Cabbage_, _round Cabbage Cole_.


CAMOMILE.

_Promptorium._ _Camamilla._

_Catholicon._ Camomelle; _Camomillum_.

_Turner._ Camomyle.

_Gerard._ Of Cammomill.

_Cotgrave._ Camomille; _The hearbe Camamell or Camomill_.


CARNATIONS.

_Gerard._ Some are called Carnations.


CARRAWAYS.

_Promptorium._ Caraway herbe; _Carwy, sic scribitur in campo florum_.

_Turner._ Caruways.

_Gerard._ Of Caruwaies.

_Cotgrave._ Carvi; _Caroways, or Caroway seed_.


CARROT.

_Turner._ Carot.

_Gerard._ Of Carrots.

_Cotgrave._ Carote; _The Carrot (root or hearbe)_.


CEDAR.

_Promptorium._ Cedyr tree; _Cedrus_.

_Catholicon._ A Cedir tre; _Cedrus_, _Cedra_; _Cedrinus_.

_Gerard._ Of the Cedar tree.

_Cotgrave._ Cedre; _The Cedar tree_.


CHERRY.

_Promptorium._ Chery, or Chery frute; _Cerasum_.

_Catholicon._ A Chery; _Cerasum_.

_Gerard._ The Cherry tree.

_Cotgrave._ Cerise; _A Cherrie_.


CHESTNUTS.

_Promptorium._ Castany, frute or tre; _idem_, _Castanea_.

_Catholicon._ A Chestan; _balanus_, _Castanea_.

_Turner._ Chesnut tree.

_Gerard._ The Chestnut tree.

_Cotgrave._ Chastaignier; _A Chessen, or Chestnut, tree_.


CLOVER.

_Turner._ Claver.

_Gerard._ Three-leaved grass; Claver.

_Cotgrave._ Treffle; _Trefoil_, _Clover_, _Three-leaved Grasse_.


CLOVES.

_Promptorium._ Clowe, spyce; _Gariofolus_.

_Catholicon._ A Clowe; _garifolus, species est_.

_Gerard._ The Clove tree.

_Cotgrave._ Girofle, cloux de Girofle; _Cloves_.


COCKLE.

_Promptorium._ Cokylle, wede; _Nigella_, _lollium_, _zizania_.

_Catholicon._ Cokylle; _quædam aborigo_, _zazannia_.

_Turner._ Cockel.

_Gerard._ Cockle.


COLOQUINTIDA.

_Turner._ Coloquintida.

_Gerard._ The wilde Citrull, or Coloquintida.

_Cotgrave._ Coloquinthe; _The wilde and fleme-purging Citrull
Coloquintida_.


COLUMBINE.

_Promptorium._ Columbyne, herbe; _Columbina_.

_Catholicon._ Columbyne; _Columbina_.

_Gerard._ Columbine.

_Cotgrave._ Colombin; _The hearbe Colombine_.


CORK.

_Promptorium._ Corkbarke; _Cortex_.

_Catholicon._ Corke.

_Gerard._ The Corke Oke.

_Cotgrave._ Liege; _Corke_.


CORN.

_Promptorium._ Corne; _Granum_, _gramen_.

_Catholicon._ Corn; _Granum_, _bladum_, _annona_, _seges_.

_Gerard._ Corne.

_Cotgrave._ Grain; _Graine_, _Corne_.


COWSLIP.

_Promptorium._ Cowslope, herbe; _Herba petri_, _herba paralysis_,
_ligustra_.

_Catholicon._ A Cowslope; _ligustrum_, _vaccinium_.

_Turner._ Cowslop, Cowslip.

_Gerard._ Cowslips.

_Cotgrave._ Prime-vere; . . . _a Cowslip_.


CRABS.

_Promptorium._ Crabbe, appule or frute; _Macianum_.

_Catholicon._ A Crab of ye wod; _acroma ab acritudine dictum_.

_Gerard._ The wilding or Crabtree.

_Cotgrave._ Pommier Sauvage; _A Crab Tree_.


CROW-FLOWERS.

_Promptorium._ Crowefote, herbe; _amarusca vel amarusca emeroydarum, pes
corvi_.

_Turner._ Crowfote.

_Gerard._ Crowfloures or Wilde Williams.

_Cotgrave._ Hyacinthe; _The blew, or purple Jacint, or Hyacinth flower;
we call it also, Crow-toes_.


CROWN IMPERIAL.

_Gerard._ The Crowne Imperiall.

_Cotgrave._ Couronne Imperiale; _The Imperial Crowne; (a goodlie
flower)_.


CUCKOO-FLOWERS.

_Gerard._ Wild Water Cresses or Cuckow-floures.

_Cotgrave._ See LADY-SMOCKS.


CURRANTS.

_Catholicon._ Rasyns of Coran; _uvapassa_.

_Turner._ Rasin tree.

_Gerard._ Corans or Currans, or rather Raisins of Corinth.

_Cotgrave._ Raisins de Corinthe; _Currans, or small Raisins_.


CYPRESS.

_Promptorium._ Cypresse, tre; _Cipressus_.

_Catholicon._ A Cipirtre; _cipressus_, _cipressimus_.

_Turner._ Cypresse tree.

_Gerard._ The Cypresse tree.

_Cotgrave._ Cyprés; _The Cyprus Tree_; _or Cyprus wood_.


DAFFODILS.

_Promptorium._ Affodylle herbe; _Affodillus_, _albucea_.

_Catholicon._ An Affodylle; _Affodillus, harba est_.

_Turner._ Affodill, Daffadyll.

_Gerard._ Daffodils.

_Cotgrave._ Asphodile; _The Daffadill, Affodill, or Asphodell Flower_.


DAISIES.

_Promptorium._ Daysy, floure; _Consolida minor et major dicitur
Confery_.

_Catholicon._ A Daysy; _Consolidum_.

_Turner._ Dasie.

_Gerard._ Little Daisies.

_Cotgrave._ Marguerite; _A Daisie_.


DAMSONS.

_Promptorium._ Damasyn', frute; _Prunum Damascenum_, _Coquinella_.

_Catholicon._ A Damysyn tre; _damiscenus, nixa pro arbore and fructu,
conquinella_.

_Gerard._ The Plum or Damson tree.

_Cotgrave._ Prune de Damas; _A Damson or Damask Plumme_.


DARNEL.

_Promptorium._ Dernel, a wede; _Zizania_.

_Catholicon._ Darnelle; _Zizannia_.

_Turner._ Darnel.

_Gerard._ Darnell.

_Cotgrave._ Yvraye; _The vicious graine called Ray, or Darnell_.


DATES.

_Promptorium._ Date, frute; _Dactilus_.

_Catholicon._ A Date; _dactulus_, _dactilicus_.

_Turner._ Date tre.

_Gerard._ The Date tree.

_Cotgrave._ Dacte; _A Date_.


DOCKS.

_Promptorium._ Dockeweede; _Padella_.

_Catholicon._ A Dokan; _paradilla_, _emula_, _farella_.

_Turner._ Docke.

_Gerard._ Docks.

_Cotgrave._ Parelle; _The hearbe Dockes_.


DOGBERRY.

_Turner._ Dog tree.

_Gerard._ The female Cornell or Dog-berry tree.

_Cotgrave._ Cornillier femelle; _Hounds-tree_, _Dog-berrie tree_,
_Prick-tymber tree_; _Gaten, or Gater, tree_.



EBONY.

_Promptorium._ Eban' tre; _Ebanus_.

_Cotgrave_. Ebene; _The blacke wood called Heben, or Eboine_.


EGLANTINE.

_Turner._ Eglētyne or swete brere.

_Gerard._ The Eglantine or Sweet Brier.

_Cotgrave._ Rose sauvage; _The Eglantine or Sweet brier Rose_.


ELDER.

_Promptorium._ Eldyr or hyldr or hillerne tre; _Sambucus_.

_Catholicon._ A Bur tre; _Sambucus_.

_Turner._ Elder tree.

_Gerard._ The Elder tree.

_Cotgrave._ Sureau; _An Elder Tree_.


ELM.

_Promptorium._ Elm, tre; _Ulmus_.

_Turner._ Elme tree.

_Gerard._ The Elme tree.

_Cotgrave._ Orme; _an Elme tree_.


ERINGOES.

_Turner._ Sea holly, or Sea Hulver.

_Gerard._ Sea Holly.

_Cotgrave._ Chardon marin; _The Sea Thistle_, _Sea Holly_, _Eringus_.


FENNEL.

_Promptorium._ Fenkylle or fenelle; _Feniculum vel feniculus_.

_Catholicon._ Fennelle or fenkelle; _feniculum_, _maratrum_.

_Turner._ Fenel.

_Gerard_. Fennell.

_Cotgrave._ Fenouil; _The hearbe Fennell_.


FERN.

_Promptorium._ Brake, herbe or ferne; _Filix_.

_Catholicon._ Ferne; _polipodium_, &c.; _ubi_ brakān (a Brakān;
filix).

_Turner._ Ferne or brake.

_Gerard._ Ferne.

_Cotgrave._ Feuchiere; _Fearne_, _brakes_.


FIGS.

_Promptorium._ Fygge or fyge tre; _Ficus_.

_Catholicon._ A dry Fige; _ficus_ -_i_, _ficus_ -_us_, _ficulus_.

_Turner._ Fig tree.

_Gerard._ The Fig tree.

_Cotgrave._ Figue; _A Fig_.


FILBERTS.

_Promptorium._ Fylberde, notte; _Fillum_.

_Catholicon._ A Filbert; _Fillium vel fillum_.

_Gerard._ The Fillberd Nutt.

_Cotgrave._ Avelaine; _A Filbeard_.


FLAGS.

_Gerard._ Water Flags.


FLAX.

_Promptorium._ Flax; _Linum_.

_Catholicon._ Lyne; _linum_.

_Turner._ Flax.

_Gerard._ Garden Flaxe.

