CHAPTER VII.

Asin the case of the birds considered in the previous chapter, Shakespeare has also interwoven throughout his plays an immense deal of curious folk-lore connected with animals. Not only does he allude with the accuracy of a naturalist to the peculiarities and habits of certain animals, but so true to nature is he in his graphic descriptions of them that it is evident his knowledge was in a great measure acquired from his own observation. It is interesting, also, to note how carefully he has, here and there, worked into his narrative some old proverb or superstition, thereby adding a freshness to the picture which has, if possible, imbued it with an additional lustre. In speaking of the dog, he has introduced many an old hunting custom, and his references to the tears of the deer are full of sweet pathos, as, for instance, where Hamlet says (iii. 2), “Let the stricken deer go weep.” It is not necessary, however, to add further illustrations, as these will be found in the following pages.

Ape.In addition to Shakespeare’s mention of this animal as a common term of contempt, there are several other allusions to it. There is the well-known phrase, “to lead apes in hell,” applied to old maids, mentioned in the “Taming of the Shrew” (ii. 1)—the meaning of this term not having been yet satisfactorily explained.[341](It is further discussed in thechapter on Marriage.)

In “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), the word is used as a term of endearment, “Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat’st.”

Ass.Beyond the proverbial use of this much ill-treated animal to denote a silly, foolish person, Shakespeare has said little about it. In “Troilus and Cressida” (ii. 1), Thersitesuses the wordassinego, a Portuguese expression for a young ass, “Thou hast no more brain than I have in mine elbows; an assinego may tutor thee.” It is used by Beaumont and Fletcher in the “Scornful Lady” (v. 4): “All this would be forsworn, and I again an assinego, as your sister left me.”[342]Dyce[343]would spell the word “asinico,” because it is so spelled in the old editions of Shakespeare, and is more in accordance with the Spanish word.[344]In “King Lear” (i. 4), the Fool alludes to Æsop’s celebrated fable of the old man and his ass: “thou borest thine ass on thy back o’er the dirt.”

Bat.The bat, immortalized by Shakespeare (“The Tempest,” v. 1) as the “delicate Ariel’s” steed—

“On the bat’s back I do fly,”

—has generally been an object of superstitious dread, and proved to the poet and painter a fertile source of images of gloom and terror.[345]In Scotland[346]it is still connected with witchcraft, and if, while flying, it rise and then descend again earthwards, it is a sign that the witches’ hour is come—the hour in which they are supposed to have power over every human being who is not specially shielded from their influence. Thus, in “Macbeth” (iv. 1) the “wool of bat” forms an ingredient in the witches’ caldron. One of its popular names is “rere-mouse,” which occurs in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 2), where Titania says:

“Some, war with rere-mice for their leathern wings,To make my small elves coats.”

This term is equivalent to the Anglo-Saxon,hrére-mús, fromhreran, to stir, agitate, and so the same as the old name “flitter-mouse.”[347]The early copies spell the wordreremise.[348]It occurs in the Wicliffite version of Leviticus xi. 19, and the plural in the form “reremees” or “rere-myis” is found in Isaiah ii. 20. At Polperro, Cornwall,[349]the village boys call it “airy-mouse,” and address it in the following rhyme:

“Airy mouse, airy mouse! fly over my head,And you shall have a crust of bread;And when I brew, and when I bake,You shall have a piece of my wedding-cake.”

In Scotland[350]it is known as the Backe or Bakie bird. An immense deal of folk-lore has clustered round this curious little animal.[351]

Bear.According to an old idea, the bear brings forth unformed lumps of animated flesh, and then licks them into shape—a vulgar error, referred to in “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 2), where Gloster, bemoaning his deformity, says of his mother:

“She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe,*****To disproportion me in every part,Like to a chaos, or an unlick’d bear-whelp,That carries no impression like the dam.”

This erroneous notion, however, was long ago confuted by Sir Thomas Browne.[352]Alexander Ross, in his “Arcana Microcosmi,” nevertheless affirms that bears bring forth their young deformed and misshapen, by reason of the thick membrane in which they are wrapped, that is covered over with a mucous matter. This, he says, the dam contracts in the winter-time, by lying in hollow caves without motion, so that to the eye the cub appears like an unformed lump. Theabove mucilage is afterwards licked away by the dam, and the membrane broken, whereby that which before seemed to be unformed appears now in its right shape. This, he contends, is all that the ancients meant.[353]Ovid (Metamorphoses, bk. xv. l. 379) thus describes this once popular fancy:

“Nec catulus, partu quem reddidit ursa recenti,Sed male viva caro est: lambendo mater in artusFingit, et in formam, quantam capit ipsa, reducit.”

