Chapter 5

A fat old man * * * that swoln parcel of dropsies.Henry IV., Act II., Sc. IV.The dropsy drown this fool!Tempest, Act IV., Sc. I.It is a dropsied honour.All’s Well, Act II., Sc. III.Fal.You make fat rascals, mistress Doll.Doll.I make them! gluttony and disease make them.Henry IV—2d, Act II., Sc. IV.

A fat old man * * * that swoln parcel of dropsies.Henry IV., Act II., Sc. IV.

The dropsy drown this fool!Tempest, Act IV., Sc. I.

It is a dropsied honour.All’s Well, Act II., Sc. III.

Fal.You make fat rascals, mistress Doll.Doll.I make them! gluttony and disease make them.Henry IV—2d, Act II., Sc. IV.

Leprosy was sometimes called measles, from the French of leper,meseauormesel. This is the sense in which Shakespeare uses the word measles—an entirely different one from that now in vogue. The word “hoar,” occurring in several of the quotations, refers to the white spots so characteristic of the disease.

As for my country I have shed my blood,Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungsCoin words till their decay against those measles,Which we disdain should tetter us, yet soughtThe very way to catch them.Coriolanus, Act III., Sc. I.Gold! * * * * * *This yellow slave will make the hoar leprosy ador’d.Timon of Athens, Act IV., Sc. III.Hoar the flamen,That scolds against the quality of flesh,And not believes himself.Timon of Athens, Act IV., Sc. III.Itches, blains,Sow all the Athenian bosoms, and their cropBe general leprosy!Timon of Athens, Act IV., Sc. I.Diseased nature oftimes breaks forthIn strange eruptions.Henry IV., Act III., Sc. I.For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,The mere effusion of thy proper loins,Do curse the gout,serpigo, and the rheum,For ending thee no sooner.Measure for Measure, Act III., Sc. I.Now the dry serpigo on the subject!Troilus and Cressida, Act II., Sc. III.A tailor might scratch her where ’er she did itch.Tempest, Act II., Sc. II.

Gold! * * * * * *This yellow slave will make the hoar leprosy ador’d.Timon of Athens, Act IV., Sc. III.

Hoar the flamen,That scolds against the quality of flesh,And not believes himself.Timon of Athens, Act IV., Sc. III.

Itches, blains,Sow all the Athenian bosoms, and their cropBe general leprosy!Timon of Athens, Act IV., Sc. I.

Diseased nature oftimes breaks forthIn strange eruptions.Henry IV., Act III., Sc. I.

For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,The mere effusion of thy proper loins,Do curse the gout,serpigo, and the rheum,For ending thee no sooner.Measure for Measure, Act III., Sc. I.

Now the dry serpigo on the subject!Troilus and Cressida, Act II., Sc. III.

A tailor might scratch her where ’er she did itch.Tempest, Act II., Sc. II.

In the midland counties of England a pimple was frequently called “a quat.”

I have rubb’d this young quat almost to a sense,And he grows angry.Othello. Act V., Sc. I.Rubbing the poor itch,* * * Make yourselves scabs.Coriolanus, Act I., Sc. I.I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had thescratching of thee;I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece.Troilus and Cressida, Act II., Sc. I.My elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow.Much Ado, Act III., Sc. III.Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds.Taming of the Shrew, Ind., Sc. II.Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains.King John, Act III., Sc. I.Dro. S.She sweats—a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.Ant. S.That’s a fault that water will mend.Dro. S.No, sir, ’tis in grain.Comedy of Errors, Act III., Sc. II.I had rather heat my liver with drinking.Antony and Cleopatra, Act I., Sc. II.Let my liver rather heat with wine,Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.Merchant of Venice, Act I., Sc. I.Were my wife’s liverInfected as her life, she would not liveThe running of one glass.Winter’s Tale, Act I., Sc. II.What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?Troilus and Cressida, Act I., Sc. III.All seems infected that the infected spy,And all seems yellow to the jaundiced eye.The liver is the lazaret of bile,But very rarely executes its function,For the first passion stays there such a whileThat all the rest creep in and form a junction.Like knots of vipers on a dunghill’s soil,Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction,So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail,Like earthquakes from the hidden fire call’d “central.”Byron—Don Juan, Canto III., Verse CCXV.

I have rubb’d this young quat almost to a sense,And he grows angry.Othello. Act V., Sc. I.

Rubbing the poor itch,* * * Make yourselves scabs.Coriolanus, Act I., Sc. I.

I would thou didst itch from head to foot, and I had thescratching of thee;I would make thee the loathsomest scab in Greece.Troilus and Cressida, Act II., Sc. I.

My elbow itched; I thought there would a scab follow.Much Ado, Act III., Sc. III.

Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds.Taming of the Shrew, Ind., Sc. II.

Full of unpleasing blots and sightless stains.King John, Act III., Sc. I.

Dro. S.She sweats—a man may go over shoes in the grime of it.Ant. S.That’s a fault that water will mend.Dro. S.No, sir, ’tis in grain.Comedy of Errors, Act III., Sc. II.

I had rather heat my liver with drinking.Antony and Cleopatra, Act I., Sc. II.

Let my liver rather heat with wine,Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.Merchant of Venice, Act I., Sc. I.