_Cotgrave._ Lin; _Line_, _flax_.


FLOWER-DE-LUCE.

_Turner._ Flour de luce.

_Gerard._ The Floure de-luce.

_Cotgrave._ Iris; _The rainbow_; _also a Flower de luce_.


FUMITER.

_Promptorium._ Fumeter, herbe; _Fumus terræ_.

_Turner._ Fumitarie.

_Gerard._ Fumitorie.

_Cotgrave._ Fume-terre; _The hearbe Fumitorie_.


FURZE.

_Promptorium._ Fyrrys, or qwyce tre, or gorstys tre; _Ruscus_.

_Gerard._ Furze, Gorsse, Whin, or prickley Broome.

_Cotgrave._ Genest espineux; _Furres_, _whinnes_, _gorse_, _Thorn
broome_.


GARLICK.

_Promptorium._ Garlekke; _Allium_.

_Catholicon._ Garleke; _Alleum_.

_Turner._ Garlike.

_Gerard._ Garlicke.

_Cotgrave._ Ail; _Garlicke_, _poore-man's Treacle_.


GILLIFLOWERS.

_Promptorium._ Gyllofre, herbe; _Gariophyllus_.

_Turner._ Gelover, Gelefloure.

_Gerard._ Clove Gillofloures.

_Cotgrave._ Giroflée; _A gilloflower, and most properly, the Clove
Gilloflower_.


GINGER.

_Promptorium._ Gyngere; _Zinziber_.

_Catholicon._ Ginger; _zinziber_, _zinzebrum_.

_Gerard._ Ginger.

_Cotgrave._ Gingembre; _Ginger_.


GOOSEBERRIES.

_Turner._ Goosebery bush.

_Gerard._ Goose-berrie or Fea-berry Bush.

_Cotgrave._ Groselles; _Gooseberries_.


GORSE.

_Promptorium._ See FURZE.

_Gerard._ See FURZE.

_Cotgrave._ See FURZE.


GOURD.

_Promptorium._ Goord; _Cucumer_, _cucurbita_, _colloquintida_.

_Catholicon._ A Gourde; _Cucumer vel cucumis_.

_Turner._ Gourde.

_Gerard._ Gourds.

_Cotgrave._ Courge; _The fruit called a Gourd_.


GRAPES.

_Promptorium._ Grape; _Uva_.

_Catholicon._ A Grape; _Apiana_, _botrus_, _passus_, _uva_.

_Turner._ Grapes.

_Gerard._ Grapes.

_Cotgrave._ Raisin; _A Grape, also a Raisin_.


GRASS.

_Promptorium._ Gresse, herbe; _Herba_, _gramen_.

_Catholicon._ A Gresse; _gramen_, _herba_, _herbala_.

_Turner._ Grasse.

_Gerard._ Grasse.

_Cotgrave._ Herbe; . . . _also Grasse_.


HAREBELL.

_Gerard._ Hare-bells.


HAWTHORN.

_Promptorium._ Hawe thorne; _ramnus_.

_Catholicon._ An Hawe tre; _sinus_, _rampnus_.

_Turner._ Hawthorne tree.

_Gerard._ The White Thorne or Hawthorne tree.

_Cotgrave._ Aubespin; _The White-thorne or Hawthorne_.


HAZEL.

_Promptorium._ Hesyl tre; _Colurus_, _Colurnus_.

_Catholicon._ An Heselle; _corulus_.

_Turner._ Hasyle tree.

_Gerard._ The Hasell tree.

_Cotgrave._ Noisiller; _A Hasel, or small nut tree_.


HEATH.

_Promptorium._ Hethe; _Bruera_, _bruare_.

_Turner._ Heth.

_Gerard._ Heath, Hather, or Linge.

_Cotgrave._ Bruyere; _Heath_, _ling_, _hather_.


HEBONA.


HEMLOCK.

_Promptorium._ Humlok, herbe; _Sicuta_, _lingua canis_.

_Catholicon._ An Hemlok; _cicuta_, _harba benedicta_, _intubus_.

_Turner._ Hemlocke.

_Gerard._ Homlocks or herb Bennet.

_Cotgrave._ Cigne; _Hemlocke_, _Homlocke_, _hearbe Bennet_, _Kex_.


HEMP.

_Promptorium._ Hempe; _Canabum_.

_Catholicon._ Hempe; _Canabus_, _canabum_.

_Turner._ Hemp.

_Gerard._ Hempe.

_Cotgrave._ Chanure; _Hempe_.


HOLLY.

_Promptorium._ Holme or holy; _Ulmus_, _hussus_.

_Catholicon._ An Holynge; _hussus_.

_Gerard._ The Holme, Holly, or Hulver tree.

_Cotgrave._ Houx; _The Hollie, Holme, or Hulver tree_.


HOLY THISTLE.

_Turner._ Cardo benedictus.

_Gerard._ The Blessed Thistle.

_Cotgrave._ Chardon benoict; _Holy Thistle_, _blessed Thistle_. Carduus
benedictus.


HONEYSUCKLE.

_Promptorium._ Hony Socle; _Abiago_.

_Turner._ Honysuccles.

_Gerard._ Woodbinde or Honisuckles.

_Cotgrave._ Chevre-fueille; _The Woodbind or Honie-suckle_.


HYSSOP.

_Promptorium._ Isope, herbe; _Isopus_.

_Catholicon._ Isope; _ysopus_.

_Turner._ Hysope.

_Gerard._ Hyssope.

_Cotgrave._ Hyssope; _Hisop_.


INSANE ROOT.

_Promptorium._ Henbane, herbe; _Jusquiamus_, _simphonica_, _insana_.

_Gerard._ Insana (s.v. HENBANE).


IVY.

_Promptorium._ Ivy; _Edera_.

_Catholicon._ An Ivēn; _edera_.

_Gerard._ Ivy.

_Cotgrave._ Lierre; _Ivie_.


KECKSIES.

_Promptorium._ Kyx, or bunne, or drye weed; _Calamus_.

_Gerard._ Kexe.

_Cotgrave._ _See_ HEMLOCK.


KNOT-GRASS.

_Turner._ Knot grasse.

_Gerard._ Knot-grasses.

_Cotgrave._ Centidoine; _Centinodie_, _Knotgrassa_, _Waygrasse_, &c.


LADY-SMOCKS.

_Gerard._ Lady-smockes.

_Cotgrave._ Passerage Sauvage; _Cuckoe flowers_, _Ladies-smockes_, _the
lesse Water Cresse_.


LARK'S HEELS.

_Gerard._ Larks heele or Larks claw.

_Cotgrave._ Herbe moniale; _Wilde Larkes-heele_, _purple Monkes-flower_.


LAUREL.

_Promptorium._ Lauryol, herbe; _Laureola_.

_Catholicon._ Larielle; _laurus_.

_Turner._ Laurel tree.

_Gerard._ The Bay or Laurel tree.

_Cotgrave._ Laureole; _Lowrie_, _Lauriell_, _Spurge Laurell_, _little
Laurell_.


LAVENDER.

_Promptorium._ Lavendere, herbe; _Lavendula_.

_Turner._ Lauender.

_Gerard._ Lavander Spike.

_Cotgrave._ Lavande; _Lavender_, _Spike_.


LEEK.

_Promptorium._ Leek or garleke; _Alleum_.

_Catholicon._ A Leke; _porrum_.

_Turner._ Leke.

_Gerard._ Leekes.

_Cotgrave._ Porreau; _A Leeke_.


LEMON.

_Turner._ Limones.

_Gerard._ The Limon tree.

_Cotgrave._ Limon; _A Lemmon_.


LETTUCE.

_Promptorium._ Letuce, herbe; _Lactuca_.

_Catholicon._ Letuse; _lactuca_.

_Turner._ Lettis.

_Gerard._ Lettuce.

_Cotgrave._ Laictuë; _Lettuce_.


LILY.

_Promptorium._ Lyly, herbe; _Lilium_.

_Catholicon._ A Lylly; _lilium_, _librellum_.

_Turner._ Lily.

_Gerard._ White Lillies.

_Cotgrave._ Lis; _A Lillie_.


LIME.

_Promptorium._ Lynde tre; _Filia_.

_Catholicon. A_ Linde tre; _tilia_.

_Turner._ Linden tre.

_Gerard._ The Line or Linden tree.

_Cotgrave._ Til; _The Line, Linden, or Teylet tree_.


LING.

_Promptorium._ Lynge of the hethe; _Bruera vel brueria_.

_Turner._ Ling.

_Gerard._ Heath, Hather, or Linge.

_Cotgrave._ Bruyere; _Heath_, _ling_, _hather_.


LOCUST.

_Turner._ Carobbeanes.

_Gerard._ The Carob tree or St. John's Bread.


LONG PURPLES.

_Turner._ Hand Satyrion.


LOVE-IN-IDLENESS.

_Gerard._ Live in idlenesse.

_Cotgrave._ Herbe clavelée; _Paunsie. . . . Love or live in idleness_.


MACE.

_Promptorium._ Macys, spyce; _Macie in plur_.

_Catholicon._ Mace; _Macia_.

_Gerard._ Mace.

_Cotgrave._ Macis; _The spice called Mace_.


MALLOWS.

_Promptorium._ Malwe, herbe, _Malva_.

_Catholicon._ A Malve; _Altea_, _malva_.

_Turner._ Mallowe.

_Gerard._ The wilde Mallowes.

_Cotgrave._ Maulve; _The hearbe Mallow_.


MANDRAKES.

_Promptorium._ Mandragge, herbe; _Mandragora_.

_Turner._ Mandrage.

_Gerard._ Mandrake.

_Cotgrave._ Mandragore; _Mandrake_, _Mandrage_, _Mandragon_.


MARIGOLD.

_Promptorium._ Golde, heabe; _Solsequium, quia sequitur solem_, &c.

_Catholicon._ Marigolde; _Solsequium, sponsa solis, herba est_.

_Turner._ Marygoulde.

