Folk-lore of Shakespeare Part 43

"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?"

[468] Quoted by Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 662.

Mr. Ellacombe[469] says the word "pippin" denoted an apple raised 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."

[469] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 16.

(_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 of _clo_-the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of _terra_-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.

[470] "Theatrum Botanic.u.m," 1640.

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 pa.s.sage 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 purpose _careway seeds_ are 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 wors.h.i.+p's house had been a lousie inn."

[471] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," pp. 17, 37.

[472] "Glossary," pp. 65, 66.

_Apricot._ This word, which is spelled by Shakespeare "apric.o.c.k," occurs in "Richard II." (iii. 4), where the gardener says:

"Go, bind thou up yond dangling apric.o.c.ks, Which, like unruly children, make their sire Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight."

And in "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" (iii. 1) t.i.tania gives directions:

"Be kind and courteous to this gentleman,

Feed him with apric.o.c.ks, and dewberries."

The spelling "apric.o.c.k"[473] is derived from the Latin _praec.o.x_, or _praecoquus_; and it was called "the precocious tree," because it flowered and fruited earlier than the peach. The term "apric.o.c.k" is still in use in Northamptons.h.i.+re.

[473] See "Notes and Queries," 2d series, bk. i. p. 420.

_Aspen._ According to a mediaeval 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 Superst.i.tion," says that this belief is coextensive with Christendom. The following verses,[474] after telling how other trees were pa.s.sed by in the choice of wood for the Cross, describe the hewing down of the aspen, and the dragging of it from the forest to Calvary:

"On the morrow stood she, trembling At the awful weight she bore, When the sun in midnight blackness Darkened on Judea's sh.o.r.e.

"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."

[474] See Henderson's "Folk-Lore of Northern Counties," 1879, pp. 151, 152.

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 wors.h.i.+p 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 "t.i.tus Andronicus" (ii. 4) Marcus exclaims:

"O, had the monster seen those lily hands Tremble, 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."

[475] Napier's "Folk-Lore of West of Scotland," 1879, p. 124.

_Bachelor's b.u.t.tons._ 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 a _double variety_ of ranunculus; according to others, the _Lychnis sylvestris_; and in some counties it is applied to the _Scabiosa succisa_.[476] According to Gerarde, this plant was so called from the similitude of its flowers "to the jagged cloathe b.u.t.tons, 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 b.u.t.tons; 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 Shrops.h.i.+re and Staffords.h.i.+re. The term "to wear bachelor's b.u.t.tons"

seems to have grown into a phrase for being unmarried.[477]

[476] Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," p. 13.

[477] Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 45.

_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 me The knife that made it."

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

"My pity hath been balm to heal their wounds."

[478] See "Richard III.," i. 2; "Timon of Athens," iii. 5.

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

"Is this the balsam, that the usuring senate Pours into captains' wounds? Banishment!"

Macbeth, too, in the well-known pa.s.sage 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 sea Can wash the balm from an anointed king."

[479] See "2 Henry IV.," iv. 5.

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 Caesar 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 the _Pistacia lentiscus_ and the _Balsamodendron Gileadense_, and now, as then, the name is not strictly confined to the produce of any one plant."