Were my wife’s liverInfected as her life, she would not liveThe running of one glass.Winter’s Tale, Act I., Sc. II.

What grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?Troilus and Cressida, Act I., Sc. III.

All seems infected that the infected spy,And all seems yellow to the jaundiced eye.

The liver is the lazaret of bile,But very rarely executes its function,For the first passion stays there such a whileThat all the rest creep in and form a junction.Like knots of vipers on a dunghill’s soil,Rage, fear, hate, jealousy, revenge, compunction,So that all mischiefs spring up from this entrail,Like earthquakes from the hidden fire call’d “central.”Byron—Don Juan, Canto III., Verse CCXV.

The examination of the urine as an aid to diagnosis has been resorted to for many centuries, but the processes of to-day are, of course, vastly different from and hardly to be compared with those of earlier times, when blind ignorance caused urine-examining, or “water-casting,” to be a mere mockery. The practice, says Dr. Bucknill, arose “like the barber surgery, from the ecclesiastical interdicts upon the medical vocations of the clergy. Priests and monks, being unable to visit their former patients, are said first to have resorted to the expedient of divining the malady, and directing the treatment upon simple inspection of the urine.” The College of Physicians, in an old statute, denounced it as belonging only to charlatans, and members were not allowed to give advice on inspection only. Shakespeare has frequently referred to it, as have also many others of the old writers, who condemn strongly what was then a shallow deception, but what has now become, by the light of knowledge, one of the most important diagnostic aids to many diseases.

Host.Thou art a Castilian, king urinal!* * * Pardon, a word, monsieur, mock-water.Dr. Caius.Mock-vater! vat is dat?Merry Wives, Act II., Sc. III.If thou could’st, doctor, castThe water of my land, find her disease,And purge it to a sound and pristine health,I would applaud thee to the very echo.Macbeth, Act V., Sc. III.Carry his water to the wise woman.Twelfth Night, Act III., Sc. IV.Falstaff.What says the doctor to my water?Page.He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthywater; but, for the party that owed it, he mighthave more diseases than he knew for.Henry IV—2d, Act I., Sc. II.Others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the noseCannot contain their urine: for affection,Master of passion, sways it to the moodOf what it likes or loathes.Merchant of Venice, Act IV., Sc. I.Macd.What three things does drink especially provoke?Port.Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.Macbeth, Act II., Sc. II.When he makes water, his urine is congealed ice.Measure for Measure, Act III., Sc. II.

Host.Thou art a Castilian, king urinal!* * * Pardon, a word, monsieur, mock-water.Dr. Caius.Mock-vater! vat is dat?Merry Wives, Act II., Sc. III.

If thou could’st, doctor, castThe water of my land, find her disease,And purge it to a sound and pristine health,I would applaud thee to the very echo.Macbeth, Act V., Sc. III.

Carry his water to the wise woman.Twelfth Night, Act III., Sc. IV.

Falstaff.What says the doctor to my water?Page.He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthywater; but, for the party that owed it, he mighthave more diseases than he knew for.Henry IV—2d, Act I., Sc. II.

Others, when the bagpipe sings i’ the noseCannot contain their urine: for affection,Master of passion, sways it to the moodOf what it likes or loathes.Merchant of Venice, Act IV., Sc. I.

Macd.What three things does drink especially provoke?Port.Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.Macbeth, Act II., Sc. II.

When he makes water, his urine is congealed ice.Measure for Measure, Act III., Sc. II.

Fevers and other general diseases are often referred to and very many excellent allusions have been made to them.

He is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is mostlamentable to behold.Henry V., Act II., Sc. I.If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will helphis ague.Tempest, Act II., Sc. II.A lunatic lean-witted fool,Presuming on an ague’s privilege,Dar’st with thy frozen admonitionMake pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood,With fury, from his native residence.Richard II., Act II., Sc. I.But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,And chase the native beauty from his cheek,And he will look as hollow as a ghost,As dim and meagre as an ague’s fit,And so he’ll die.King John, Act III., Sc. IV.Here let them lie till famine and the ague eat them up.Macbeth, Act V., Sc. V.An untimely agueStay’d me a prisoner in my chamber.Henry VIII., Act I., Sc. I.My wind * * * would blow me to an ague.Merchant of Venice, Act I., Sc. I.He had a fever when he was in Spain,And, when the fit was on him, I did markHow he did shake; ’tis true, this god did shake:His coward lips did from their colour fly;And that same eye whose bend did awe the worldDid lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the RomansMark him, and write his speeches in their books,Alas!it cried,Give me some drink, Titinius,As a sick girl.Julius Cæsar, Act I., Sc. II.Home without boots, and in foul weather too!How ’scapes he agues?Henry IV., Act III., Sc. I.Danger, like an ague, subtly taintsEven then when we sit idly in the sun.Troilus and Cressida, Act III., Sc. III.All the infections that the sun sucks upFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make himBy inch-meal a disease!Tempest, Act II., Sc. II.It is not for your health thus to commitYour weak condition to the raw cold morning.Julius Cæsar, Act II., Sc. I.I asked the doctors after his disease—He died of the slow fever called the tertian,And left his widow to her own aversion.Byron—Don Juan, Canto I., Verse XXXIV.His feelings had not those strange fits, like tertiansOf common likings, which make some deploreWhat they should laugh at—the mere ague stillOf men’s regards, the fever or the chill.Byron—Don Juan, Canto XIII., Verse XVII.