_Gerard._ Marigolds.

_Cotgrave._ Soulsi; _the Marigold_, _Ruds_.


MARJORAM.

_Promptorium._ Mageræm, herbe; _Majorona_.

_Catholicon._ Marioron; _herba Maiorana_.

_Turner._ Margerum.

_Gerard._ Marjerome.

_Cotgrave._ Marjolaine; _Marierome_, _sweet Marierome_, _fine
Marierome_, _Marierome gentle_.


MEDLAR.

_Turner._ Medler tre.

_Gerard._ The Medlar tree.

_Cotgrave._ Neffle; _a Medler_.


MINT.

_Promptorium._ Mynte, herbe; _Minta_.

_Catholicon._ Minte; _Menta, herba est_.

_Turner._ Mint.

_Gerard._ Mints.

_Cotgrave._ Mente; _the hearbe Mint, or Mints_.


MISTLETOE.

_Turner._ Misceldin, or Miscelto.

_Gerard._ Misseltoe or Misteltoe.

_Cotgrave._ Guy; _Misseltoe, or Misseldine_.


MOSS.

_Promptorium._ Mosse, growynge a-mongys stonys; _Muscus_.

_Catholicon._ Mosse; _muscus_, _ivena_.

_Gerard._ Ground Mosse.

_Cotgrave._ Mousse; _Mosse_.


MULBERRY.

_Promptorium._ Mulbery; _Morum_.

_Catholicon._ A Mulbery; _Morum_.

_Turner._ Mulbery tree.

_Gerard._ The Mulberrie tree.

_Cotgrave._ Meure; _A Mulberrie_.


MUSHROOM.

_Promptorium._ Muscherōn toodys hatte; _Boletus_, _fungus_.

_Gerard._ Mushrumes or Toadstooles.

_Cotgrave._ Champignon; _A Mushrum_, _Toadstoole_, _Paddock-stoole_.


MUSTARD.

_Promptorium._ Mustard or Warlok or senvyne, herbe; _Sinapis_.

_Catholicon._ Musterde; _Sinapium_.

_Turner._ Mustarde.

_Gerard._ Mustard.

_Cotgrave._ Moustarde; _Mustard_.


MYRTLE.

_Turner._ Myrtle or Myrt tree.

_Gerard._ The Myrtle tree.

_Cotgrave._ Myrte: _The Mirtle tree or Shrub_.


NETTLES.

_Promptorium._ Netyl, herbe; _Urtica_.

_Catholicon._ A Nettylle; _Urtica_.

_Turner._ Nettle.

_Gerard._ Stinging Nettle.

_Cotgrave._ Ortie; _A Nettle, the Common Nettle_.


NUT.

_Promptorium._ Note, frute; _Nux_.

_Catholicon._ A Nutte; _nux_, _nucula_, _nucicula_.

_Gerard._ Wilde hedge-Nut.

_Cotgrave._ Noisette; _A small Nut, or Hasel Nut_.


NUTMEG.

_Promptorium._ Notemygge; _Nux muscata_.

_Catholicon._ A Nut muge; _nux muscata_.

_Gerard._ The Nutmeg tree.

_Cotgrave._ Noix Muscade; _A Nutmeg_.


OAK.

_Promptorium._ Oke, tee; _Quercus_, _ylex_.

_Catholicon._ An Oke; _quarcus_, &c.; _ubi_ An Ake.

_Turner._ Oke.

_Gerard._ The Oke.

_Cotgrave._ Chesne; _An Oake_.


OATS.

_Promptorium._ Ote or havur Corne; _Avena_.

_Catholicon._ Otys; _ubi_ haver (_Havyr_; _avena_, _avenula_).

_Turner._ Otes.

_Gerard._ Otes.

_Cotgrave._ Avoyne; _Oats_.


OLIVE.

_Promptorium._ Olyve, tre; _Oliva_.

_Catholicon._ An Olyve tre; _olea_, _oleaster_, _oliva_; _olivaris_.

_Turner._ Olyve tree.

_Gerard._ The Olive tree.

_Cotgrave._ Olivier; _An Olive tree_.


ONIONS.

_Promptorium._ Onyone; _Sepe_.

_Catholicon._ Onyōn; _bilbus_, _cepa_, _cepe_.

_Turner._ Onyon.

_Gerard._ Onions.

_Cotgrave._ Oignon; _An Onyon_.


ORANGE.

_Promptorium._ Oronge, fruete; _Pomum citrinum_, _citrum_.

_Turner._ Orenge tree.

_Gerard._ The Orange tree.

_Cotgrave._ Orange; _An Orange_.


OSIER.

_Promptorium._ Osyere; _Vimen_.

_Turner._ Osyer tree.

_Gerard._ The Oziar or Water Willow.

_Cotgrave._ Osier; _The Ozier_, _red Withie_, _water Willow tree_.


OXLIP.

_Gerard._ Field Oxlips.

_Cotgrave._ Arthetiques; _Cowslips or Oxlips_.


PALM.

_Promptorium._ Palme; _Palma_.

_Catholicon._ A Palme tre; _palma_, _palmula_.

_Gerard._ The Date tree.

_Cotgrave._ Palmier; _The Palme, or Date tree_.


PANSIES.

_Turner._ Panses.

_Gerard._ Hearts-ease or Pansies.

_Cotgrave._ Pensée; _The flower Paunsie_.


PARSLEY.

_Promptorium._ Persley, herbe; _Petrocillum_.

_Catholicon._ Parcelle; _Petrocillum, herba est_.

_Turner._ Persely.

_Gerard._ Parsley.

_Cotgrave._ Persil; _Parsely_.


PEACH.

_Promptorium._ Peche, or peske, frute: _Pesca_, _pomum Persicum_.

_Turner._ Peche tree.

_Gerard._ The Peach tree.

_Cotgrave._ Pesche; _A Peach_.


PEAR.

_Promptorium._ Pere, tre; _Pirus_.

_Catholicon._ A Pere tre; _Pirus_.

_Turner._ Peare tree.

_Gerard._ The Peare tree.

_Cotgrave._ Poire; _A Peare_.


PEAS.

_Promptorium._ Pese, frute of corne; _Pisa_.

_Catholicon._ A Peise; _Pisa_.

_Turner._ A Pease.

_Gerard._ Peason.

_Cotgrave._ Pois; _A Peas or Peason_.


PEPPER.

_Promptorium._ Pepyr; _Piper_.

_Catholicon._ Pepyr; _Piper_.

_Turner._ Indishe Peper.

_Gerard._ The Pepper plant.

_Cotgrave._ Poyvre; _Pepper_.


PIGNUTS.

_Turner._ Ernutte.

_Gerard._ Earth-Nut, Earth Chestnut, or Kippernut.

_Cotgrave._ Faverottes; _Earth-nuts_, _Kipper-nuts_, _Earth-Chestnuts_.


PINE.

_Promptorium._ Pynot, tre; _Pinus_.

_Catholicon._ A Pyne tree; _pinus_.

_Turner._ Pyne tre.

_Gerard._ The Pine tree.

_Cotgrave._ Pin; _A Pine tree_.


PINKS.

_Gerard._ Pinks or wilde Gillofloures.

_Cotgrave._ Oeillet; _A Gilliflower; also, a Pinke_.


PIONY.

_Promptorium._ Pyany, herbe; _Pionia_.

_Catholicon._ A Pyon; _pionia, herba est_.

_Turner._ Pyony.

_Gerard._ Peionie.

_Cotgrave._ Pion; _A certaine great, round, and Bulbus-rooted flower, of
one whole colour_.


PLANE.

_Promptorium._ Plane, tre; _Platanus_.

_Catholicon._ A Playne tre; _platanus_.

_Turner._ Playne tree.

_Gerard._ The Plane tree.

_Cotgrave._ Platane; _The right Plane tree (a stranger in England)_.


PLANTAIN.

_Promptorium._ Planteyne, or plawnteyn, herbe; _Plantago_.

_Turner._ Plantaine.

_Gerard._ Land Plantaine.

_Cotgrave._ Plantain; _Plantaine_, _Way-bred_.


PLUMS.

_Promptorium._ Plowme; _Prunum_.

_Catholicon._ A Plowmbe; _prunum_.

_Turner._ Plum tree.

_Gerard._ The Plum tree.

_Cotgrave._ Prune; _A Plumme_.


POMEGRANATE.

_Promptorium._ Pomegarnet, frute; _Pomum granatum_, _vel malum
granatum_.

_Catholicon._ A Pomgarnett; _Malogranatum_, _Malumpunicum_.

_Turner._ Pomgranat tree.

_Gerard._ The Pomegranat tree.

_Cotgrave._ Grenarde; _a Pomegranet_.


POPPY.

_Promptorium._ Popy, weed; _Papaver_, _Codia_.

_Turner._ Poppy.

_Gerard._ Poppy.

_Cotgrave._ Pavot; _Poppie_, _Cheesbowls_.


POTATO.

_Gerard._ Potatus, or Potato's.


PRIMROSE.

_Promptorium._ Prymerose; _Primula_, _calendula_, _liqustrum_.

_Catholicon._ A Prymerose; _primarosa_, _primula veris_.

_Turner._ Primrose.

_Gerard._ Primrose.

_Cotgrave._ Primevere; _The Primrose_.


PUMPION.

_Gerard._ Melons, or Pumpions.

_Cotgrave._ Pompon; _A Pompion or Melon_.


QUINCE.

_Promptorium._ Quence, frute; _Coctonum_, _Scitonum_.

_Turner._ Quince tree.

_Gerard._ The Quince tree.

_Cotgrave._ Coignier; _A Quince tree_.


RADISH.

_Catholicon._ Radcolle; _Raphanus, herba est_.

_Turner._ Radice or Radishe.

_Gerard._ Radish.

_Cotgrave._ Radis; _A Raddish root_.


RAISIN.

_Promptorium._ Reysone, or reysynge, frute; _Uva passa_, _carica_.

