Chapter 14

“How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow,If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show.”

(a) The “apple-John,” called in Francedeux-annéesordeux-ans, because it will keep two years, and considered to be in perfection when shrivelled and withered,[458]is evidently spoken of in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 3), where Falstaff says: “My skin hangs about me like an old lady’s loose gown; I am withered like an old apple-John.” In “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4) there is a further allusion:

“1st Drawer.What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-Johns? thou know’st Sir John cannot endure an apple-John.2d Drawer.Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said, ‘I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.’”

“1st Drawer.What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-Johns? thou know’st Sir John cannot endure an apple-John.

2d Drawer.Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said, ‘I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights.’”

This apple, too, is well described by Phillips (“Cider,” bk. i.):

“Nor John Apple, whose wither’d rind, entrench’dBy many a furrow, aptly representsDecrepit age.”

In Ben Jonson’s “Bartholomew Fair” (i. 1), where Littlewit encourages Quarlus to kiss his wife, he says: “she may call you an apple-John if you use this.” Here apple-John[459]evidently means a procuring John, besides the allusion tothe fruit so called.[460]

(b) The “bitter-sweet, or sweeting,” to which Mercutio alludes in “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 4): “Thy wit is a very bitter sweeting; it is a most sharp sauce;” was apparently a favorite apple, which furnished many allusions to poets. Gower, in his “Confessio Amantis” (1554, fol. 174), speaks of it:

“For all such time of love is loreAnd like unto thebitter swete,For though it thinke a man first sweete,He shall well felen atte lasteThat it is sower, and maie not laste.”

The name is “now given to an apple of no great value as a table fruit, but good as a cider apple, and for use in silk dyeing.”[461]

(c) The “crab,” roasted before the fire and put into ale, was a very favorite indulgence, especially at Christmas, in days gone by, and is referred to in the song of winter in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2):

“When roasted crabs hiss in the bowlThen nightly sings the staring owl.”

The beverage thus formed was called “Lambs-wool,” and generally consisted of ale, nutmeg, sugar, toast, and roasted crabs, or apples. It formed the ingredient of the wassail-bowl;[462]and also of the gossip’s bowl[463]alluded to in “Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1), where Puck says:

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

In Peele’s “Old Wives’ Tale,” it is said:

“Lay a crab in the fire to roast for lamb’s wool.”[464]

And in Herrick’s “Poems:”

“Now crowne the bowleWith gentle lamb’s wooll,Add sugar, and nutmegs, and ginger.”

(d) The “codling,” spoken of by Malvolio in “Twelfth Night” (i. 5)—“Not yet old enough for a man, nor young enough for a boy; as a squash is before ’tis a peascod, or a codling when ’tis almost an apple”—is not the variety now so called, but was the popular term for an immature apple, such as would require cooking to be eaten, being derived from “coddle,” to stew or boil lightly—hence it denoted a boiling apple, an apple for coddling or boiling.[465]Mr. Gifford[466]says that codling was used by our old writers for that early state of vegetation when the fruit, after shaking off the blossom, began to assume a globular and determinate form.

(e) The “leather-coat” was the apple generally known as “the golden russeting.”[467]Davy, in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3), says: “There is a dish of leather-coats for you.”

(f) The “pippin” was formerly a common term for an apple, to which reference is made in “Hudibras Redivivus” (1705):

“A goldsmith telling o’er his cash,A pipping-monger selling trash.”

In Taylor’s “Workes”[468](1630) we read:

“Lord, who would take him for a pippin squire,That’s so bedaub’d with lace and rich attire?”

Mr. Ellacombe[469]says the word “pippin” denoted an appleraised from pips and not from grafts, and “is now, and probably was in Shakespeare’s time, confined to the bright-colored long-keeping apples of which the golden pippin is the type.” Justice Shallow, in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3), says: “Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year’s pippin of my own graffing.”

(g) The “pomewater” was a species of apple evidently of a juicy nature, and hence of high esteem in Shakespeare’s time; for in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 2) Holofernes says: “The deer was, as you know,sanguis—in blood; ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear ofcœlo—the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on the face ofterra—the soil, the land, the earth.”

Parkinson[470]tells us the “pomewater” is an excellent, good, and great whitish apple, full of sap or moisture, somewhat pleasant, sharp, but a little bitter withal; it will not last long, the winter’s frost soon causing it to rot and perish.