He is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is mostlamentable to behold.Henry V., Act II., Sc. I.

If all the wine in my bottle will recover him, I will helphis ague.Tempest, Act II., Sc. II.

A lunatic lean-witted fool,Presuming on an ague’s privilege,Dar’st with thy frozen admonitionMake pale our cheek; chasing the royal blood,With fury, from his native residence.Richard II., Act II., Sc. I.

But now will canker sorrow eat my bud,And chase the native beauty from his cheek,And he will look as hollow as a ghost,As dim and meagre as an ague’s fit,And so he’ll die.King John, Act III., Sc. IV.

Here let them lie till famine and the ague eat them up.Macbeth, Act V., Sc. V.

An untimely agueStay’d me a prisoner in my chamber.Henry VIII., Act I., Sc. I.

My wind * * * would blow me to an ague.Merchant of Venice, Act I., Sc. I.

He had a fever when he was in Spain,And, when the fit was on him, I did markHow he did shake; ’tis true, this god did shake:His coward lips did from their colour fly;And that same eye whose bend did awe the worldDid lose his lustre: I did hear him groan:Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the RomansMark him, and write his speeches in their books,Alas!it cried,Give me some drink, Titinius,As a sick girl.Julius Cæsar, Act I., Sc. II.

Home without boots, and in foul weather too!How ’scapes he agues?Henry IV., Act III., Sc. I.

Danger, like an ague, subtly taintsEven then when we sit idly in the sun.Troilus and Cressida, Act III., Sc. III.

All the infections that the sun sucks upFrom bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make himBy inch-meal a disease!Tempest, Act II., Sc. II.

It is not for your health thus to commitYour weak condition to the raw cold morning.Julius Cæsar, Act II., Sc. I.

I asked the doctors after his disease—He died of the slow fever called the tertian,And left his widow to her own aversion.Byron—Don Juan, Canto I., Verse XXXIV.

His feelings had not those strange fits, like tertiansOf common likings, which make some deploreWhat they should laugh at—the mere ague stillOf men’s regards, the fever or the chill.Byron—Don Juan, Canto XIII., Verse XVII.

Plague has been alluded to frequently, but generally only the symptoms of carbuncles and the petechiæ are mentioned. As the latter only occur in very bad cases, they were called “God’s tokens,” and their appearance denoted a fatal termination of the disease. Hence the home of the patient was closed and “Lord have mercy on us” placed upon the door.

WriteLord have mercy on uson those three;They are infected, in their hearts it lies;They have the plague and caught it of your eyes.Love’s Labour’s Lost, Act V., Sc. II.He is so plaguy-proud, that the death tokens of it cry—No recovery.Troilus and Cressida, Act II., Sc. III.Enobarbus.How appears the fight?Scarus.On our side like the token’d pestilence,Where death is sureAntony and Cleopatra, Act III., Sc. X.Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,And occupations perish!Coriolanus, Act IV., Sc. I.The searchers of the town,Suspecting that we both were in a houseWhere the infectious pestilence did reign,Sealed up the doors and would not let us forth.Romeo and Juliet, Act V., Sc. II.Thou art a boil,A plague sore, an embossed carbuncle,In my corrupted blood.King Lear, Act II., Sc. IV.Boils and plaguesPlaster you o’er; that you may be abhorr’dFurther than seen, and one infect anotherAgainst the wind a mile!Coriolanus, Act I., Sc. IV.Men take diseases, one of another:Therefore, let men take heed of their company.Henry IV—2d, Act V., Sc. I.Being sick * * * * * *And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken’d joints,Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life.Henry IV—2d, Act I., Sc. I.We are all diseas’d; and

WriteLord have mercy on uson those three;They are infected, in their hearts it lies;They have the plague and caught it of your eyes.Love’s Labour’s Lost, Act V., Sc. II.

He is so plaguy-proud, that the death tokens of it cry—No recovery.Troilus and Cressida, Act II., Sc. III.

Enobarbus.How appears the fight?Scarus.On our side like the token’d pestilence,Where death is sureAntony and Cleopatra, Act III., Sc. X.

Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,And occupations perish!Coriolanus, Act IV., Sc. I.

The searchers of the town,Suspecting that we both were in a houseWhere the infectious pestilence did reign,Sealed up the doors and would not let us forth.Romeo and Juliet, Act V., Sc. II.

Thou art a boil,A plague sore, an embossed carbuncle,In my corrupted blood.King Lear, Act II., Sc. IV.

Boils and plaguesPlaster you o’er; that you may be abhorr’dFurther than seen, and one infect anotherAgainst the wind a mile!Coriolanus, Act I., Sc. IV.

Men take diseases, one of another:Therefore, let men take heed of their company.Henry IV—2d, Act V., Sc. I.

Being sick * * * * * *And as the wretch, whose fever-weaken’d joints,Like strengthless hinges, buckle under life.Henry IV—2d, Act I., Sc. I.

