Chapter 8
"If not, resolve before we go That you and I must pull a crow."
[190] Miss Baker's "Northamptonshire Glossary," vol. ii. p. 161; Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. iii. p. 393.
The crow has been regarded as the emblem of darkness, which has not escaped the notice of Shakespeare, who, in "Pericles" (iv. introd.), speaking of the white dove, says:
"With the dove of Paphos might the crow Vie feathers white."[191]
[191] Cf. "Romeo and Juliet," i. 5.
_Cuckoo._ Many superstitions have clustered round the cuckoo, and both in this country and abroad it is looked upon as a mysterious bird, being supposed to possess the gift of second-sight, a notion referred to in "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2):
"Cuckoo, cuckoo:[192] O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear."
[192] "A cuckold being called from the cuckoo, the note of that bird was supposed to prognosticate that destiny."--Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 212.
And again, in "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" (iii. 1), Bottom sings:
"The plain-song cuckoo gray, Whose note full many a man doth mark, And dares not answer nay."
It is still a common idea that the cuckoo, if asked, will tell any one, by the repetition of its cries, how long he has to live. The country lasses in Sweden count the cuckoo's call to ascertain how many years they have to remain unmarried, but they generally shut their ears and run away on hearing it a few times.[193] Among the Germans the notes of the cuckoo, when heard in spring for the first time, are considered a good omen. Cæsarius (1222) tells us of a convertite who was about to become a monk, but changed his mind on hearing the cuckoo's call, and counting twenty-two repetitions of it. "Come," said he, "I have certainly twenty-two years still to live, and why should I mortify myself during all that time? I will go back to the world, enjoy its delights for twenty years, and devote the remaining two to penitence."[194] In England the peasantry salute the cuckoo with the following invocation:
"Cuckoo, cherry-tree, Good bird, tell me, How many years have I to live"--
the allusion to the cherry-tree having probably originated in the popular fancy that before the cuckoo ceases its song it must eat three good meals of cherries. Pliny mentions the belief that when the cuckoo came to maturity it devoured the bird which had reared it, a superstition several times alluded to by Shakespeare. Thus, in "King Lear" (i. 4), the Fool remarks:
"The hedge-sparrow fed the cuckoo so long, That it had its head bit off by its young."
[193] Engel's "Musical Myths and Facts," 1876, vol. i. p. 9.
[194] See Kelly's "Indo-European Folk-Lore," 1863, p. 99; "English Folk-Lore," 1879, pp. 55-62.
Again, in "1 Henry IV." (v. 1), Worcester says:
"And being fed by us you used us so As that ungentle gull, the cuckoo's bird, Useth the sparrow; did oppress our nest; Grew by our feeding to so great a bulk That even our love durst not come near your sight For fear of swallowing."
Once more, the opinion that the cuckoo made no nest of its own, but laid its eggs in that of another bird, is mentioned in "Antony and Cleopatra" (ii. 6):
"Thou dost o'er-count me of my father's house; But, since the cuckoo builds not for himself, Remain in't as thou may'st."
It has been remarked,[195] however, in reference to the common idea that the young cuckoo ill-treats its foster-mother, that if we watch the movements of the two birds, when the younger is being fed, we cannot much wonder at this piece of folk-lore. When the cuckoo opens its great mouth, the diminutive nurse places her own head so far within its precincts that it has the exact appearance of a voluntary surrender to decapitation.
[195] See Mary Howitt's "Pictorial Calendar of the Seasons," p. 155; Knight's "Pictorial Shakespeare," vol. i. pp. 225, 226.
The notion[196] "which couples the name of the cuckoo with the character of the man whose wife is unfaithful to him appears to have been derived from the Romans, and is first found in the Middle Ages in France, and in the countries of which the modern language is derived from the Latin. But the ancients more correctly gave the name of the bird, not to the husband of the faithless wife, but to her paramour, who might justly be supposed to be acting the part of the cuckoo. They applied the name of the bird in whose nest the cuckoo's eggs were usually deposited--'carruca'--to the husband. It is not quite clear how, in the passage from classic to mediæval, the application of the term was transferred to the husband." In further allusion to this bird, we may quote the following from "All's Well That Ends Well" (i. 3):
"For I the ballad will repeat, Which men full true shall find, Your marriage comes by destiny, Your cuckoo sings by kind."
[196] Chambers's "Book of Days," vol. i. p. 531.