It appears that apples and caraways were formerly always eaten together; and it is said that they are still served up on particular days at Trinity College, Cambridge. This practice is probably alluded to by Justice Shallow, in the much-disputed passage in “2 Henry IV.” (v. 3), when he speaks of eating “a last year’s pippin, ... with a dish of carraways.” The phrase, too, seems further explained by the following quotations from Cogan’s “Haven of Health” (1599). After stating the virtues of the seed, and some of its uses, he says: “For the same purposecareway seedsare used to be made in comfits, and to be eaten with apples, and surely very good for that purpose, for all such things as breed wind would be eaten with other things that break wind.” Again, in his chapter on Apples, he says: “Howbeit wee are wont to eat carrawaies or biskets, or some other kind of comfits, or seeds together with apples, thereby to breake winde ingendred by them, and surely this is a verie good way for students.” Mr. Ellacombe,[471]however, considers that in “the dish of carraways,”mentioned by Justice Shallow, neither caraway seeds, nor cakes made of caraways, are meant, but the caraway or caraway-russet apple. Most of the commentators are in favor of one of the former explanations. Mr. Dyce[472]reads caraways in the sense of comfits or confections made with caraway-seeds, and quotes from Shadwell’s “Woman-Captain” the following: “The fruit, crab-apples, sweetings, and horse-plumbs; and for confections, a few carraways in a small sawcer, as if his worship’s house had been a lousie inn.”

Apricot.This word, which is spelled by Shakespeare “apricock,” occurs in “Richard II.” (iii. 4), where the gardener says:

“Go, bind thou up yond dangling apricocks,Which, like unruly children, make their sireStoop with oppression of their prodigal weight.”

And in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (iii. 1) Titania gives directions:

“Be kind and courteous to this gentleman,*****Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries.”

The spelling “apricock”[473]is derived from the Latinpræcox, orpræcoquus; and it was called “the precocious tree,” because it flowered and fruited earlier than the peach. The term “apricock” is still in use in Northamptonshire.

Aspen.According to a mediæval legend, the perpetual motion of this tree dates from its having supplied the wood of the Cross, and that its leaves have trembled ever since at the recollection of their guilt. De Quincey, in his essay on “Modern Superstition,” says that this belief is coextensive with Christendom. The following verses,[474]after telling how other trees were passed by in the choice of wood for the Cross, describe the hewing down of the aspen, and the draggingof it from the forest to Calvary:

“On the morrow stood she, tremblingAt the awful weight she bore,When the sun in midnight blacknessDarkened on Judea’s shore.“Still, when not a breeze is stirring,When the mist sleeps on the hill,And all other trees are moveless,Stands the aspen, trembling still.”

“On the morrow stood she, tremblingAt the awful weight she bore,When the sun in midnight blacknessDarkened on Judea’s shore.

“Still, when not a breeze is stirring,When the mist sleeps on the hill,And all other trees are moveless,Stands the aspen, trembling still.”

The Germans, says Mr. Henderson, have a theory of their own, embodied in a little poem, which may be thus translated:

“Once, as our Saviour walked with men below,His path of mercy through a forest lay;And mark how all the drooping branches show,What homage best a silent tree may pay.“Only the aspen stands erect and free,Scorning to join that voiceless worship pure;But see! He casts one look upon the tree,Struck to the heart she trembles evermore!”

“Once, as our Saviour walked with men below,His path of mercy through a forest lay;And mark how all the drooping branches show,What homage best a silent tree may pay.

“Only the aspen stands erect and free,Scorning to join that voiceless worship pure;But see! He casts one look upon the tree,Struck to the heart she trembles evermore!”

Another legend tells us[475]that the aspen was said to have been the tree on which Judas hanged himself after the betrayal of his Master, and ever since its leaves have trembled with shame. Shakespeare twice alludes to the trembling of the aspen. In “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 4) Marcus exclaims:

“O, had the monster seen those lily handsTremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute;”

and in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4) the hostess says: “Feel, masters, how I shake. Yea, in very truth, do I, an ’twere an aspen leaf.”