Bears, in days gone by, are reported to have been surprised by means of a mirror, which they would gaze on, affording their pursuers an opportunity of taking the surer aim. In “Julius Cæsar” (ii. I), this practice is mentioned by Decius:

“unicorns may be betray’d with trees,And bears with glasses.”[354]

Batman, “On Bartholomæus” (1582), speaking of the bear, says, “And when he is taken he is made blinde with a bright basin, and bound with chaynes, and compelled to playe.” This, however, says Mr. Aldis Wright,[355]probably refers to the actual blinding of the bear.

A favorite amusement with our ancestors was bear-baiting. As early as the reign of Henry II. the baiting of bears by dogs was a popular game in London,[356]while at a later period “a royal bear-ward” was an officer regularly attached to the royal household. In “2 Henry VI.” (v. 1), this personage is alluded to by Clifford, who says:

“Are these thy bears? We’ll bait thy bears to death,And manacle the bear-ward in their chains,If thou dar’st bring them to the baiting place.”

And again, in “Much Ado About Nothing” (ii. 1), Beatrice says, “I will even take sixpence in earnest of the bear-ward,and lead his apes into hell.” The synonymous term, “bear-herd,” occurs in “Taming of the Shrew” (Ind. scene 2), where Sly speaks of himself as “by transmutation a bear-herd;” and in “2 Henry IV.” (i. 2), Sir John Falstaff remarks how “true valor is turned bear-herd.” Among the Harleian MSS.[357]is preserved the original warrant of Richard III. appointing John Brown to this office, and which recites “the diligent service he had done the king” as the ground for granting him the privilege of wandering about the country with his bears and apes, and receiving the “loving benevolence and favors of the people.”[358]In the time of Queen Elizabeth bear-baiting was still a favorite pastime, being considered a fashionable entertainment for ladies of the highest rank.[359]James I. encouraged this sport. Nichols[360]informs us that on one occasion the king, accompanied by his court, took the queen, the Princess Elizabeth, and the two young princes to the Tower to witness a fight between a lion and a bear, and by the king’s command the bear (which had killed a child that had been negligently left in the bear-house) was afterwards “baited to death upon a stage in the presence of many spectators.” Popular, says Mr. Kelly, as bear-baiting was in the metropolis and at court, it was equally so among all classes of the people.[361]It is on record that at Congleton, in Cheshire, “the town-bear having died, the corporation in 1601 gave orders to sell their Bible, in order to purchase another, which was done, and the town no longer without a bear.” This event is kept up in a popular rhyme:

“Congleton rare, Congleton rare,Sold the Bible to pay for a bear.”

The same legend attaches to Clifton, a village near Rugby:

“Clifton-upon-Dunsmore, in Warwickshire,Sold the Church Bible to buy a bear.”

In Pulleyn’s “Etymological Compendium,”[362]we are told that “this cruel amusement is of African origin, and was introduced into Europe by the Romans.” It is further alluded to by Shakespeare in “Twelfth Night” (i. 3), “dancing and bear-baiting;” and further on in the same play (ii. 5) Fabian says, “he brought me out o’ favor with my lady about a bear-baiting here;” and Macbeth (v. 7) relates:

“They have tied me to a stake; I cannot fly,But, bear-like, I must fight the course.”[363]

And in “Julius Cæsar” (iv. 1), Octavius says:

“we are at the stake,And bay’d about with many enemies.”

Boar.It appears that in former times boar-hunting was a favorite recreation; many allusions to which we find in old writers. Indeed, in the Middle Ages, the destruction of a wild boar ranked among the deeds of chivalry,[364]and “won for a warrior almost as much renown as the slaying an enemy in the open field.” So dangerous, too, was boar-hunting considered, that Shakespeare represents Venus as dissuading Adonis from the perilous practice:

“‘O be advised! thou know’st not what it is,With javelin’s point a churlish swine to gore,Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still,Like to a mortal butcher, bent to kill.*****His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm’d,Are better proof than thy spear’s point can enter;His short thick neck cannot be easily harm’d;Being ireful, on the lion he will venture.’”