The cuckoo has generally been regarded as the harbinger of spring, and, according to a Gloucester rhyme:
"The cuckoo comes in April, Sings a song in May; Then in June another tune, And then she flies away."
Thus, in "1 Henry IV." (iii. 2), the king, alluding to his predecessor, says:
"So, when he had occasion to be seen, He was but as the cuckoo is in June, Heard, not regarded."
In "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2) spring is maintained by the cuckoo, in those charming sonnets descriptive of the beauties of the country at this season.
The word cuckoo has, from the earliest times, been used as a term of reproach;[197] and Plautus[198] has introduced it on more than one occasion. In this sense we find it quoted by Shakespeare in "1 Henry IV." (ii. 4): "O' horseback, ye cuckoo." The term _cuckold_, too, which so frequently occurs throughout Shakespeare's plays, is generally derived from cuculus,[199] from the practice already alluded to of depositing its eggs in other birds' nests.
[197] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. ii. p. 201.
[198] "Asinaria," v. 1.
[199] Nares, in his "Glossary" (vol. i. p. 212), says: "Cuckold, perhaps, _quasi_ cuckoo'd, _i. e._, one served; _i. e._, forced to bring up a brood that is not his own."
_Domestic Fowl._ In "The Tempest" (v. 1), the word chick is used as a term of endearment: "My Ariel; chick," etc.; and in "Macbeth" (iv. 3) Macduff speaks of his children as "all my pretty chickens." In "Coriolanus" (v. 3), hen is applied to a woman: "poor hen, fond of no second brood;" and in "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1), Petruchio says: "so Kate will be my hen;" and, once more, "1 Henry IV." (iii. 3), Falstaff says, "How now, Dame Partlet the hen?" In "Othello" (i. 3) Iago applies the term "guinea-hen" to Desdemona, a cant phrase in Shakespeare's day for a fast woman.
_Dove._ Among the many beautiful allusions to this bird we may mention one in "Hamlet" (v. 1), where Shakespeare speaks of the dove only laying two eggs:[200]
"as patient as the female dove When that her golden couplets are disclosed."
[200] Singer's "Shakespeare," 1875, vol. ix. p. 294.
The young nestlings, when first disclosed, are only covered with a yellow down, and the mother rarely leaves the nest, in consequence of the tenderness of her young; hence the dove has been made an emblem of patience. In "2 Henry IV." (iv. 1), it is spoken of as the symbol of peace:
"The dove and very blessed spirit of peace."
Its love, too, is several times referred to, as in "Romeo and Juliet" (ii. 1), "Pronounce but--love and dove;" and in "1 Henry VI." (ii. 2), Burgundy says:
"Like to a pair of loving turtle-doves, That could not live asunder, day or night."
This bird has also been regarded as the emblem of fidelity, as in the following graphic passage in "Troilus and Cressida" (iii. 2):
"As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre;"
and in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4) we read:
"turtles pair, That never mean to part."
Its modesty is alluded to in the "Taming of the Shrew" (ii. 1): "modest as the dove;" and its innocence in "2 Henry VI." (iii. 1) is mentioned, where King Henry says:
"Our kinsman Gloster is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove: The duke is virtuous, mild and too well given To dream on evil, or to work my downfall."
The custom of giving a pair of doves or pigeons as a present or peace-offering is alluded to in "Titus Andronicus" (iv. 4), where the clown says, "God and Saint Stephen give you good den: I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here;" and when Gobbo tried to find favor with Bassanio, in "Merchant of Venice" (ii. 2), he began by saying, "I have here a dish of doves, that I would bestow upon your worship." Shakespeare alludes in several places to the "doves of Venus," as in "Venus and Adonis:"
"Thus weary of the world, away she [Venus] hies, And yokes her silver doves; by whose swift aid Their mistress, mounted, through the empty skies In her light chariot quickly is conveyed; Holding their course to Paphos, where their queen Means to immure herself and not be seen;"
and in "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" (i. 1), where Hermia speaks of "the simplicity of Venus' doves." This will also explain, says Mr. Harting,[201] the reference to "the dove of Paphos," in "Pericles" (iv. Introd.). The towns of Old and New Paphos are situated on the southwest extremity of the coast of Cyprus. Old Paphos is the one generally referred to by the poets, being the peculiar seat of the worship of Venus, who was fabled to have been wafted thither after her birth amid the waves. The "dove of Paphos" may therefore be considered as synonymous with the "dove of Venus."
[201] "Ornithology of Shakespeare," pp. 190, 191.