_Catholicon._ A Rasyn; _passa_, _racemus_.

_Turner._ Rasin.

_Gerard._ Raisins.

_Cotgrave._ Raisin; _A Grape, also a Raisin_.


REEDS.

_Promptorium._ Reed, of the fenne; _Arundo_, _canna_.

_Catholicon._ A Rede; _Arundo_, _canna_, _canula_.

_Turner._ Reed.

_Gerard._ Reeds.

_Cotgrave._ Roseau; _A Reed_, _a Cane_.


RHUBARB.

_Gerard._ Rubarb.

_Cotgrave._ Reubarbe; _The root called Rewbarb, or Rewbarb of the
Levant_.


RICE.

_Promptorium._ Ryce, frute; _Risia, vel risi_.

_Catholicon._ Ryse; _risi judeclinabile_.

_Turner._ Ryse.

_Gerard._ Rice.

_Cotgrave._ Ris; _The graine called Rice_.


ROSE.

_Promptorium._ Rose, floure; _Rosa_.

_Catholicon._ A Rose; _rosa-sula_, _rosella_.

_Turner._ Rose.

_Gerard._ Roses.

_Cotgrave._ Rose; _A Rose_.


ROSEMARY.

_Promptorium._ Rose Mary, herbe; _Ros marinus_, _rosa marina_.

_Catholicon._ Rosemary; _Dendrolibanum, herba est_.

_Turner._ Rosemary.

_Gerard._ Rosemary.

_Cotgrave._ Rosmarin; _Rosemarie_.


RUE.

_Promptorium._ Ruwe, herbe; _Ruta_.

_Catholicon._ Rewe; _ruta, herba est_.

_Turner._ Rue.

_Gerard._ Rue or Herb Grace.

_Cotgrave._ Rue; _Rue_, _Hearbe Grace_.


RUSH.

_Promptorium._ Rysche, or rusche; _Cirpus_, _juncus_.

_Catholicon._ A Rysche; _ubi_ a Sefe (a Seyfe, _juncus_, _biblus_,
_cirpus_).

_Gerard._ Rushes.

_Cotgrave._ Jonc; _A rush, or bulrush_.


RYE.

_Promptorium._ Rye, corn; _Siligo_.

_Catholicon._ Ry; _Sagalum_.

_Turner._ Rye.

_Gerard._ Rie.

_Cotgrave._ Seigle; _Rye_.


SAFFRON.

_Promptorium._ Safrun; _Crocum_.

_Catholicon._ Saferon; _Crocus_, _crocum_.

_Turner._ Safforne, Saffron.

_Gerard._ Saffron.

_Cotgrave._ Saffron; _Saffron_.


SAMPHIRE.

_Turner._ Sampere.

_Gerard._ Sampier.

_Cotgrave._ Creste marine; _Sampier_, _Sea Fennell_, _Crestmarine_.


SAVORY.

_Promptorium._ Saverey, herbe; _Satureia_.

_Catholicon._ Saferay; _Satureia, herba est_.

_Turner._ Saueray or Sauery.

_Gerard._ Savorie.


SEDGE.

_Promptorium._ Segge, of fenne, or wyld gladon; _Acorus_.

_Catholicon._ A Segg; _Carex_.

_Turner._ Sege or Sheregres.

_Cotgrave._ Glayeul bastard; _Sedge_, _wild flags_, _&c._


SENNA.

_Turner._ Sene.

_Gerard._ Sene.

_Cotgrave._ Senné; _The purging plant Sene_.


SPEARGRASS.


STOVER.


STRAWBERRY.

_Promptorium._ Strawbery; _Fragum_.

_Catholicon._ A Strabery; _Fragum_.

_Turner._ Strawbery.

_Gerard._ Straw-berries.

_Cotgrave._ Fraise; _A strawberrie_.


SYCAMORE.

_Promptorium._ Sycomoure, tree; _Sicomorus_, _celsa_.

_Gerard._ The Sycomore tree.

_Cotgrave._ Sycomore; _The Sycomore_.


THISTLES.

_Promptorium._ Thystylle; _Cardo_, _Carduus_.

_Catholicon._ A Thystelle; _Cardo_.

_Turner._ Thistle.

_Gerard._ Thistles.

_Cotgrave._ Chardon; _A Thistle_.


THORN.

_Promptorium._ Thorne; _Spina_, _sentis_, _sentix_.

_Catholicon._ A Thorne; _Spina_, _spinula_, _sentis_.

_Turner._ Whyte Thorne.

_Gerard._ White Thorne.

_Cotgrave._ Espine; _A thorne_.


THYME.

_Promptorium._ Tyme, herbe; _Tima_, _timum_.

_Catholicon._ Tyme; _timum_, _epitimum_.

_Turner._ Wild Thyme.

_Gerard._ Wilde Time.

_Cotgrave._ Thym; _The hearbe Time_.


TOADSTOOLS.

_Catholicon._ A Paddockstole; _boletus_, _fungus_, _tuber_, _&c._

_Gerard._ Toadstooles.

_Cotgrave._ Champignon; _A Mushrum_, _Toadstoole_, _Paddockstoole_.


TURNIPS.

_Turner._ Rape or Turnepe.

_Gerard._ Turneps.

_Cotgrave._ Naveau blanc de Jardin; _Th' ordinarie Rape, or Turneps_.


VETCHES.

_Promptorium._ Fetche, corne, or tare; _Vicia_.

_Turner._ Fyche.

_Gerard._ The Vetch or Fetch.

_Cotgrave._ Vesce; _The pulse called Fitch, or Vetch_.


VINES.

_Promptorium._ Vyny or Vyne; _Vitis_.

_Catholicon._ A Vyne tree; _argitis_, _propago_, _vitis_.

_Turner._ Wild Vine.

_Gerard._ The manured Vine.

_Cotgrave._ Vigne; _A Vine_, _the plant that beareth Grapes_.


VIOLET.

_Promptorium._ Vyalett, or vyolet, herbe; _Viola_.

_Catholicon._ A Violett; _Viola_.

_Turner._ Violet.

_Gerard._ Violets.

_Cotgrave._ Violette; _A Violet_.


WALNUT.

_Promptorium._ Walnote; _Avelana_.

_Catholicon._ A Walnotte; _Avellanus_, _Avellanum_.

_Turner._ Walnut tree.

_Gerard._ The Wall-nut tree.

_Cotgrave._ Noix; _A Wallnut_.


WARDEN.

_Promptorium._ Wardone, peere; _Volemum_.

_Catholicon._ A Wardon; _Volemum_, _crustunum_.

_Cotgrave._ Poure de garde; _A Warden, or Winter Peare_.


WHEAT.

_Promptorium._ Whete, Corne; _Triticum_, _frumentum_.

_Catholicon._ Whete; _Ceres_, _frumentum_, _triticum_.

_Turner._ Wheate.

_Gerard._ Wheate.

_Cotgrave._ Froment; _Wheat_.


WILLOW.

_Promptorium._ Wylowe, tree; _Salix_.

_Catholicon._ A Wylght; _Salix_.

_Turner._ Wylow tree.

_Gerard._ The Willow tree.

_Cotgrave._ Saule; _A Sallow, Willow, or Withie tree_.


WOODBINE.

_Promptorium._ Woode Bynde; _Caprifolium_, _vicicella_.

_Catholicon._ Wodde bynde; _terebinthus_.

_Turner._ Wodbynde.

_Gerard._ Wood-bind or Honeysuckle.

_Cotgrave._ Chevre-fueille; _The wood-bind or honie-suckle_.


WORMWOOD.

_Promptorium._ Wyrmwode, herbe; _Absinthum_.

_Catholicon._ Wormede; _absinthum_.

_Turner._ Mugwort, Wormwod.

_Gerard._ Wormewood.

_Cotgrave._ Absynthe; _Wormewood_.


YEW.

_Promptorium._ V tree; _Taxus_.

_Catholicon._ An Eu tre; _taxus_.

_Turner._ Yewtree.

_Gerard._ The Yew tree.

_Cotgrave._ If; _An Yew or Yew tree_.


FOOTNOTES:

[393:1] Where any of these five are omitted, that author does not name
the plant. In many cases the same plant is given under different names;
but I have not thought it necessary to quote more than one. In the
quotations from Turner the preference is given to the "Names of Herbes,"
where the plant is mentioned in both works.




_INDEXES._




INDEX OF PLAYS,

_SHOWING HOW THE PLANTS ARE DISTRIBUTED THROUGH THE DIFFERENT PLAYS_


COMEDIES.


_Tempest_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Furze, Heath, Ling, Nut.
               sc. 2. Acorn, Ivy, Oak, Pine, Reed.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Apple, Corn, Docks, Grass, Wallows, Nettle.
               sc. 2. Crab, Filbert, Pignuts.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Barley, Barnacles, Brier, Broom, Furze,
                        Gorse, Grass, Lime, Oats, Peas, Piony,
                        Rye, Saffron, Sedge, Stover, Thorns,
                        Vetches, Wheat.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Cedar, Cowslips, Lime, Mushrooms, Oak, Pine, Reed.


_Two Gentlemen of Verona_--

     Act   I., sc. 2. Ginger.

     Act  II., sc. 3. Lily.
               sc. 7. Sedge.

     Act  IV., sc. 4. Lily, rose.


_Merry Wives_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Cabbage, Prunes.
               sc. 2. Pippins.
               sc. 3. Figs.

     Act  II., sc. 3. Elder.

     Act III., sc. 1. Roses.
               sc. 3. Hawthorn, Pumpion.
               sc. 4. Turnips.
               sc. 5. Pepper.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Carrot.
               sc. 2. Walnut.
               sc. 4. Oak.
               sc. 5. Pear.
               sc. 6. Oak.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Oak.
               sc. 3. Oak.
               sc. 5. Balm, Bilberry, Eringoes, Flax, Oak, Plums,
                        Potatoes.