Such hunting expeditions were generally fatal to some ofthe dogs, and occasionally to one or more of the hunters. An old tradition of Grimsby, in Lincolnshire,[365]asserts that every burgess, at his admission to the freedom of the borough, anciently presented to the mayor a boar’s head, or an equivalent in money, when the animal could not be procured. The old seal of the mayor of Grimsby represents a boar hunt. The lord, too, of the adjacent manor of Bradley, was obliged by his tenure to keep a supply of these animals in his wood, for the entertainment of the mayor and burgesses.[366]A curious triennial custom called the “Rhyne Toll,” is observed at Chetwode, a small village about five miles from Buckingham.[367]According to tradition, it originated in the destruction of an enormous wild boar—the terror of the surrounding county—by one of the lords of Chetwode; who, after fighting with it for four hours on a hot summer’s day, eventually killed it:

“Then Sir Ryalas he drawed his broad sword with might,Wind well thy horn, good hunter;And he fairly cut the boar’s head off quite,For he was a jovial hunter.”

As a reward, it is said, the king “granted to him and to his heirs forever, among other immunities and privileges, the full right to levy every year the Rhyne Toll.” This is still kept up, and consists of a yearly tax on all cattle found within the manor of Chetwode between the 30th of October and the 7th of November, inclusive. In “Antony and Cleopatra” (iv. 13) Cleopatra alludes to the famous boar killed by Meleager,

“the boar of ThessalyWas never so emboss’d.”[368]

Bull.Once upon a time there was scarcely a town or villageof any magnitude which had not its bull-ring.[369]Indeed, it was not until the year 1835 that baiting was finally put down by an act of Parliament, “forbidding the keeping of any house, pit, or other place for baiting or fighting any bull, bear, dog, or other animal;” and, after an existence of at least seven centuries, this ceased to rank among the amusements of the English people.[370]This sport is alluded to in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5), “Remember, Jove, thou wast a bull for thy Europa.” We may, too, compare the expressions in “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 7), “Now, bull, now, dog!... The bull has the game.”[371]

Cat.Few animals, in times past, have been more esteemed than the cat, or been honored with a wider folk-lore. Indeed, among the Egyptians this favored animal was held sacred to Isis, or the moon, and worshipped with great ceremony. In the mythology of all the Indo-European nations the cat holds a prominent place; and its connection with witches is well known. “The picture of a witch,” says Mr. Henderson,[372]“is incomplete without her cat, by rights a black one.” In “Macbeth” (iv. 1) the first witch says:

“Thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d”—

it being a common superstition that the form most generally assumed by the familiar spirits of witches was the cat. Thus, in another passage of the same play (i. 1), the first witch says: “I come, Graymalkin”—the word otherwise spelled Grimalkin,[373]meaning a gray cat. Numerous stories are on record of witches having disguised themselves as cats, in order to carry out their fiendish designs. A woodmanout working in the forest has his dinner every day stolen by a cat. Exasperated at the continued repetition of the theft, he lies in wait for the aggressor, and succeeds in cutting off her paw, when lo! on his return home he finds his wife minus a hand.[374]An honest Yorkshireman,[375]who bred pigs, often lost the young ones. On applying to a certain wise man of Stokesley, he was informed that they were bewitched by an old woman who lived near. The owner of the pigs, calling to mind that he had often seen a cat prowling about his yard, decided that this was the old woman in disguise. He watched for her, and, as soon as she made her appearance, flung at her a poker with all his might. The cat disappeared, and, curiously enough, the poor old woman in question that night fell and broke her leg. This was considered as conclusive that she was the witch that had simulated the form of a cat. This notion is very prevalent on the Continent. It is said that witch-cats have a great hankering after beer.[376]Witches are adepts in the art of brewing, and therefore fond of tasting what their neighbors brew. On these occasions they always masquerade as cats, and what they steal they consume on the spot. There was a countryman whose beer was all drunk up by night whenever he brewed, so that at last he resolved for once to sit up all night and watch. As he was standing by his brewing pan, a number of cats made their appearance, and calling to them, he said; “Come, puss, puss, come, warm you a bit.” So in a ring they all sat round the fire as if to warm themselves. After a time, he asked them “if the water was hot.” “Just on the boil,” said they; and as he spoke he dipped his long-handled pail in the wort, and soused the whole company with it. They all vanished at once, but on the following day his wife had a terribly scalded face, and then he knew who it was that had always drunk his beer. This story is widely prevalent, and is current among the Flemish-speaking natives of Belgium. Again, a North Germantradition[377]tells us of a peasant who had three beautiful large cats. A neighbor begged to have one of them, and obtained it. To accustom it to the place, he shut it up in the loft. At night, the cat, popping its head through the window, said, “What shall I bring to-night?” “Thou shalt bring mice,” answered the man. The cat then set to work, and cast all it caught on the floor. Next morning the place was so full of dead mice that it was hardly possible to open the door, and the man was employed the whole day in throwing them away by bushels. At night the cat again asked, “What shall I bring to-night?” “Thou shalt bring rye,” answered the peasant. The cat was now busily employed in shooting down rye, so that in the morning the door could not be opened. The man then discovered that the cat was a witch, and carried it back to his neighbor. A similar tradition occurs in Scandinavian mythology.[378]Spranger[379]relates that a laborer, on one occasion, was attacked by three young ladies in the form of cats, and that they were wounded by him. On the following day they were found bleeding in their beds. In Vernon,[380]about the year 1566, “the witches and warlocks gathered in great multitudes under the shape of cats. Four or five men were attacked in a lone place by a number of these beasts. The men stood their ground, and succeeded in slaying one cat and wounding many others. Next day a number of wounded women were found in the town, and they gave the judge an accurate account of all the circumstances connected with their wounding.” It is only natural, then, that Shakespeare, in his description of the witches in “Macbeth,” should have associated them with the popular superstition which represents the cat as their agent—a notion that no doubt originated in the classic story of Galanthis being turned into a cat, and becoming, through the compassion of Hecate, herpriestess. From their supposed connection with witchcraft, cats were formerly often tormented by the ignorant vulgar. Thus it appears[381]that, in days gone by, they (occasionally fictitious ones) were hung up in baskets and shot at with arrows. In some counties, too, they were enclosed, with a quantity of soot, in wooden bottles suspended on a line, and he who could beat out the bottom of the bottle as he ran under it, and yet escape its contents, was the hero of the sport.[382]Shakespeare alludes to this practice in “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1), where Benedick says: “Hang me in a bottle like a cat, and shoot at me.”