We are all diseas’d; and

Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,And we must bleed for it.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. I.This fever, that hath troubled me so long,Lies heavy on me. * * * *This tyrant fever burns me up,And will not let me welcome this good news.King John, Act V., Sc. III.What’s a fever but a fit of madness?Comedy of Errors, Act V., Sc. I.At this instant he is sick, my lord,Of a strange fever.Measure for Measure, Act V., Sc. I.My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse.Troilus and Cressida, Act III., Sc. II.Sickness is catching.Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act I., Sc. I.Thus saith the preacher: “Nought beneath the sun,Is new,” yet still from change to change we run:What varied wonders tempt us as they pass!The cow-pox, tractors, galvanism, and gas,In turns appear, to make the vulgar stare,Till the swoln bubble bursts—and all is air!Byron—Eng. Bards and Scotch Reviewers.Vaccination certainly has beenA kind antithesis to Congreve’s rockets,With which the Doctor paid off an old pox,By borrowing a new one from an ox.Byron—Don Juan, Canto I., Verse CXXIX.I don’t know how it was, but he grew sick;The empress was alarm’d, and her physician(The same who physick’d Peter), found the tickOf his fierce pulse betoken a conditionWhich augur’d of the dead, however quickItself, and show’d a feverish disposition;At which the whole court was extremely troubled,The sovereign shock’d, and all his medicines doubled.Low were the whispers, manifold the rumours:Some said he had been poison’d by Potemkin;Others talked learnedly of certain tumours,Exhaustion, or disorders of the same kin;Some said ’twas a concoction of the humours,With which the blood too readily will claim kin;Others again were ready to maintain,“’Twas only the fatigue of last campaign.”But here is one prescription out of many:“Sodæ-sulphat. 3. VI. 3. S. mannæ optim.Aq. fervent. F. 3. iss. 3. ij tinct, sennæHaustus,” (and here the surgeon came and cupp’d him),R. Pulv. com. gr iii. Ipecacuanhæ,(With more besides, if Juan had not stopp’d ’em).“Bolus potassæ sulphuret, sumendus,Et haustus ter in die capiendus.”This is the way physicians mend or end us,Secundum artem. * * * * *Byron—Don Juan, Canto X., Verse XXXIX.Rheumatic diseases do abound:And through this distemperature, we seeThe seasons alter.Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act II., Sc. I.This raw rheumatic day.Merry Wives, Act III., Sc. I.Is Brutus sick,—and is it physicalTo walk unbraced, and suck up humoursOf the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,And will he steal out of his wholesome bed,To dare the vile contagion of the night,And tempt the rheuma and unpurged airTo add unto his sickness?Julius Cæsar, Act II., Sc. I.Is this the poultice for my aching bones?Romeo and Juliet, Act II., Sc. V.A coming showeryour shooting corns presage,Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage.Swift.Yet am I betterThan one that’s sick o’ the gout, since he had ratherGroan so in perpetuity, than be cur’dBy the sure physician, death.Cymbeline, Act V., Sc. IV.A rich man that hath not the gout.As You Like It, Act III., Sc. II.His grace was rather painedWith some slight, light, hereditary twingesOf gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.Byron—Don Juan, Canto, XVI., Verse XXXIV.It is a hard, although a common case,To find our children running restive—theyIn whom our brightest days we would retrace,Our little selves reform’d in finer clay;Just as old age is creeping on apace,And clouds come o’er the sunset of our day,They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,But in good company—the gout and stone.Byron—Don Juan, Canto III., Verse LIX.Life’s thin thread ’s spun outBetween the gaping heir and gnawing gout.Byron—Don Juan, Canto XIII., Verse XL.Dear honest Ned is in the gout.Lies racked with pain, and you without:How patiently you hear him groan!How glad the case is not your own!

Have brought ourselves into a burning fever,And we must bleed for it.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. I.

This fever, that hath troubled me so long,Lies heavy on me. * * * *This tyrant fever burns me up,And will not let me welcome this good news.King John, Act V., Sc. III.

What’s a fever but a fit of madness?Comedy of Errors, Act V., Sc. I.

At this instant he is sick, my lord,Of a strange fever.Measure for Measure, Act V., Sc. I.

My heart beats thicker than a feverous pulse.Troilus and Cressida, Act III., Sc. II.

Sickness is catching.Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act I., Sc. I.

Thus saith the preacher: “Nought beneath the sun,Is new,” yet still from change to change we run:What varied wonders tempt us as they pass!The cow-pox, tractors, galvanism, and gas,In turns appear, to make the vulgar stare,Till the swoln bubble bursts—and all is air!Byron—Eng. Bards and Scotch Reviewers.

Vaccination certainly has beenA kind antithesis to Congreve’s rockets,With which the Doctor paid off an old pox,By borrowing a new one from an ox.Byron—Don Juan, Canto I., Verse CXXIX.

I don’t know how it was, but he grew sick;The empress was alarm’d, and her physician(The same who physick’d Peter), found the tickOf his fierce pulse betoken a conditionWhich augur’d of the dead, however quickItself, and show’d a feverish disposition;At which the whole court was extremely troubled,The sovereign shock’d, and all his medicines doubled.Low were the whispers, manifold the rumours:Some said he had been poison’d by Potemkin;Others talked learnedly of certain tumours,Exhaustion, or disorders of the same kin;Some said ’twas a concoction of the humours,With which the blood too readily will claim kin;Others again were ready to maintain,“’Twas only the fatigue of last campaign.”But here is one prescription out of many:“Sodæ-sulphat. 3. VI. 3. S. mannæ optim.Aq. fervent. F. 3. iss. 3. ij tinct, sennæHaustus,” (and here the surgeon came and cupp’d him),R. Pulv. com. gr iii. Ipecacuanhæ,(With more besides, if Juan had not stopp’d ’em).“Bolus potassæ sulphuret, sumendus,Et haustus ter in die capiendus.”This is the way physicians mend or end us,Secundum artem. * * * * *Byron—Don Juan, Canto X., Verse XXXIX.