_Twelfth Night_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Violets.
               sc. 3. Flax.
               sc. 5. Apple, Codling, Olive, Peascod, Squash, Willow.

     Act  II., sc. 3. Ginger.
               sc. 4. Roses.
               sc. 5. Box, Nettle, Yew.

     Act III., sc. 1. Roses.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Ebony, Pepper.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Apple.


_Measure for Measure_--

     Act   I., sc. 3. Birch.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Prunes, Grapes.
               sc. 2. Myrtle, Oak, Violet.
               sc. 3. Ginger.

     Act III., sc. 2. Garlick.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Corn.
               sc. 3. Burs, Medlar, Peach.


_Much Ado About Nothing_--

     Dramatis Personæ. Dogberry.

     Act   I., sc. 3. Rose.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Oak, Orange, Sedge, Willow.

     Act III., sc. 1. Honeysuckle, Woodbine.
               sc. 4. Carduus Benedictus, Holy Thistle.


_Midsummer Night's Dream_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Grass, Hawthorn, Musk Roses, Primrose, Rose,
                        Wheat.
               sc. 2. Orange.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Acorn, Beans, Brier, Corn, Cowslip, Crab,
                        Eglantine, Love-in-idleness, Musk Rose,
                        Oxlip, Thyme, Violet, Woodbine.

     Act III., sc. 1. Acorn, Apricot, Brier, Dewberries, Figs,
                        Grapes, Hawthorn, Hemp, Knot-grass,
                        Lily, Mulberries, Orange, Rose, Thorns.
               sc. 2. Acorn, Brier, Burs, Cherry, Thorns.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Elm, Honeysuckle, Ivy, Nuts, Oats, Peas,
                        Thistle, Woodbine.
               sc. 2. Garlick, Onions.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Brier, Broom, Cowslip, Leek, Lily, Thorns.


_Love's Labour's Lost_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Corn, Ebony, Rose.

     Act III., sc. 1. Plantain.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Crab, Oak, Osier, Pomewater.
               sc. 3. Cedar, Cockle, Corn, Rose, Thorns.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Ginger.
               sc. 2. Columbine, Cloves, Crabs, Cuckoo-buds,
                        Daisies, Grass, Lady-smocks, Lemon,
                        Lily, Mint, Nutmeg, Oats, Peas, Rose,
                        Sugar, Sycamore, Violets, Wormwood.


_Merchant of Venice_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Grass, Wheat.
               sc. 3. Apple.

     Act III., sc. 1. Ginger, Sugar.
               sc. 4. Reed.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Pine.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Willow.


_As You Like It_--

     Act   I., sc. 2. Mustard.
               sc. 3. Briers, Burs.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Oak.
               sc. 4. Peascod.
               sc. 7. Holly.

     Act III., sc. 2. Brambles, Cork, Hawthorn, Medlar, Nut, Rose, Rush.
               sc. 3. Sugar.
               sc. 4. Chestnut, Nut.
               sc. 5. Rush.

     Act  IV., sc. 3. Moss, Oak, Osier.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Grape.
               sc. 3. Rye.


_All's Well that Ends Well_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Date, Pear.
               sc. 3. Rose.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Grapes.
               sc. 2. Rush.
               sc. 3. Pomegranate.
               sc. 5. Nut.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Roses.
               sc. 4. Briers.
               sc. 5. Grass, Marjoram, Herb of Grace, Saffron.

     Act   V., sc. 3. Onion.


_Taming of the Shrew_--

     Induction.       Onions, Rose, Sedge.

     Act   I., sc. 1. Apple, Love-in-idleness.
               sc. 2. Chestnut.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Crab, Cypress, Hazel.

     Act III., sc. 2. Oats.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Rushes.
               sc. 3. Apple, Mustard, Walnut.
               sc. 4. Parsley.


_Winter's Tale_--

     Act   I., sc. 2. Flax, Nettles, Squash, Thorns.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Pines.
               sc. 3. Oak.

     Act III., sc. 3. Cork.

     Act  IV., sc. 4. Brier, Carnations, Crown Imperial, Daffodils,
                        Flower-de-luce, Garlick, Gillyflowers,
                        Lavender, Lilies, Marigold, Marjoram,
                        Mint, Oxlips, Primroses, Rosemary, Rue,
                        Savory, Thorns, Violets.


_Comedy of Errors_--

     Act  II., sc. 2. Ivy, Brier, Moss, Elm, Vine, Grass.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Balsamum, Cherry, Rush, Nut.
               sc. 4. Saffron.


HISTORIES.


_King John_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Rose.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Cherry, Fig, Plum.

     Act III., sc. 1. Lily Rose.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Lily, Violet.
               sc. 3. Rush, Thorns.


_Richard II._--

     Act  II., sc. 3. Sugar.
               sc. 4. Bay.

     Act III., sc. 2. Balm, Nettles, Pine, Yew.
               sc. 3. Corn, Grass.
               sc. 4. Apricots.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Balm, Thorns.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Rose.
               sc. 2. Violets.


_1st Henry IV._--

     Act   I., sc. 3. Reeds, Rose, Sedge, Thorn.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Beans, Fern, Ginger, Oats, Peas.
               sc. 3. Nettle.
               sc. 4. Blackberries, Camomile, Pomegranate,
                        Radish, Raisins, Speargrass, Sugar.

     Act III., sc. 1. Garlick, Ginger, Moss, Rushes.
               sc. 3. Apple-john, Prunes, Sugar.


_2nd Henry IV._--

     Act   I., sc. 2. Gooseberries, Mandrake.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Hemp, Honeysuckle.
               sc. 2. Peach.
               sc. 4. Apple-john, Aspen, Elm, Fennel, Mustard,
                        Peascod, Prunes, Rose.

     Act III., sc. 2. Radish.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Corn.
               sc. 4. Aconitum, Olive.
               sc. 5. Balm, Ebony.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Wheat.
               sc. 2. Sugar.
               sc. 3. Carraways, Fig, Leathercoats, Pippins.
               sc. 5. Rushes.


_Henry V._--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Grass, Nettle, Strawberry.

     Act III., Chorus. Hemp.
               sc. 3. Barley.
               sc. 6. Fig, Hemp.
               sc. 7. Nutmeg, Ginger.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Balm, Elder, Fig, Leek, Violet.
               sc. 2. Grass.
               sc. 7. Leek.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Leek.
               sc. 2. Burnet, Burs, Clover, Cowslip, Darnel,
                        Docks, Flower-de-luce, Fumitory, Hemlock,
                        Kecksies, Thistles, Vines.


_1st Henry VI._--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Flower-de-luce.

     Act  II., sc. 4. Brier, Red and White Rose.
               sc. 5. Vine.

     Act III., sc. 2. Corn.
               sc. 3. Sugar.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Rose.


_2nd Henry VI._--

     Act   I., sc. 2. Corn.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Damsons, Plums.
               sc. 3. Fig, Pine.

     Act III., sc. 1. Thorns.
               sc. 2. Corn, Crab, Cypress, Darnel, Grass, Mandrake,
                        Primrose, Sugar.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Grass.
               sc. 7. Hemp.
               sc. 10. Grass.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Cedar, Flower-de-luce.
               sc. 2. Flax.


_3rd Henry VI._--

     Act  II., sc. 1. Oak.
               sc. 5. Hawthorn.

     Act III., sc. 1. Balm.
               sc. 2. Thorns.

     Act  IV., sc. 6. Laurel, Olive.
               sc. 8. Balm.

     Act   V., sc. 2. Cedar.
               sc. 4. Thorns.
               sc. 5. Thorns.
               sc. 7. Corn.


_Richard III._--

     Act   I., sc. 2. Balm.
               sc. 3. Cedar, Sugar.

     Act III., sc. 1. Sugar.
               sc. 4. Strawberries.

     Act  IV., sc. 3. Rose.

     Act   V., sc. 2. Vine.


_Henry VIII._--

     Act III., sc. 1. Lily.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Bays, Palms.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Cherry, Corn.
               sc. 4. Apple, Crab, Broom.
               sc. 5. Corn, Lily, Vine.


TRAGEDIES.


_Troilus and Cressida_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Balm, Wheat.
               sc. 2. Date, Nettle.
               sc. 3. Laurel, Oak, Pine.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Nut, Toadstool.

     Act III., sc. 2. Burs, Lily, Plantain (?).

     Act   V., sc. 2. Almond, Potato.
               sc. 4. Blackberry.


_Timon of Athens_--

     Act III., sc. 5. Balsam.

     Act  IV., sc. 3. Briers, Grape, Grass, Masts, Medlar, Moss,
                        Oak, Rose, Sugar, Vines.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Palm.
               sc. 4. Balm, Olive.


_Coriolanus_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Corn, Oak, Rush.
               sc. 3. Oak.
               sc. 10. Cypress.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Crabs, Nettle, Oak, Orange.
               sc. 2. Oak.
               sc. 3. Corn.

     Act III., sc. 1. Cockle, Corn.
               sc. 2. Mulberry.
               sc. 3. Briers.

     Act  IV., sc. 5. Ash.
               sc. 6. Garlick.

     Act   V., sc. 2. Oak.
               sc. 3. Cedar, Oak, Palm.


_Macbeth_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Chestnuts, Insane Root.

     Act  II., sc. 2. Balm.
               sc. 3. Primrose.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Corn, Hemlock, Yew.

     Act   V., sc. 3. Lily, Rhubarb, Senna, or Cyme.


_Julius Cæsar_--

     Act   I., sc. 2. Palm.
               sc. 3. Oak.


_Antony and Cleopatra_--

     Act   I., sc. 2. Fig, Onion.
               sc. 3. Laurel.
               sc. 4. Flag.
               sc. 5. Mandragora.

     Act  II., sc. 6. Wheat.
               sc. 7. Grapes, Reeds, Vine.

     Act III., sc. 3. Rose.
               sc. 5. Rush.
               sc. 12. Myrtle.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Grace (Rue).
               sc. 6. Olive.
               sc. 12. Pine.