Bachelor’s Buttons.This was a name given to several flowers, and perhaps in Shakespeare’s time was more loosely applied to any flower in bud. It is now usually understood to be adouble varietyof ranunculus; according to others, theLychnis sylvestris; and in some counties it is appliedto theScabiosa succisa.[476]According to Gerarde, this plant was so called from the similitude of its flowers “to the jagged cloathe buttons, anciently worne in this kingdome.” It was formerly supposed, by country people, to have some magical effect upon the fortunes of lovers. Hence it was customary for young people to carry its flowers in their pockets, judging of their good or bad success in proportion as these retained or lost their freshness. It is to this sort of divination that Shakespeare probably refers in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iii. 2), where he makes the hostess say, “What say you to young Master Fenton? he capers, he dances, he has eyes of youth, he writes verses, he speaks holiday, he smells April and May; he will carry ’t, he will carry ’t; ’tis in his buttons; he will carry ’t.” Mr. Warter, in one of his notes in Southey’s “Commonplace Book” (1851, 4th series, p. 244), says that this practice was common in his time, in Shropshire and Staffordshire. The term “to wear bachelor’s buttons” seems to have grown into a phrase for being unmarried.[477]

Balm.From very early times the balm, or balsam, has been valued for its curative properties, and, as such, is alluded to in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 1):

“But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given meThe knife that made it.”

In “3 Henry VI.” (iv. 8) King Henry says:[478]

“My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds.”

Alcibiades, in “Timon of Athens” (iii. 5), says:

“Is this the balsam, that the usuring senatePours into captains’ wounds? Banishment!”

Macbeth, too, in the well-known passage ii. 2, introduces it:

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

As the oil of consecration[479]it is spoken of by King Richard (“Richard II.,” iii. 2):

“Not all the water in the rough rude seaCan wash the balm from an anointed king.”

And again, in “3 Henry VI.” (iii. 1), King Henry, when in disguise, speaks thus:

“Thy place is fill’d, thy sceptre wrung from thee,Thy balm wash’d off wherewith thou wast anointed:No bending knee will call thee Cæsar now.”

The origin of balsam, says Mr. Ellacombe,[480]“was for a long time a secret, but it is now known to have been the produce of several gum-bearing trees, especially thePistacia lentiscusand theBalsamodendron Gileadense, and now, as then, the name is not strictly confined to the produce of any one plant.”

Barley.The barley broth, of which the Constable, in “Henry V.” (iii. 5), spoke so contemptuously as the food of English soldiers, was probably beer,[481]which long before the time of Henry was so celebrated that it gave its name to the plant (barley being simply the beer-plant):

“Can sodden water,A drench for sur-rein’d jades, their barley broth,Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?”

Bay-tree.The withering and death of this tree were reckoned a prognostic of evil, both in ancient and modern times, a notion[482]to which Shakespeare refers in “Richard II.” (ii. 4):

“’Tis thought, the king is dead; we will not stay.The bay-trees in our country are all wither’d”

—having obtained it probably from Holinshed, who says:“In this yeare, in a manner throughout all the realme of Englande, old baie trees withered.” Lupton, in his “Syxt Booke of Notable Things,” mentions this as a bad omen: “Neyther falling-sickness, neyther devyll, wyll infest or hurt one in that place whereas a bay-tree is. The Romaynes call it the plant of the good angel.”[483]

Camomile.It was formerly imagined that this plant grew the more luxuriantly for being frequently trodden or pressed down; a notion alluded to in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 4) by Falstaff: “For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.” Nares[484]considers that the above was evidently written in ridicule of the following passage, in a book very fashionable in Shakespeare’s day, Lyly’s “Euphues,” of which it is a parody: “Though the camomile, the more it is trodden and pressed down, the more it spreadeth; yet the violet, the oftener it is handled and touched, the sooner it withereth and decayeth,” etc.

Clover.According to Johnson, the “honey-stalks” in the following passage (“Titus Andronicus,” iv. 4) are “clover-flowers, which contain a sweet juice.” It is not uncommon for cattle to overcharge themselves with clover, and die, hence the allusion by Tamora:

“I will enchant the old AndronicusWith words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep.”

Columbine.This was anciently termed “a thankless flower,” and was also emblematical of forsaken lovers. It is somewhat doubtful to what Ophelia alludes in “Hamlet” (iv. 5), where she seems to address the king: “There’s fennel for you, and columbines.” Perhaps she regarded it as symbolical of ingratitude.

Crow-flowers.This name, which in Shakespeare’s time was applied to the “ragged robin,” is now used for the buttercup.It was one of the flowers that poor Ophelia wove into her garland (“Hamlet,” iv. 7):

“There with fantastic garlands did she comeOf crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples.”