Percy, in his “Reliques of Ancient English Poetry” (1794, vol. i. p. 155), says: “It is still a diversion in Scotland to hang up a cat in a small cask or firkin, half filled with soot; and then a parcel of clowns on horseback try to beat out the ends of it, in order to show their dexterity in escaping before the contents fall upon them.”

This practice was once kept up at Kelso, in Scotland, according to Ebenezer Lazarus, who, in his “Description of Kelso” (1789, p. 144), has given a graphic description of the whole ceremony. He says, “This is a sport which was common in the last century at Kelso on the Tweed. A large concourse of men, women, and children assembled in a field about half a mile from the town, and a cat having been put into a barrel stuffed full of soot, was suspended on a crossbeam between two high poles. A certain number of the whipmen, or husbandmen, who took part in this savage and unmanly amusement, then kept striking, as they rode to and fro on horseback, the barrel in which the unfortunate animal was confined, until at last, under the heavy blows of their clubs and mallets, it broke, and allowed the cat to drop. The victim was then seized and tortured to death.” He justly stigmatizes it, saying:

“The cat in the barrel exhibits such a farce,That he who can relish it is worse than an ass.”

Cats, from their great powers of resistance, are said to have nine lives;[383]hence Mercutio, in “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 1), says: “Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives.” Ben Jonson, in “Every Man in His Humour” (iii. 2), makes Edward Knowell say to Bobadil, “’Twas pity you had not ten; a cat’s and your own.” And in Gay’s fable of the “Old Woman and her Cats,” one of these animals is introduced, upbraiding the witch:

“’Tis infamy to serve a hag,Cats are thought imps, her broom a nag;And boys against our lives combine,Because ’tis said, your cats have nine.”

In Marston’s “Dutch Courtezan” we read:

“Why then, thou hast nine lives like a cat.”

And in Dekker’s “Strange Horse-Race” (1613): “When the grand Helcat had gotten these two furies with nine lives.” This notion, it may be noted, is quite the reverse of the well-known saying, “Care will kill a cat,” mentioned in “Much Ado About Nothing” (v. 1), where Claudio says: “What though care killed a cat.”

For some undiscovered reason a cat was formerly called Tybert or Tybalt;[384]hence some of the insulting remarks of Mercutio, in “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 1), who calls Tybalt “rat-catcher” and “king of cats.” In the old romance of “Hystorye of Reynard the Foxe” (chap. vi.), we are told how “the king called for Sir Tibert, the cat, and said to him, Sir Tibert, you shall go to Reynard, and summon him the second time.”[385]A popular term for a wild cat was “cat-o’-mountain,” an expression[386]borrowed from the Spaniards, who call the wild cat “gato-montes.” In the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (ii. 2), Falstaff says of Pistol, “Your cat-a-mountainlooks.”