     Act   V., sc. 2. Balm, Figs.


_Cymbeline_--

     Act   I., sc. 5. Cowslip, Primrose, Violet.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Cowslip.
               sc. 2. Lily, Rushes.
               sc. 3. Marybuds.
               sc. 5. Acorn.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Daisy, Eglantine, Elder, Harebell, Moss,
                        Oak, Pine, Primrose, Reed, Vine.

     Act   V., sc. 4. Cedar.
               sc. 5. Cedar.


_Titus Andronicus_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Laurel.

     Act  II., sc. 3. Corn, Elder, Mistletoe, Moss, Nettles, Yew.
               sc. 4. Aspen, Briers, Lily.

     Act  IV., sc. 3. Cedar, Corn.
               sc. 4. Grass, Honeystalks.


_Pericles_--

     Act   I., sc. 4. Corn.

     Act III., sc. 3. Corn.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Marigold, Rose, Violet.
               sc. 6. Bays, Rose, Rosemary, Thorn.

     Act   V., Chorus. Cherry, Rose.


_Romeo and Juliet_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Sycamore.
               sc. 2. Plantain.
               sc. 3. Wormwood.
               sc. 4. Hazel, Rush, Thorn.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Medlar, Poperin Pear.
               sc. 2. Rose.
               sc. 3. Willow.
               sc. 4. Bitter Sweet, Pink, Rosemary.

     Act III., sc. 1. Nuts, Pepper.
               sc. 5. Pomegranate.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Rose.
               sc. 3. Mandrake.
               sc. 4. Date, Quince.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Rose.
               sc. 3. Yew.


_King Lear_--

     Act   I., sc. 1. Balm, Vine.
               sc. 4. Peascod.
               sc. 5. Crab.

     Act  II., sc. 2. Lily.
               sc. 3. Rosemary.

     Act III., sc. 2. Oak.
               sc. 4. Hawthorn.
               sc. 6. Corn.
               sc. 7. Cork, Flax.

     Act  IV., sc. 4. Burdock, Corn, Cuckoo-flowers, Darnel,
                        Fumiter, Harlocks, Hemlock, Nettles.
               sc. 6. Marjoram, Samphire.

     Act   V., sc. 3. Oats.


_Hamlet_--

     Act   I., sc. 3. Primrose, Thorn, Violet.
               sc. 5. Hebenon or Hebona.

     Act  II., sc. 2. Nut, Plum.

     Act III., sc. 1. Rose, Sugar.
               sc. 2. Grass, Rose, Wormwood.

     Act  IV., sc. 5. Columbine, Daisy, Fennel, Flax, Grass,
                        Herb of Grace, Rose, Rosemary, Rue,
                        Violet.
               sc. 7. Corn-flower, Daisy, Dead-men's-fingers, Long
                        Purples, Nettles, Violet, Willow.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Violet.
               sc. 2. Palm, Wheat.


_Othello_--

     Act   I., sc. 3. Coloquintida, Hyssop, Lettuce, Locusts,
                        Nettle, Thyme, Sugar.

     Act  II., sc. 1. Fig, Oak, Grapes.

     Act III., sc. 3. Mandragora, Oak, Poppy, Strawberries.

     Act  IV., sc. 2. Rose.
               sc. 3. Sycamore, Willow.

     Act   V., sc. 2. Rush, Willow.


_Two Noble Kinsmen_--

     Introductory Song. Daisies, Lark's-heels, Marigolds, Oxlips,
                          Pinks, Primrose, Rose, Thyme.

     Act   I., sc. 1. Cherries, Currant, Wheat.
               sc. 2. Plantain.

     Act  II., sc. 2. Apricot, Narcissus, Rose, Vine.
               sc. 3. Corn.
               sc. 6. Cedar, Plane.

     Act III., sc. 1. Hawthorn.

     Act  IV., sc. 1. Bulrush, Daffodils, Mulberries, Reeds,
                        Rushes, Willow.
               sc. 2. Cherry, Damask Rose, Ivy, Oak.

     Act   V., sc. 1. Nettles, Roses.
               sc. 3. Flax.


_Venus and Adonis_--

     Balm, 27.
     Brambles, 629.
     Cedar, 856.
     Cherries, 1103.
     Ebony, 948.
     Lily, 228, 361, 1053.
     Mulberries, 1103.
     Myrtle, 865.
     Plum, 527.
     Primrose, 151.
     Rose, 3, 10, 574, 584, 935.
     Vine, 601.
     Violet, 125, 936.


_Lucrece_--

     Balm, 1466.
     Cedar, 664.
     Corn, 281.
     Daisy, 393.
     Grape, 215.
     Lily, 71, 386, 477.
     Marigold, 397.
     Oak, 950.
     Pine, 1167.
     Reed, 1437.
     Rose, 71, 257, 386, 477, 492.
     Rush, 316.
     Sugar, 893.
     Vine, 215.
     Wormwood, 893.


_Sonnets_--

     Apple, 93.
     Balm, 107.
     Lily, 94, 98, 99.
     Marigold, 25.
     Marjoram, 99.
     Olive, 107.
     Rose, 1, 35, 54, 67, 95, 98, 99, 109, 116, 130.
     Violet, 12, 99.


_A Lover's Complaint_--

     Aloes, 39.


_The Passionate Pilgrim_--

     Lily, 89.
     Myrtle, 143.
     Oak, 5.
     Osier, 5, 6.
     Plum, 135.
     Rose, 131.




GENERAL INDEX.


     Acæna, 44.

     Aconitum, 9.

     Acorn, 11, 180.

     Acorus calamus, 266.

     Addison, 92.

     Ælfric's "Vocabulary," 126, 155, 158, 167, 199.

     Almond, 11.

     Aloes, 13.

     Anemone, 14.

     Apple, 17.

     ---- for fruit generally, 19, 208.

     Apple-john, 22.

     Apricot, 23.

     Aquilegia, 60.

     Artichoke, 88.

     Arundo donax, 240.

     Ash, 24.

     Aspen, 25.

     Avoyne, 326.


     "Babee's Book," 33, 50, 104, 175, 198.

     Bachelor's Buttons, 27.

     Bacon on Gardens, &c., 39, 44, 98, 163, 295, 348.

     Badham's Fungi, 170.

     Baker on Narcissus, 76.

     ---- Iris, 99.

     Balm, 28.

     Balsam, 28.

     Bannotte, 314.

     Barley, 30.

     Barnacles, 30.

     Barnes' Glossary, 79.

     Baskets, 323.

     Bay, 31, 136.

     Bean, 33.

     Bedding-out, 346.

     Bedegar, 84.

     Beer, 30, 36.

     Beisley's "Shakespeare's Garden," 5, 119.

     Bilberry, 35.

     Bion, 14.

     Birch, 35.

     Bird's-eye Primrose, 232.

     Bird's-nest (Carrot), 51.

     Birdwood, Sir G., 122.

     Bitter-sweet, 21.

     Blackberry, 37, 167.

     Blackthorn, 218.

     Blights, 355.

     Bluebell, 109.

     Böhmeria, 178.

     Boorde, Andrew, 241, 304.

     Box, 38.

     Boy's Love, 326.

     Bramble, 37.

     Brasbridge, T., 125.

     Bretby Park, 53.

     Briers, 39.

     Britten, J. C, 267.

     Bromsgrove, 42.

     Broom, 41.

     Brown's "Religio Medici," 91.

     Browne's "Britannia's Pastorals," 3, 24, 32, 87, 92, 111, 163, 171,
         203, 227, 266, 270, 282, 290, 347, 369.

     Buckingham Palace, 168.

     Bullas, 218.

     Bullein, 88, 103, 122, 127, 143, 161, 316.

     Bulrush, 43.

     Burdock, 43, 110.

     Burnet, 44.

     Burns, 371.

     Burs, 43.

     Butter, 90, 217.

     Butomus umbellatus, 266.

     Buttercups, 67, 70.

     Buttons (buds), 27.


     Cabbage, 45.

     Cabbage Rose, 250.

     Calcott, Lady, 220.

     Calluna, 117.

     Camerarius, 14, 208, 213, 311.

     Camomile, 46.

     Campbell on Nettles, 177.

     Canker, 250.

     Carat, 148.

     Cardamine pratensis, 134.

     Carduus benedictus, 124.

     Carex, 276.

     Carnations, 47.

     Carob, 147.

     Carraways, 22, 49.

     Carrot, 50.

     Cassia, 277.

     Castle Coch, 304.

     "Catholicon Anglicum," 10, 393 to 418, and quoted throughout.

     Cedar, 51.

     Chaucer's Flowers, 3, 13, 21, 37, 42, 60, 87, 98, 103, 108, 127,
         131, 136, 139, 146, 160, 161, 179, 196, 204, 215, 223, 229,
         260, 288, 365.

     Cherry, 53.

     Chester's "Love's Martyr," 160, 193, 244.

     Chestnuts, 55.

     Cistus, 16.

     Clare, 149, 371.

     Cleistogamous plants, 313.

     Clove, 48, 56.

     Clover, 56.

     Clubs (of cards), 56.

     Cockayne, "Leechdoms," &c., 10, 32, 66, 73, 90, 126, 185, 202, 215,
         267, 325, 328.

     Cockle, 57, 78.

     Codlings, 22.

     Coghan, 4, 177, 188, 286, 377.

     Colchicum, 268.

     Coles, 290, 377.

     Collins, 42.

     Collinson, 240.

     Coloquintida, 58.

     Columbyne, 59.

     Columella, 154.

     Constable, H., 74.

     Cooke, M. C., 154.

     Cork, 61.

     Corn, 62.

     Cornish Heath, 117.

     Corydalis, 100.

     Cotgrave's Dictionary, 393 to 418.

     Cotton, 153.

     Cottongrass, 147.

     Cowley, 91, 171, 272.

     Cowper, 142, 378.

     Cowslip, 64.

     Crab, 20.