Rheumatic diseases do abound:And through this distemperature, we seeThe seasons alter.Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act II., Sc. I.

This raw rheumatic day.Merry Wives, Act III., Sc. I.

Is Brutus sick,—and is it physicalTo walk unbraced, and suck up humoursOf the dank morning? What, is Brutus sick,And will he steal out of his wholesome bed,To dare the vile contagion of the night,And tempt the rheuma and unpurged airTo add unto his sickness?Julius Cæsar, Act II., Sc. I.

Is this the poultice for my aching bones?Romeo and Juliet, Act II., Sc. V.

A coming showeryour shooting corns presage,Old aches will throb, your hollow tooth will rage.Swift.

Yet am I betterThan one that’s sick o’ the gout, since he had ratherGroan so in perpetuity, than be cur’dBy the sure physician, death.Cymbeline, Act V., Sc. IV.

A rich man that hath not the gout.As You Like It, Act III., Sc. II.

His grace was rather painedWith some slight, light, hereditary twingesOf gout, which rusts aristocratic hinges.Byron—Don Juan, Canto, XVI., Verse XXXIV.

It is a hard, although a common case,To find our children running restive—theyIn whom our brightest days we would retrace,Our little selves reform’d in finer clay;Just as old age is creeping on apace,And clouds come o’er the sunset of our day,They kindly leave us, though not quite alone,But in good company—the gout and stone.Byron—Don Juan, Canto III., Verse LIX.

Life’s thin thread ’s spun outBetween the gaping heir and gnawing gout.Byron—Don Juan, Canto XIII., Verse XL.

Dear honest Ned is in the gout.Lies racked with pain, and you without:How patiently you hear him groan!How glad the case is not your own!

Yet should some neighbor feel a painJust in the parts where I complain,How many a message would he send!What hearty prayers that I should mend!Inquire what regimen I kept?What gave me ease, and how I slept?And more lament when I was dead,Than all my snivellers round my bed.Swift—“Death of Dr. Swift.”

Diseases of the absorbent system are well represented by scrofula, or “King’s evil,” as it was known in Shakespeare’s time. This disease, so called on account of the supposed power of cure being invested in the handling and prayers of the king, was first so treated by Edward the Confessor, in 1058, and by all the succeeding rulers until William III., who refused. Queen Anne resumed the practice, but King George I. put an end to it. During the twenty years following 1662 upwards of 100,000 persons were touched for the malady.

Malcolm.Comes the king forth I pray you?Doctor.Ay, sir; there are a crew of wretched soulsThat stay his cure; their malady convincesThe great assay of art; but, at his touch,Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand,They presently amend.Malcolm.I thank you, doctor.Macduff.What’s the disease he means?Malcolm.’Tis call’d the evilA most miraculous work in this good king:Which often, since my here-remain in England,I have seen him do. How he solicits heaven,Himself best knows: but strangely-visited people,All swoln and ulcerous, pitiful to the eye,The mere despair of surgery, he cures;Hanging a golden stamp about their necks,Put on with holy prayers; and ’tis spoken,To the succeeding royalty he leavesThe healing benediction.Macbeth, Act IV., Sc. III.

On the action of medicines he has given us abundant cause to think he was much better informed than the average man of his time.

Cleo.Give me to drink mandragoraChar.Why, madame?Cleo.That I might sleep out this great gap of time,My Antony is away.Antony and Cleopatra, Act I., Sc. V.Not poppy, nor mandragora,Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,Shall ever med’cine thee to that sweet sleepWhich thou ow’dst yesterday.Othello, Act III., Sc. III.Cupid’s cupWith the first draught intoxicates apace—A quintessential laudanum or “black drop”Which makes one drunk at once, without the baseExpedient of full bumpers.Byron—Don Juan, Canto IX,. Verse LXVII.——like an opiate which brings troubled rest,Or none,Byron—Don Juan, Canto XVI., Verse XThe drug he gave me, which, he said, was preciousAnd cordial to me, have I not found itMurderous to the senses?Cymbeline, Act IV., Sc. II.Have we eaten of the insane root,That takes the reason prisoner?Macbeth, Act I., Sc. III.

Cleo.Give me to drink mandragoraChar.Why, madame?Cleo.That I might sleep out this great gap of time,My Antony is away.Antony and Cleopatra, Act I., Sc. V.

Not poppy, nor mandragora,Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,Shall ever med’cine thee to that sweet sleepWhich thou ow’dst yesterday.Othello, Act III., Sc. III.

Cupid’s cupWith the first draught intoxicates apace—A quintessential laudanum or “black drop”Which makes one drunk at once, without the baseExpedient of full bumpers.Byron—Don Juan, Canto IX,. Verse LXVII.

——like an opiate which brings troubled rest,Or none,Byron—Don Juan, Canto XVI., Verse X

The drug he gave me, which, he said, was preciousAnd cordial to me, have I not found itMurderous to the senses?Cymbeline, Act IV., Sc. II.