The word cat was used as a term of contempt, as in “The Tempest” (ii. 1) and “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 2), where Lysander says, “Hang off, thou cat.” Once more, too, in “Coriolanus” (iv. 2), we find it in the same sense:

“’Twas you incensed the rabble;Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth,As I can of those mysteries which heavenWill not have earth to know.”

A gib, or a gib cat, is an old male cat[387]—gib being the contraction of Gilbert,[388]and is, says Nares, an expression exactly analogous to that of jackass.[389]Tom-cat is now the usual term. The word was certainly not bestowed upon a cat early in life, as is evident from the melancholy character ascribed to it in Shakespeare’s allusion in “1 Henry IV.” (i. 2): “I am as melancholy as a gib cat.” Ray gives “as melancholy as a gib’d [a corruption of gib] cat.” The term occurs again in “Hamlet” (iii. 4). It is improperly applied to a female by Beaumont and Fletcher, in the “Scornful Lady” (v. 1): “Bring out the cat-hounds! I’ll make you take a tree, whore; then with my tiller bring down your gib-ship, and then have you cased and hung up in the warren.”

Chameleon.This animal was popularly believed to feed on air, a notion which Sir Thomas Browne[390]has carefully discussed. He has assigned, among other grounds for this vulgar opinion, its power of abstinence, and its faculty of self-inflation. It lives on insects, which it catches by its long, gluey tongue, and crushes between its jaws. It has been ascertained by careful experiment that the chameleon can live without eating for four months. It can inflate not only its lungs, but its whole body, including even the feet and tail. In allusion to this supposed characteristic, Shakespearemakes Hamlet say (iii. 2), “Of the chameleon’s dish: I eat the air, promise-crammed; you cannot feed capons so;” and in the “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (ii. 1) Speed says: “Though the chameleon, Love, can feed on the air, I am one that am nourished by my victuals, and would fain have meat.” There is, too, a popular notion that this animal undergoes frequent changes of color, according to that of the bodies near it. This, however, depends on the volition of the animal, or the state of its feelings, on its good or bad health, and is subordinate to climate, age, and sex.[391]In “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 2) Gloster boasts:

“I can add colours to the chameleon,Change shapes, with Proteus, for advantages.”

Cockatrice.This imaginary creature, also called a basilisk, has been the subject of extraordinary prejudice. It was absurdly said to proceed from the eggs of old cocks. It has been represented as having eight feet, a crown on the head, and a hooked and recurved beak.[392]Pliny asserts that the basilisk had a voice so terrible that it struck terror into all other species. Sir Thomas Browne,[393]however, distinguishes the cockatrice from the ancient basilisk. He says, “This of ours is generally described with legs, wings, a serpentine and winding tail, and a crest or comb somewhat like a cock. But the basilisk of elder times was a proper kind of serpent, not above three palms long, as some account; and different from other serpents by advancing his head and some white marks, or coronary spots upon the crown, as all authentic writers have delivered.” No other animal, perhaps, has given rise to so many fabulous notions. Thus, it was supposed to have so deadly an eye as to kill by its very look, to which Shakespeare often alludes. In “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 2), Juliet says:

“say thou but ‘I,’And that bare vowel, ‘I,’ shall poison moreThan the death-darting eye of cockatrice.”

In “Richard III.” (iv. 1) the Duchess exclaims:

“O my accursed womb, the bed of death!A cockatrice hast thou hatch’d to the world,Whose unavoided eye is murderous!”

In “Lucrece” (l. 540) we read:

“Here with a cockatrice’ dead-killing eyeHe rouseth up himself, and makes a pause.”

Once more,[394]in “Twelfth Night” (iii. 4), Sir Toby Belch affirms: “This will so fright them both that they will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices.” It has also been affirmed that this animal could not exercise this faculty unless it first perceived the object of its vengeance; if first seen, it died. Dryden has alluded to this superstition:

“Mischiefs are like the cockatrice’s eye,If they see first they kill, if seen, they die.”

Cockatrice was a popular phrase for a loose woman, probably from the fascination of the eye.[395]It appears, too, that basilisk[396]was the name of a huge piece of ordnance carrying a ball of very great weight. In the following passage in “Henry V.” (v. 2), there is no doubt a double allusion—to pieces of ordnance, and to the fabulous creature already described:

“The fatal balls of murdering basilisks.”