     Crabwake, 20.

     Crape, 71.

     Crocus, 269.

     Crossberry, 105.

     Crow-flowers, 67.

     Crown of Thorns, 84, 113, 266.

     Crown Imperial, 68.

     Cuckoo-buds, 70.

     Cucumbers, 233.

     Culverkeys, 134.

     Currants, 70.

     Cutwode's "Caltha," 211, 368.

     Cypress, 71.

     Cypripedia, 151.


     Daffodils, 73.

     Daisy, 77, 361.

     Damask Rose, 251.

     Damson, 216.

     Dante, 264.

     Darnel, 78.

     Darwin, 150, 231, 236, 301.

     Dates, 79.

     Daubeny, Dr., 154, 189, 262.

     Dead Men's Fingers, 80, 149.

     Dering, 49.

     Deux ans Apple, 22.

     Devil's lingels, 133.

     Dewberries, 80.

     Dian's bud, 80.

     Dianthus, 48.

     Dielytra, 100.

     Dillenius, 101.

     Divining rod, 116.

     Docks, 81.

     Doddington Park, 117.

     Dogberry, 81.

     Dog-rose, 14.

     Douce, 93, 171.

     Dove-plant, 60.

     Dowden, 2.

     Drayton, 45, 59, 65, 84, 98, 110, 134, 174, 223, 368.

     Dryden, 370.

     Dunbar, 249.

     Durham Mustard, 173.


     Ebony, 82, 119.

     Eglantine, 82, 254.

     Elder, 84.

     Elm, 87.

     Elizabethan Gardens, 342.

     Elizabeth, Queen, 349.

     Elwes, H. J., 145.

     Eringoes, 88.

     Etna, Chestnut on, 55.

     Evelyn, 52, 116, 124, 315.

     Evershed on bay, 33.


     Fairy rings, 170.

     Falaise, 48.

     Farsing Herbs, 275.

     Feaberry, 105.

     Fennel, 88.

     Fern, 90.

     Ferule, 89.

     Fig, 93.

     Fig Mulberry, 288.

     Fig Pudding, 239.

     Filbert, 94.

     Fir, 207.

     Flags, 94.

     Flax, 95, 97.

     Fletcher, 99, 231.

     "Flora Domestica," 12, 197, 266.

     Flower-de-luce, 97.

     Forget-me-not, 4.

     Foxglove, 4.

     Fremontia Californica, 153.

     Frizen Hill, 106.

     Fuller, Thos., 156.

     Fumitory, 100.

     Furze, 100.


     Gale, 174.

     Gardens, 340, 342.

     Gardeners, 349.

     Garlande, John de, 167.

     Garlick, 102.

     Gay, 162.

     Gerard, 5, 393 to 418, and quoted throughout.

     Gilliflower, 48.

     Gilpin, 91.

     Ginger, 103.

     Gladstone, W. E., 16.

     Glossaries, 10, 393.

     Goethe, 195.

     Goldes, 157.

     Golding's Ovid, 15.

     Gooseberries, 105.

     Gorse, 106.

     Gourd, 106, 232.

     Gower, 21, 57, 74, 89, 114, 118, 143, 157, 223, 229, 259.

     Grafting, 353.

     Granada, Arms of, 220.

     Grapes, 299.

     Grass, 107.

     Greene, 128.

     Grindon, Leo H., 5, 17.

     Gundulph, 49.

     Gwillim, 297.


     Hakluyt, 22, 23, 237, 269, 305.

     Hanham Hall, 186.

     Harebell, 109.

     Harlocks, 110, 121.

     Harrison, W. A., 119.

     Harrison's "England," 340.

     Harting, 30.

     Haver, 184.

     Hawes, 366.

     Hawthorn, 110.

     Hazel, 113.

     Heath, 116.

     Hebenon, 118.

     Hedges, 113, 334.

     Helmet-flower, 10.

     Hemans, Mrs., 26, 66.

     Hemlock, 121.

     Hemp, 121.

     Henbane, 119, 129.

     Herbert, G., 68, 190, 255, 314, 357, 370.

     Herb of Grace, 122, 259.

     Herodotus, 102, 250.

     Herrick's Flowers, 74, 83, 250, 258, 369.

     Herschel, Sir J., 97.

     Hibiscus, 153.

     Highclere Park, 53.

     Holderstock, 86.

     Holly, 122, 130.

     Hollyhock, 152.

     Holy Thistle, 124.

     Homer, 76, 188, 318.

     Honeystalks, 56.

     Honeysuckle, 125.

     Hooker, Sir J., 192, 319.

     Horace, 90, 94, 102, 130, 152, 204, 236, 243.

     Horse Chestnut, 55.

     Hyssop, 128.


     Insane root, 129.

     Ivy, 129, 327.


     Jervis, S., Dictionary, 70.

     Joan Silverpin, 222.

     Johns on Trees, 289.

     John's, St., Bread, 148.

     Johnston, 121, 133, 205, 289, 330.

     Jonquil, 73.

     Jonson, Ben, 3, 4, 11, 15, 21, 66, 77, 95, 98, 121, 152.

     Josephus, 154.

     Judas, 85.

     Juvenal, 13, 94, 138, 204.


     Keats, 75, 132.

     Kecksies, 132.

     Kemble, F., 279.

     Kew, 92, 194.

     Kirby on Trees, 323.

     Knot-grass, 133.

     Knots, 345.


     Lady-smocks, 134.

     Lark's heels, 135.

     Latimer, 57, 272.

     Laurel, 135.

     Laurembergius, 143, 258, 310.

     Lavaillee, 24, 178.

     Lavender, 137.

     Lawson, 46, 105, 140, 178, 342, 343, 347.

     Leathercoat, 22.

     Lebanon, Cedar of, 52.

     Leek, 138.

     Lee's "Sea Fables," 30.

     Lemon, 140.

     Lettuce, 140.

     Levens Hall, 237, 344.

     "Libæus Diaconus," 90.

     Lily, 140.

     ---- of the Field, 145.

     ---- of the Valley, 4.

     Lily's "Euphues," 46, 128.

     Lime, 146.

     Lind, 146.

     Lindley, Dr., 53, 79, 109, 152, 204, 284.

     Ling, 116, 147.

     Linnæus, 116, 147.

     Locusts, 147.

     Longfellow, 89, 214.

     Long Purples, 148.

     Loosestrife, 149.

     Love-in-idleness, 309.

     Lupton, 237.

     Lyte, 23, 47, 79, 91, 129, 136, 148, 159, 167, 190, 241.


     Mace, 151.

     Mallows, 152.

     Mandeville, Sir John, 20, 31, 72, 84, 85, 113, 255, 266.

     Mandrake, 153, 226.

     Manuring, 352.

     Maple, 288.

     Marathon, 89.

     Margaret, St., 364.

     Marigold, 155.

     Marjoram, 159.

     Marlowe, 118.

     Marsh, J. F., 27, 89.

     Marvel, A., 190.

     Marybuds, 155.

     Masters, Dr., 216.

     Masts, 159.

     Maw, G., 273.

     Medlar, 160.

     Melittis melissophyllum, 29.

     Miller, 34, 191.

     Milner's "Country Pleasures," 82.

     Milton's Flowers, 65, 74, 83, 87, 109, 126, 133, 174, 197, 224,
         230, 241, 261, 295, 347, 309, 369.

     Mint, 161.

     Mistletoe, 162.

     Mohammed on Garlick, 102.

     Monk's-hood, 10.

     Montgomery, A., 143.

     More, Sir T., 257.

     Morat, 167.

     Moss, 164.

     Mulberries, 166.

     Mushrooms, 169.

     Musk Roses, 252.

     Mustard, 172.

     Myrtle, 174.


     Names of Plants, 393.

     Narcissus, 73, 175.

     Nash, T., 195.

     Neckam, A., 12, 79.

     Neckweed, 122.

     Nettles, 175.

     ---- of India, 178.

     Newton, Thos., 78, 264, 321, 330.

     Nicholson, Dr., 119.

     Nightshades, 225.

     Nut, 114.

     Nutmeg, 179.


     Oak, 180.

     Oats, 183.

     Oil from Walnuts, 316.

     Olive, 184.

     Onions, 187.

     Opium, 223.

     Orange, 188.

     Orchids, 149.

     Oreodaphne Californica, 32.

     Osier, 192, 320.

     Ovid, 15.

     Oxlip, 66, 192.


     Paigle, 66.

     Palladius, 73, 140, 261, 303, 343.

     Palm, 79, 192, 321, 329.

     Pansies, 196, 309.

     Parkinson--quoted throughout.

     Parsley, 197.

     Parsnip, 50.

     Pasque flower, 17.

     Patience (Docks), 81.

     Pawnce, 196.

     Peach, 161, 198.

     Pear, 199.

     Peas, 201.

     Pensioners, 65.

     Pepper, 203.

     Pepys, 177.

     Phillips, 34, 316.

     Picotee, 48.

     Pignuts, 205.

     Pine, 205.

     Pine Apples, 208.

     Pink, 48, 209.

     Piony, 211.

     Pippins, 21.

     Planché on fleur-de-lis, 97.

     Plane, 213.

     Plantagenet, 41.

     Plantain, 214.

     Platt, Sir H., 163, 281.

     Pliny, 13, 16, 48, 72.

     Plum, 216.

     Plutarch, 12.

     Poetry of Gardening, 339.

     Poet's Narcissus, 77.

     "Poets' Pleasaunce," 109, 311.

     Polyanthus, 66.

     Pomatum, 20.

     Pomegranate, 219.

     Pomewater, 21.

     Popering Pear, 201.

     Poppy, 222.

     Potato, 224.

     Primrose, 66, 226.

     Prior, Dr., 16, 47, 60, 66, 70, 74, 81, 105, 110, 114, 133, 163,
         197, 227.

     "Promptorium Parvulorum," 10, 393 to 418, and quoted throughout.

     Provençal Rose, 250.