Have we eaten of the insane root,That takes the reason prisoner?Macbeth, Act I., Sc. III.

Commentators think that Shakespeare found the name of this root in Bateman’s Commentary on Bartholemede Propriet Rerum: “Henbane (Hyoscyamus) is calledInsana, mad, for the use thereof is perillous; for if it be eate or drunke, it breedeth madnesse, or slow lykenesse of sleepe. Therefore this hearb is called commonly Mirilidium, for it taketh away wit and reason.”

Lib. XVII., Ch. 87.

Thy uncle stole,With juice of cursed hebenon in a vial,And in the porches of mine ears did pourThe leperous distilment; whose effectHolds such an enmity with blood of man,That, swift as quicksilver, it courses throughThe natural gates and alleys of the body;And with a sudden rigour, it doth possetAnd curd, like sour 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. V.

It would indeed be interesting to know the source of Shakespeare’s knowledge on the physiological action of this alkaloid of tobacco. Most true it is that he has selected an excellent drug for his purpose in taking up the crude oil—Nicotia nin (hebenon). Birds will fall dead as they approach it; one drop is sufficient to kill a dog; and man dies in from two to five minutes after taking a poisonous dose: but the drug produces death by thefailure of respiration, not by its direct action on the blood. “In nicotia-poisoning the blood is, however, not perceptibly affected. The amount of the alkaloid necessary to take life is exceedingly small, and although death by asphyxia causes the vital fluid to be everywhere dark, yet the microscope reveals only normal corpuscles. Moreover, Krocker has found that the dark blood rapidly assumes an arterial hue when shaken in the air, and that its spectrum is normal.” (H. C. Wood’s Toxicology, 1882, p. 370.) It is thought by many that Shakespeare did not intend “hebenon” to mean the alkaloid of tobacco, and very plausible arguments have been brought forward to show that he meant hebon or the juice of the yew. Dyer, in his chapter on plants, gives the following extract of a paper read by Rev. W. A. Harrison before the New Shakespeare Society in 1882: “It has been suggested that the poison intended by the Ghost in ‘Hamlet,’ (I-V.), when he speaks of the ‘juice of cursed hebenon,’ is that of the yew, and is the same as Marlowe’s ‘juice of hebon.’ (Jew of Malta, III-IV.) The yew is called hebon by Spenser and by other writers of Shakespeare’s age; and in its various forms of eben, eiben, hiben, etc., this tree is so named in no less than five different European languages. From medical authorities, both of ancient and modern times, it would seem that the juice of the yew is a rapidly fatal poison; next, that the symptoms attending upon yew-poisoning correspond, in a very remarkable manner, with those which follow the bites of poisonoussnakes; and, lastly, that no other poison but the yew produces the lazar-like ulcerations on the body, upon which Shakespeare, in this passage, lays so much stress.” From these arguments there seems to be every reason for believing that Shakespeare did mean the juice of the yew, and it is to be hoped that the continual harping on this subject, as an evidence of his medical ignorance, will soon cease.

Recovered again with aquavitæ, or some other hot infusion.Winter’s Tale, Act IV., Sc. III.I must needs wake you: * * * *Alas! my lady’s dead! * * * * ** * * * * some aquavitæ, ho!Romeo and Juliet, Act IV., Sc. V.The second property of your excellent sherris is—thewarming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, leftthe liver white and pale, * * * but the sherris warms it,and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. III.

Recovered again with aquavitæ, or some other hot infusion.Winter’s Tale, Act IV., Sc. III.

I must needs wake you: * * * *Alas! my lady’s dead! * * * * ** * * * * some aquavitæ, ho!Romeo and Juliet, Act IV., Sc. V.

The second property of your excellent sherris is—thewarming of the blood; which, before cold and settled, leftthe liver white and pale, * * * but the sherris warms it,and makes it course from the inwards to the parts extreme.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. III.

The rapidity with which aconite, in poisonous doses, acts, is forcibly shown in the comparison of it with gunpowder.

A hoop of gold to bind thy brothers in,That 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 strongAs aconitum, or rash gunpowder.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. IV.Let me haveA dram of poison; such soon-speeding gearAs will disperse itself through all the veins,That the life-weary taker may fall dead;And that the trunk may be discharg’d of breathAs violently, as hasty powder fir’dDoth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.Romeo and Juliet, Act V., Sc. I.

Let me haveA dram of poison; such soon-speeding gearAs will disperse itself through all the veins,That the life-weary taker may fall dead;And that the trunk may be discharg’d of breathAs violently, as hasty powder fir’dDoth hurry from the fatal cannon’s womb.Romeo and Juliet, Act V., Sc. I.

The curative properties of balm or balsam have been known and valued for ages past.

But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given meThe knife that made it.Troilus and Cressida, Act I., Sc. I.Is this the balsam that the usuring senatePours into captain’s wounds? Banishment!Timon of Athens, Act III., Sc. V.My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds.Henry VI.—3d, Act IV, Sc. III.

But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,Thou lay’st in every gash that love hath given meThe knife that made it.Troilus and Cressida, Act I., Sc. I.

Is this the balsam that the usuring senatePours into captain’s wounds? Banishment!Timon of Athens, Act III., Sc. V.