Colt.From its wild tricks the colt was formerly used to designate, according to Johnson, “a witless, heady, gay youngster.” Portia mentions it with a quibble in “The Merchant of Venice” (i. 2), referring to the Neapolitan prince. “Ay, that’s a colt, indeed.” The term “to colt” meant to trick, or befool; as in the phrase in “1 Henry IV.”(ii. 2): “What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?” Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps[397]explains the expression in “Henry VIII.” (i. 3), “Your colt’s tooth is not cast yet,” to denote a love of youthful pleasure. In “Cymbeline” (ii. 4) it is used in a coarser sense: “She hath been colted by him.”

Crocodile.According to fabulous accounts the crocodile was the most deceitful of animals; its tears being proverbially fallacious. Thus Othello (iv. 1) says:

“O devil, devil!If that the earth could teem with woman’s tears,Each drop she falls would prove a crocodile.—Out of my sight!”

We may also compare the words of the queen in “2 Henry VI.” (iii. 1):

“Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,Too full of foolish pity; and Gloster’s showBeguiles him, as the mournful crocodileWith sorrow snares relenting passengers.”

It is said that this treacherous animal weeps over a man’s head when it has devoured the body, and will then eat up the head too. In Bullokar’s “Expositor,” 1616, we read: “Crocodile lachrymæ, crocodiles teares, do signify such teares as are feigned, and spent only with intent to deceive or do harm.” In Quarles’s “Emblems” there is the following allusion:

“O what a crocodilian world is this,Compos’d of treachries and ensnaring wiles!She cloaths destruction in a formal kiss,And lodges death in her deceitful smiles.”

In the above passage from “Othello,” Singer says there is, no doubt, a reference to the doctrine of equivocal generation, by which new animals were supposed to be producible by new combinations of matter.[398]

Deer.In “King Lear” (iii. 4) Edgar uses deer for wildanimals in general:

“But mice, and rats, and such small deer,Have been Tom’s food for seven long year.”

Shakespeare frequently refers to the popular sport of hunting the deer;[399]and by his apt allusions shows how thoroughly familiar he was with the various amusements of his day.[400]In “Winter’s Tale” (i. 2) Leontes speaks of “the mort o’ the deer:” certain notes played on the horn at the death of the deer, and requiring a deep-drawn breath.[401]It was anciently, too, one of the customs of the chase for all to stain their hands in the blood of the deer as a trophy. Thus, in “King John” (ii. 1), the English herald declares to the men of Angiers how

“like a jolly troop of huntsmen, comeOur lusty English, all with purpled hands,Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes.”

The practice is again alluded to in “Julius Cæsar” (iii. 1):

“here thy hunters stand,Sign’d in thy spoil, and crimson’d in thy lethe.”

Old Turbervile gives us the details of this custom: “Our order is, that the prince, or chief, if so please them, do alight, and take assay of the deer, with a sharp knife, the which is done in this manner—the deer being laid upon his back, the prince, chief, or such as they do appoint, comes to it, and the chief huntsman, kneeling if it be a prince, doth hold the deer by the forefoot, whilst the prince, or chief, do cut a slit drawn along the brisket of the deer.”

In “Antony and Cleopatra” (v. 2), where Cæsar, speaking of Cleopatra’s death, says:

“bravest at the last,She levell’d at our purposes, and, being royal,Took her own way”—

there is possibly an allusion to thehart royal, which had the privilege of roaming unmolested, and of taking its own way to its lair.

Shooting with the cross-bow at deer was an amusement of great ladies. Buildings with flat roofs, called stands, partly concealed by bushes, were erected in the parks for the purpose. Hence the following dialogue in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 1):

“Princess.Then forester, my friend, where is the bushThat we must stand and play the murderer in?Forester.Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.”

“Princess.Then forester, my friend, where is the bushThat we must stand and play the murderer in?

Forester.Hereby, upon the edge of yonder coppice;A stand where you may make the fairest shoot.”

Among the hunting terms to which Shakespeare refers may be mentioned the following:

“To draw” meant to trace the steps of the game, as in “Comedy of Errors” (iv. 2):

“A hound that runs counter, and yet draws dry-foot well.”

The term “to run counter” was to mistake the course of the game, or to turn and pursue the backward trail.

The “recheat” denoted certain notes sounded on the horn, properly and more usually employed to recall the dogs from a wrong scent. It is used in “Much Ado About Nothing” (i. 1): “I will have a recheat winded in my forehead.” We may compare Drayton’s “Polyolbion” (xiii.):

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