     Prudentius, 312.

     Prunes, 216.

     Pruning, 351.

     Pumpion, 232.

     Purple colour, 16.

     Pythagoras, 154.


     Quarles, 264.

     Quince, 234.


     Radish, 236.

     Ragged Robin, 67.

     Raisins, 238.

     Raspberry, 283.

     Redouté's "Liliacæ," 99.

     Reeds, 239.

     "Remedie of Love," 13.

     Rest-harrow, 133.

     Rhubarb, 241.

     Rice, 242.

     Rochester Castle, 49.

     "Romaunt of the Rose," 12, 27, 139, 179, 221, 238, 343.

     Rose, 243.

     ---- of Sharon, 76.

     Rosebery, Arms, 232.

     Rosemary, 256.

     Ross, Alex., 16.

     Rousseau, 374.

     Roxburghe Ballads, 41, 62.

     Ruddes, 156.

     Rue, 259.

     Rush, 262.

     Ruskin, 109, 165, 166, 186, 206, 223, 292.

     Rye, 267.


     Saffron, 268.

     Sales, St. Francis de, 98, 158, 284, 311, 326.

     Samphire, 274.

     Savory, 275.

     Saxo Grammaticus, 119.

     Schmidt, 70, 210.

     "Schola Salernæ," 261.

     "Schoole-House of Women," 26.

     Scotch Fir, 207.

     ---- Thistle, 291.

     Scott, Sir W., 207, 309.

     Sea Holly, 88, 267.

     Sedge, 276.

     Senna, 277.

     Shakespeare, Books on the flowers of, 5.

     ---- Books on his occupations, 1.

     ---- Seasons of, 381.

     Shamrock, 56.

     Shelley, 75.

     Shenstone, 259.

     Sibthorp, "Flora Græca," 154.

     Skelton, 60.

     Sleepwort, 140.

     Sloes, 218.

     Smith, on Ferns, 92.

     Snowdrops, 4.

     Sops-in-wine, 48.

     Speargrass, 277.

     Spenser's Flowers, 3, 12, 15, 32, 38, 47, 58, 60, 81, 83, 86, 87,
         98, 106, 112, 118, 128, 131, 136, 140, 143, 157, 167, 197, 223,
         228, 230, 264, 270, 280, 282, 348, 366.

     Spinsters, 96.

     Squash, 202.

     Stockholm MS., 100, 261, 325.

     Stover, 279.

     Strawberries, 279.

     Sugar, 284.

     Sweet Brier, 83, 254.

     Sweet Marjoram, 159.

     Sycamore, 287.


     Tannahill, 67.

     "Tatler," 92.

     Tares, 299.

     Tarragon, 326.

     Tennyson, 149, 191, 194, 207, 373.

     Thaun's "Bestiary," 154.

     Theocritus, 14, 90, 94, 126, 130.

     Thistle, 124, 289.

     Thorns, 292.

     Thyme, 294.

     Thynne's "Emblems," 157.

     Toadstools, 170.

     Tobacco, 4.

     Topiary art, 39, 344, 352.

     Tortworth Park, 55.

     Treacle, 103.

     Turner's "Herbal," 4, 13, 23, 35, 105, 194, 195, 198, 202, 213.

     Turnips, 297.

     Tusser, 228, 232, 279, 281, 290, 325.

     Tyndale, 41.


     Vaughan, H., 33, 312.

     Vegetable Marrow, 233.

     Vetches, 298.

     Vines, 87, 299.

     Vineyards, English, 301.

     Violets, 307.

     Virgil, 10, 189.

     Vocabularies, 10.


     Wallace, 101.

     Waller, 225.

     Walnut, 314.

     Walton, Izaak, 134, 137, 143, 280.

     Warden Pears, 200.

     Warwick Castle, 53.

     Waterton, 37.

     Watson, Forbes, 66, 77, 229, 273, 346.

     Waybred, 214.

     Weeds, 354.

     Westminster Hall, 55.

     Wheat, 317.

     White Thorn, 112.

     Wickliffe, 41.

     Wilkinson, Lady, 60, 73, 97, 292.

     Willow, 319.

     Wilson, G. F., 145.

     Windflower, 16.

     Wines, English, 303.

     Winter Aconite, 10.

     Wistman's Wood, 183.

     Withers, G., 158.

     Withy, 320.

     Wolf's-bane, 10.

     Woodbine, 126.

     Woodbury, 195.

     Wordsworth, 75, 206, 372.

     Wormwood, 81, 324.

     Wright's "Vocabularies," 10.

     ---- "Domestic Manners," 96, 218.

     Wyatt's Poems, 3.

     Wych Elm, 88.


     Yew, 119, 327.

     Yggdrasil, 24.

     York and Lancaster Rose, 253.


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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:


Ellipses in the text match the original. Ellipses in the poetry
quotations are represented by a row of asterisks.

The following words use an oe ligature in the original:

     Cloefre        foetid            Phoebe
     coelo          foetidissima      Phoebus
     coeloque       foetu             Phoenix
     coerule        foetus            proestaret
     coerulea       noep              proeter
     Foeniculum     Pharmacopoeia     soepius
     foenum         pharmacopoeia

The index entry "Butter" may have been intended to read "Butler".

The following corrections have been made to the text:

     Page 37: _1st Henry[original has Henrv] IV_, act ii, sc. 4
     (263).

     Page 40: _Winter's Tale_, act[original has extraneous period]
     iv, sc. 4 (436).

     Page 43: _Troilus[original has Triolus] and Cressida_

     Page 60: garter coat of William Grey of Vitten"[quotation mark
     missing in original]

     Page 76: "Rose of Sharon"[quotation mark missing in original]
     was the large

     Page 86: to whom the Elder tree was considered
     sacred."[quotation mark missing in original]

     Page 104: but[original has bnt] probably by the Romans

     Page 105: _2nd Henry IV_, act i,[original has period] sc. 2
     (194).

     Page 114: _Troilus[original has Trolius] and Cressida_, act
     ii, sc. 1 (109).

     Page 163: Rots-curing hyphear, and the Mistletoe."[quotation
     mark missing in original]

     Page 199: A.D. 1275, 4 Edw: 1--[original has extraneous
     quotation mark]

     Page 205: quite equal to Chestnuts.[period missing in
     original]

     Page 230: but in [original has extraneous word an] another
     place

     Page 244: (22) _Theseus._[original has Thesus]

     Page 245: _All's Well that Ends Well_, act i[original has 1],
     sc. 3 (135).

     Page 266: in connection with Rushes which is[original has it]
     not easy to understand

     Page 282: ("Household Words," vol. xviii.).[closing
     parenthesis and period missing in original]

     Page 282: as it proves so, praise it.[original has extraneous
     single quote]"

     Page 286: (11) _Polonius._[original has Polonis]

     Page 292: its shadow be past away.[original has hyphen]

     Page 292: the bee well knows that the darkness[original has
     period at the end of the line after "dark" and "ness"
     beginning the next line]

     Page 294: (3)[number 3 and parentheses missing in original]
     And sweet Time true.

     Page 295: "Peletyr, herbe, _serpillum piretrum_"[quotation
     mark missing in original]

     Page 311: into 'low lie down,'[original has double quote]

     Page 339: _Sonnet_[original has _Ibid._] xviii.

     Page 383: flower-[hyphen missing in original]de-luce

     Page 414: (a Seyfe, _juncus_, _biblus_, _cirpus_)[closing
     parenthesis missing in original]

     Page 424: Flower-de-luce[original has duce]

     Page 431: Aconitum, 9.[original has 10]

     Page 431: Bacon on Gardens, &c., 39[original has 38]

     Page 431: Böhmeria[original has Boëhmeria]

     Page 431: Bretby Park, 53[original has 52]

     Page 432: Cassia, 277[original has 177]

     Page 432: Cedar, 51[original has 50]

     Page 432: under "Chaucer's Flowers", 179[original has 171]

     Page 432: Cockayne, "Leechdoms," &c., 10[original has 9]--reference
     to page 175 removed

     Page 432: Cowley, 91, 171, 272[original has 271].

     Page 432: Crow-flowers, 67.[original has 61]

     Page 433: Dowden, 3[original has 2]

     Page 433: Durham Mustard, 173[original has 175]

     Page 433: Ebony, 82[original has 61]

     Page 433: Farsing Herbs, 275[original has 216]

     Page 433: Fig Mulberry, 288[original has 228]

     Page 433: Flower-de-luce, 97[original has 94]

     Page 433: Gerard, 5, 393[original has 394] to 418

     Page 433: Glossaries, 10, 393[original has 394]

     Page 434: Grindon, Leo H., 5[original has 6], 17

     Page 434: Hemans, Mrs., 26[original has 24], 66.

     Page 434: Hemlock, 121[original has 131]

     Page 434: Herbert, G., 68, 190, 255[original has 225], 314,
     357, 370.

     Page 434: Horace, 90, 94, 102, 130, 152, 204, 236, 243[original
     has 242].

     Page 435: More[original has Moore], Sir T., 257

     Page 435: Neckam[original has Neekham], A., 12, 79.

     Page 435: Onions, 187[original has 77, 186]

     Page 435: Oxlip, 66, 192[original has 191]

     Page 436: Planché[original has Planche] on fleur-de-lis, 97.

     Page 436: Rice, 242[original has 243].

     Page 436: "Romaunt of the Rose," 12, 27, 139, 179, 221, 238,
     343[original has 243].

     Page 436: Rose, 243[original has 242].

     Page 436: Rousseau, 374[original has 373].

     Page 436: Ruskin, 109, 165[original has 164], 166, 186, 206,
     223, 292.

     Page 437: Watson, Forbes, 66[original has 65], 77, 229, 273,
     346.

     Page 437: Wright's "Vocabularies," 10[original has 9].

     Footnote [13:1] Numbers xxiv. 6;[original has colon]

     Footnote [169:1] the punning motto "[original has single
     quote]Memento Mori."







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