My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds.Henry VI.—3d, Act IV, Sc. III.

A solution of gold was supposed to possess great medical power; even the actual contact of the pure metal, according to their belief, kept the wearer ever in good health. Dyer quotes from John Wight’s translation of the “Secrets of Alexis,” in which is given a receipt “to dissolve and reducte golde into a potable licour which conserveth the youth and healthe of a man, and will heale every disease that is thought incurable in the space of seven daies at the furthest.” The term “grand liquor,” as it appears in Shakespeare, refers to this solution.

Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,(And dead almost, my liege, to think you were,)I spake unto the crown, as having sense,And thus upbraided it:The care on thee depending,Hath fed upon the body of my father;Therefore, thou, best of gold, art worst of gold;Other, less fine in carat, is more precious,Preserving life in med’cine potable.Henry IV—2d, Act IV., Sc. IV.Plutus himself,That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,Hath not in nature’s mystery more scienceThan I have in this ring.All’s Well, Act V., Sc. III.Find this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em.Tempest, Act V., Sc. I.We sicken to shun sickness when we purge.Sonnets, CXVIII.What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,Would scour these English hence?Macbeth, Act V., Sc. III.Let’s purge this choler without letting blood:This we prescribe, though no physician;

Plutus himself,That knows the tinct and multiplying medicine,Hath not in nature’s mystery more scienceThan I have in this ring.All’s Well, Act V., Sc. III.

Find this grand liquor that hath gilded ’em.Tempest, Act V., Sc. I.

We sicken to shun sickness when we purge.Sonnets, CXVIII.

What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug,Would scour these English hence?Macbeth, Act V., Sc. III.

Let’s purge this choler without letting blood:This we prescribe, though no physician;

Our doctors say, this is no month to bleed.Richard II., Act I., Sc. I.That gentle physic, given in time, had cur’d me;But now I am past all * * *Henry VIII., Act IV., Sc. II.’Tis time to give ’em physic, their diseasesAre grown so catching.Henry VIII., Act I., Sc. III.He brings his physicAfter his patient’s death.Henry VIII., Act III., Sc. II.I will not cast away my physic, but on those that are sick.As You Like It, Act III., Sc. II.To jump a body with a dangerous physicThat’s sure of death without it.Coriolanus, Act III., Sc. I.Doctors give physic by way of prevention.Swift.

Our doctors say, this is no month to bleed.Richard II., Act I., Sc. I.

That gentle physic, given in time, had cur’d me;But now I am past all * * *Henry VIII., Act IV., Sc. II.

’Tis time to give ’em physic, their diseasesAre grown so catching.Henry VIII., Act I., Sc. III.

He brings his physicAfter his patient’s death.Henry VIII., Act III., Sc. II.

I will not cast away my physic, but on those that are sick.As You Like It, Act III., Sc. II.

To jump a body with a dangerous physicThat’s sure of death without it.Coriolanus, Act III., Sc. I.

Doctors give physic by way of prevention.Swift.

The ignorant and superstitious were of the opinion that poisons could be prepared so that the effect could be produced at certain periods after their ingestion. They were also in error in the thought that poisons caused great swelling of the body.

She did confess she hadFor you a mortal mineral; which, being took,Should by the minute feed on life, and, lingering,By inches waste you.Cymbeline, Act V., Sc. V.All three of them are desperate: their great guilt,Like poison given to work a great time after,Now ’gins to bite the spirits.Tempest, Act III., Sc. III.Hubert.The king, I fear, is poison’d by a monk:I left him almost speechless. * * *Bastard.How did he take it? who did taste to him?Hubert.A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the kingYet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.King John, Act V., Sc. VI.You shall digest the venom of your spleen,Though it do split you!Julius Cæsar, Act IV., Sc. III.If they had swallow’d poison ’t would appearBy external swelling: but she looks like sleep.Antony and Cleopatra, Act V., Sc. II.K. John.There is so hot a summer in my bosom,That all my bowels crumble up to dust:I am a scribbled form, drawn with a penUpon a parchment; and against this fireDo I shrink up.P. Henry.How fares your majesty?K. John.Poison’d,—ill fare; dead, forsook, cast off:And none of you will bid the winter come,To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;Nor let my kingdom’s rivers take their courseThrough my burn’d bosom; nor entreat the northTo make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,And comfort me with cold: I do not ask you much,I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,And so ingrateful, you deny me that. * * *Within me is a hell; and there the poisonIs, as a fiend, confin’d to tyrannizeOn unreprievable condemned blood.King John, Act V., Sc. VII.Within the infant rind of this weak flowerPoison hath residence, and medicine power:For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.Romeo and Juliet, Act II., Sc. III.Like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards.Othello, Act II., Sc. I.I bought an unction of a mountebank,So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rareCollected from all simples that have virtueUnder the moon, can save the thing from deathThat is but scratch’d withal.Hamlet, Act IV., Sc. VII.

She did confess she hadFor you a mortal mineral; which, being took,Should by the minute feed on life, and, lingering,By inches waste you.Cymbeline, Act V., Sc. V.

All three of them are desperate: their great guilt,Like poison given to work a great time after,Now ’gins to bite the spirits.Tempest, Act III., Sc. III.