Cuckoo-buds.Commentators are uncertain to what flower Shakespeare refers in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2):

“When daisies pied and violets blue,And lady-smocks all silver-white,And cuckoo-buds of yellow hueDo paint the meadows with delight.”

Mr. Miller, in his “Gardener’s Dictionary,” says that the flower here alluded to is theRanunculus bulbosus; but Mr. Beisly, in his “Shakespeare’s Garden,” considers it to be theRanunculus ficaria(lesser celandine), or pile-wort, as this flower appears earlier in spring, and is in bloom at the same time as the other flowers named in the song. Mr. Swinfen Jervis, however, in his “Dictionary of the Language of Shakespeare” (1868), decides in favor of cowslips:[485]and Dr. Prior suggests the buds of the crowfoot. At the present day the nickname cuckoo-bud is assigned to the meadow cress (Cardamine pratensis).

Cuckoo-flowers.By this flower, Mr. Beisly[486]says, the ragged robin is meant, a well-known meadow and marsh plant, with rose-colored flowers and deeply-cut, narrow segments. It blossoms at the time the cuckoo comes, hence one of its names. In “King Lear” (iv. 4) Cordelia narrates how

“he was met even nowAs 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 growIn our sustaining corn.”

Cypress.From the earliest times the cypress has had a mournful history, being associated with funerals and churchyards,and as such is styled by Spenser “cypress funereal.”

In Quarles’s “Argalus and Parthenia” (1726, bk. iii.) a knight is introduced, whose

“horse was black as jet,His furniture was round about besetWith branches slipt from the sad cypress tree.”

Formerly coffins were frequently made of cypress wood, a practice to which Shakespeare probably alludes in “Twelfth Night” (ii. 4), where the Clown says: “In sad cypress let me be laid.” Some, however, prefer[487]understanding cypress to mean “a shroud of cyprus or cypress”—a fine, transparent stuff, similar to crape, either white or black, but more commonly the latter.[488]Douce[489]thinks that the expression “laid” seems more applicable to a coffin than to a shroud, and also adds that the shroud is afterwards expressly mentioned by itself.

Daffodil.The daffodil of Shakespeare is the wild daffodil which grows so abundantly in many parts of England. Perdita, in “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4), mentions a little piece of weather-lore, and tells us how

“daffodils,That come before the swallow dares, and takeThe winds of March with beauty.”

And Autolycus, in the same play (iv. 3), sings thus:

“When daffodils begin to peer,—With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,Why, then comes in the sweet o’ the year.”

Darnel.This plant, like the cockle, was used in Shakespeare’sday to denote any hurtful weed. Newton,[490]in his “Herbal to the Bible,” says that “under the name of cockle and darnel is comprehended all vicious, noisome, and unprofitable graine, encombring and hindering good corne.” Thus Cordelia, in “King Lear” (iv. 4), says:

“Darnel, and all the idle weeds that growIn our sustaining corn.”

According to Gerarde, “darnel hurteth the eyes, and maketh them dim, if it happen either in corne for breade or drinke.” Hence, it is said, originated the old proverb, “lolio victitare”—applied to such as were dim-sighted. Steevens considers that Pucelle, in the following passage from “1 Henry VI.” (iii. 2), alludes to this property of the darnel—meaning to intimate that the corn she carried with her had produced the same effect on the guards of Rouen, otherwise they would have seen through her disguise and defeated her stratagem:

“Good morrow, gallants! want ye corn for bread?I think the Duke of Burgundy will fast,Before he’ll buy again at such a rate:’Twas full of darnel: do you like the taste?”

Date.This fruit of the palm-tree was once a common ingredient in all kinds of pastry, and some other dishes, and often supplied a pun for comedy, as, for example, in “All’s Well That Ends Well” (i. 1), where Parolles says: “Your date is better in your pie and your porridge, than in your cheek.” And in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 2): “Ay, a minced man; and then to be baked with no date in the pie; for then the man’s date’s out.”

Ebony.The wood of this tree was regarded as the typical emblem of darkness; the tree itself, however, was unknown in this country in Shakespeare’s time. It is mentioned in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (iv. 3):

“King.By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.Biron.Is ebony like her? O wood divine!A wife of such wood were felicity.”

“King.By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

Biron.Is ebony like her? O wood divine!A wife of such wood were felicity.”