Hubert.The king, I fear, is poison’d by a monk:I left him almost speechless. * * *Bastard.How did he take it? who did taste to him?Hubert.A monk, I tell you; a resolved villain,Whose bowels suddenly burst out: the kingYet speaks, and, peradventure, may recover.King John, Act V., Sc. VI.

You shall digest the venom of your spleen,Though it do split you!Julius Cæsar, Act IV., Sc. III.

If they had swallow’d poison ’t would appearBy external swelling: but she looks like sleep.Antony and Cleopatra, Act V., Sc. II.

K. John.There is so hot a summer in my bosom,That all my bowels crumble up to dust:I am a scribbled form, drawn with a penUpon a parchment; and against this fireDo I shrink up.P. Henry.How fares your majesty?K. John.Poison’d,—ill fare; dead, forsook, cast off:And none of you will bid the winter come,To thrust his icy fingers in my maw;Nor let my kingdom’s rivers take their courseThrough my burn’d bosom; nor entreat the northTo make his bleak winds kiss my parched lips,And comfort me with cold: I do not ask you much,I beg cold comfort; and you are so strait,And so ingrateful, you deny me that. * * *Within me is a hell; and there the poisonIs, as a fiend, confin’d to tyrannizeOn unreprievable condemned blood.King John, Act V., Sc. VII.

Within the infant rind of this weak flowerPoison hath residence, and medicine power:For this, being smelt, with that part cheers each part;Being tasted, slays all senses with the heart.Romeo and Juliet, Act II., Sc. III.

Like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards.Othello, Act II., Sc. I.

I bought an unction of a mountebank,So mortal, that but dip a knife in it,Where it draws blood no cataplasm so rareCollected from all simples that have virtueUnder the moon, can save the thing from deathThat is but scratch’d withal.Hamlet, Act IV., Sc. VII.

A few miscellaneous quotations referring to medical subjects must here find a place.

The more one sickens the worse at ease he is.As You Like It, Act III., Sc. II.He fell sick suddenly, and grew so illHe could not sit his mule.Henry VIII., Act IV., Sc. II.——the sun is a most glorious sight,I’ve seen him rise full oft, indeed of lateI have set up on purpose all the night,Which hastens, as physicians say, one’s fate;And so all ye, who would be in the rightIn health and purse, begin your day to dateFrom day-break, and when coffin’d at fourscore,Engrave upon the plate you rose at four.Byron—Don Juan, Canto II., Verse CXL.So much was our love,We would not understand what was most fit;But, like the owner of a foul disease,To keep it from divulging, let it feedEven on the pith of life.Hamlet, Act IV., Sc. I.Diseases desperate grown,By desperate appliance are reliev’dOr not at all.Hamlet, Act IV., Sc. III.His dissolute disease will scarce obey this medicine.Merry Wives, Act III., Sc. III.O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes,In their continuance, will not feel themselves.Death, having prey’d upon the outward parts,Leaves them insensible.King John, Act V., Sc. VII.

The more one sickens the worse at ease he is.As You Like It, Act III., Sc. II.

He fell sick suddenly, and grew so illHe could not sit his mule.Henry VIII., Act IV., Sc. II.

——the sun is a most glorious sight,I’ve seen him rise full oft, indeed of lateI have set up on purpose all the night,Which hastens, as physicians say, one’s fate;And so all ye, who would be in the rightIn health and purse, begin your day to dateFrom day-break, and when coffin’d at fourscore,Engrave upon the plate you rose at four.Byron—Don Juan, Canto II., Verse CXL.

So much was our love,We would not understand what was most fit;But, like the owner of a foul disease,To keep it from divulging, let it feedEven on the pith of life.Hamlet, Act IV., Sc. I.

Diseases desperate grown,By desperate appliance are reliev’dOr not at all.Hamlet, Act IV., Sc. III.

His dissolute disease will scarce obey this medicine.Merry Wives, Act III., Sc. III.

O vanity of sickness! fierce extremes,In their continuance, will not feel themselves.Death, having prey’d upon the outward parts,Leaves them insensible.King John, Act V., Sc. VII.

What a catalogue have we here:

Now the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping, ruptures, catarrhs, loads o’ gravel i’ the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns i’ the palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries!

Troilus and Cressida, Act V., Sc. I.

As burning fevers, agues pale and faint,Life-poisoning pestilence, and frenzies wood,The marrow-eating sickness, whose attaintDisorder breeds by heating of the blood:Surfeits, imposthumes, grief and damn’d despair,Swear nature’s death for framing thee so fair.Venus and Adonis.

How nicely does he describe the decay of man, the second childhood, the wasting away of the organism:

The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank; and his big manly voiceTurning again towards childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,That ends this strange eventful history,Is second childishness, and mere oblivion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.As You Like It, Act. II., Sc. VII.

Again:

Do you set down your name in the scroll of youth, that are written down old with all the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye? a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing leg? an increasing belly? Is not your voice broken? your wind short? your chin double? your wit single? and every part of you blasted with antiquity; and will you yet call yourself young?Henry IV—2d, Act I., Sc. II.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; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.Hamlet, Act II., Sc. II.A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow. * * *Henry V., Act V., Sc. II.

Henry IV—2d, Act I., Sc. II.

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; and that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams.

Hamlet, Act II., Sc. II.

A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow. * * *

Henry V., Act V., Sc. II.

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