In the same play we read of “the ebon-coloured ink” (i. 1), and in “Venus and Adonis” (948) of “Death’s ebon dart.”

Elder.This plant, while surrounded by an extensive folk-lore, has from time immemorial possessed an evil reputation, and been regarded as one of bad omen. According to a popular tradition “Judas was hanged on an elder,” a superstition mentioned by Biron in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2); and also by Ben Jonson in “Every Man Out of His Humour” (iv. 4): “He shall be your Judas, and you shall be his elder-tree to hang on.” In “Piers Plowman’s Vision” (ll. 593-596) we are told how

“Judas, he japedWith jewen silver,And sithen on an ellerHanged hymselve.”

So firmly rooted was this belief in days gone by that Sir John Mandeville tells us in his Travels, which he wrote in 1364, that he was actually shown the identical tree at Jerusalem, “And faste by is zit, the tree of Elder that Judas henge himself upon, for despeyr that he hadde when he solde and betrayed oure Lord.” This tradition no doubt, in a great measure, helped to give it its bad fame, causing it to be spoken of as “the stinking elder.” Shakespeare makes it an emblem of grief. In “Cymbeline” (iv. 2) Arviragus says:

“Grow, patience!And let the stinking elder, grief, untwineHis perishing root with the increasing vine!”

The dwarf elder[491](Sambucus ebulus) is said only to grow where blood has been shed either in battle or in murder. The Welsh call it “Llysan gward gwyr,” or “plant of the blood of man.” Shakespeare, perhaps, had this piece of folk-lore in mind when he represents Bassianus, in “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 4), as killed at a pit beneath an elder-tree:

“This is the pit and this the elder tree.”

Eringoes.These were formerly said to be strong provocatives, and as such are mentioned by Falstaff in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5): “Let the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves, hail kissing comfits, and snow eringoes.” Mr. Ellacombe[492]thinks that in this passage the globe artichoke is meant, “which is a near ally of the eryngium, and was a favorite dish in Shakespeare’s time.”

Fennel.This was generally considered as an inflammatory herb; and to eat “conger and fennel” was “to eat two high and hot things together,” which was an act of libertinism.[493]Thus in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4) Falstaff says of Poins, he “eats conger and fennel.” Mr. Beisly states[494]that fennel was used as a sauce with fish hard of digestion, being aromatic, and as the old writers term it, “hot in the third degree.” One of the herbs distributed by poor Ophelia, in her distraction, is fennel, which she offers either as a cordial or as an emblem of flattery: “There’s fennel for you, and columbines.”

Mr. Staunton, however, considers that fennel here signifieslust, while Mr. Beisly thinks its reputed property of clearing the sight is alluded to. It is more probable that it denotes flattery; especially as, in Shakespeare’s time, it was regarded as emblematical of flattery. In this sense it is often quoted by old writers. In Greene’s “Quip for an Upstart Courtier,” we read, “Fennell I meane for flatterers.” In “Phyala Lachrymarum”[495]we find:

“Nor fennel-finkle bring for flattery,Begot of his, and fained courtesie.”

Fern.According to a curious notion fern-seed was supposed to possess the power of rendering persons invisible. Hence it was a most important object of superstition, beinggathered mystically, especially on Midsummer Eve. It was believed at one time to have neither flower nor seed; the seed, which lay on the back of the leaf, being so small as to escape the detection of the hasty observer. On this account, probably, proceeding on the fantastic doctrine of signatures, our ancestors derived the notion that those who could obtain and wear this invisible seed would be themselves invisible: a belief which is referred to in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 1):

“Gadshill.We have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible.Chamberlain.Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night, than to fern-seed, for your walking invisible.”

“Gadshill.We have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible.

Chamberlain.Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night, than to fern-seed, for your walking invisible.”

This superstition is mentioned by many old writers; a proof of its popularity in times past. It is alluded to in Beaumont and Fletcher’s “Fair Maid of the Inn” (i. 1):

“Did you think that you had Gyges’ ring?Or the herb that gives invisibility?”

Again, in Ben Jonson’s “New Inn” (i. 1):

“I hadNo medicine, sir, to go invisible,No fern-seed in my pocket.”

As recently as Addison’s day, we are told in theTatler(No. 240) that “it was impossible to walk the streets without having an advertisement thrust into your hand of a doctor who had arrived at the knowledge of the green and red dragon, and had discovered the female fern-seed.”[496]

Fig.Formerly the term fig served as a common expression of contempt, and was used to denote a thing of the least importance. Hence the popular phrase, “not to care a fig for one;” a sense in which it is sometimes used by Shakespeare, who makes Pistol say, in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (i. 3), “a fico for the phrase!” and in “Henry V.” (iii. 6) Pistol exclaims, “figo for thy friendship!” In “Othello” (i. 3) Iago says, “Virtue! a fig!”

The term “to give or make the fig,” as an expression of insult, has for many ages been very prevalent among the nationsof Europe, and, according to Douce,[497]was known to the Romans. It consists in thrusting the thumb between two of the closed fingers, or into the mouth, a practice, as some say,[498]in allusion to a contemptuous punishment inflicted on the Milanese, by the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa, in 1162, when he took their city. This, however, is altogether improbable, the real origin, no doubt, being a coarse representation of a disease, to which the name officusor fig has always been given.[499]

The “fig of Spain,” spoken of in “Henry V.” (iii. 6), may either allude to the poisoned fig employed in Spain as a secret way of destroying an obnoxious person, as in Webster’s “White Devil:”[500]

“I do look now for a Spanish fig, or an Italian salad, daily;”

and in Shirley’s “Brothers:”[501]

“I must poison him;One fig sends him to Erebus;”

or it may, as Mr. Dyce remarks,[502]simply denote contempt or insult in the sense already mentioned.

Flower-de-luce.The common purple iris which adorns our gardens is now generally agreed upon as the fleur-de-luce, a corruption of fleur de Louis—being spelled either fleur-de-lys or fleur-de-lis. It derives its name from Louis VII., King of France, who chose this flower as his heraldic emblem when setting forth on his crusade to the Holy Land. It had already been used by the other French kings, and by the emperors of Constantinople; but it is still a matter of dispute among antiquarians as to what it was originally intendedto represent. Some say a flower, some a toad, some a halbert-head. It is uncertain what plant is referred to by Shakespeare when he alludes to the flower-de-luce in the following passage[503]in “2 Henry VI.” (v. 1), where the Duke of York says:

“A sceptre shall it have,—have I a soul,—On which I’ll toss the flower-de-luce of France.”

In “1 Henry VI.” (i. 2) Pucelle declares:

“I am prepared; here is my keen-edged sword,Deck’d with five flower-de-luces on each side.”

Some think the lily is meant, others the iris. For the lily theory, says Mr. Ellacombe,[504]“there are the facts that Shakespeare calls it one of the lilies, and that the other way of spelling is fleur-de-lys.”

Chaucer seems to connect it with the lily (“Canterbury Tales,” Prol. 238):

“Her nekke was white as the flour-de-lis.”

On the other hand, Spenser separates the lilies from the flower-de-luces in his “Shepherd’s Calendar;” and Ben Jonson mentions “rich carnations, flower-de-luces, lilies.”

The fleur-de-lis was not always confined to royalty as a badge. Thus, in the square of La Pucelle, in Rouen, there is a statue of Jeanne D’Arc with fleurs-de-lis sculptured upon it, and an inscription as follows:

“The maiden’s sword protects the royal crown;Beneath the maiden’s sword the lilies safely blow.”

St. Louis conferred upon the Chateaubriands the device of a fleur-de-lis, and the motto, “Mon sang teint les bannièrs de France.” When Edward III. claimed the crown of France, in the year 1340, he quartered the ancient shield of France with the lions of England. It disappeared, however, from the English shield in the first year of the present century.

Gillyflower.This was the old name for the whole classof carnations, pinks, and sweet-williams, from the Frenchgirofle, which is itself corrupted from the Latincaryophyllum.[505]The streaked gillyflowers, says Mr. Beisly,[506]noticed by Perdita in “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4)—

“the fairest flowers o’ the seasonAre our carnations and streak’d gillyvors,Which some call nature’s bastards”—

“are produced by the flowers of one kind being impregnated by the pollen of another kind, and this art (or law) in nature Shakespeare alludes to in the delicate language used by Perdita, as well as to the practice of increasing the plants by slips.” Tusser, in his “Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandry,” says:

“The gilloflower also the skilful doe know,Doth look to be covered in frost and in snow.”

Harebell.This flower, mentioned in “Cymbeline” (iv. 2), is no doubt another name for the wild hyacinth.

Arviragus says of Imogen:

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