Mahomet, we are told, had a dove, which he used to feed with wheat out of his ear; when hungry, the dove lighted on his shoulder, and thrust its bill in to find its breakfast, Mahomet persuading the rude and simple Arabians that it was the Holy Ghost, that gave him advice.[202] Hence, in "1 Henry VI." (i. 2), the question is asked:
"Was Mahomet inspired with a dove?"
[202] Sir W. Raleigh's "History of the World," bk. i. pt. i. ch. 6.
_Duck._ A barbarous pastime in Shakespeare's time was hunting a tame duck in the water with spaniels. For the performance of this amusement[203] it was necessary to have recourse to a pond of water sufficiently extensive to give the duck plenty of room for making its escape from the dogs when closely pursued, which it did by diving as often as any of them came near it, hence the following allusion in "Henry V." (ii. 3):
"And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck."[204]
[203] Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes," 1876, p. 329.
[204] There is an allusion to the proverbial saying, "Brag is a good dog, but Hold-fast is a better."
"To swim like a duck" is a common proverb, which occurs in "The Tempest" (ii. 2), where Trinculo, in reply to Stephano's question how he escaped, says: "Swam ashore, man, like a duck; I can swim like a duck, I'll be sworn."
_Eagle._ From the earliest time this bird has been associated with numerous popular fancies and superstitions, many of which have not escaped the notice of Shakespeare. A notion of very great antiquity attributes to it the power of gazing at the sun undazzled, to which Spenser, in his "Hymn of Heavenly Beauty" refers:
"And like the native brood of eagle's kind, On that bright sun of glory fix thine eyes."
In "Love's Labour's Lost" (iv. 3) Biron says of Rosaline:
"What peremptory eagle-sighted eye Dares look upon the heaven of her brow, That is not blinded by her majesty?"[205]
[205] In the same scene we are told,
"A lover's eyes will gaze an eagle blind."
Cf. "Romeo and Juliet," iii. 5; "Richard II.," iii. 3.
And in "3 Henry VI." (ii. 1) Richard says to his brother Edward:
"Nay, if thou be that princely eagle's bird, Show thy descent by gazing 'gainst the sun."
The French naturalist, Lacepede,[206] has calculated that the clearness of vision in birds is nine times more extensive than that of the farthest-sighted man. The eagle, too, has always been proverbial for its great power of flight, and on this account has had assigned to it the sovereignty of the feathered race. Aristotle and Pliny both record the legend of the wren disputing for the crown, a tradition which is still found in Ireland:[207] "The birds all met together one day, and settled among themselves that whichever of them could fly highest was to be the king of them all. Well, just as they were starting, the little rogue of a wren perched itself on the eagle's tail. So they flew and flew ever so high, till the eagle was miles above all the rest, and could not fly another stroke, for he was so tired. Then says he, 'I'm the king of the birds,' says he; 'hurroo!' 'You lie,' says the wren, darting up a perch and a half above the big fellow. The eagle was so angry to think how he was outwitted by the wren, that when the latter was coming down he gave him a stroke of his wing, and from that day the wren has never been able to fly higher than a hawthorn bush." The swiftness of the eagle's flight is spoken of in "Timon of Athens," (i. 1):
"an eagle flight, bold, and forth on, Leaving no tract behind."[208]
[206] Quoted by Harting, in "Ornithology of Shakespeare," p. 24.
[207] Kelly's "Indo-European Folk-Lore," pp. 75, 79.
[208] Cf. "Antony and Cleopatra," ii. 2: "This was but as a fly by an eagle."
The great age, too, of the eagle is well known; and the words of the Psalmist are familiar to most readers:
"His youth shall be renewed like the eagle's."
Apemantus, however, asks of Timon ("Timon of Athens," iv. 3):
"will these moss'd trees, That have outlived the eagle, page thy heels, And skip when thou point'st out?"
Turbervile, in his "Booke of Falconrie," 1575, says that the great age of this bird has been ascertained from the circumstance of its always building its eyrie or nest in the same place. The Romans considered the eagle a bird of good omen, and its presence in time of battle was supposed to foretell victory. Thus, in "Julius Cæsar" (v. 1) we read:
"Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign Two mighty eagles fell; and there they perch'd, Gorging and feeding from our soldiers' hands."
It was selected for the Roman legionary standard,[209] through being the king and most powerful of all birds. As a bird of good omen it is mentioned also in "Cymbeline" (i. 1):
"I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock;"
and in another scene (iv. 2) the Soothsayer relates how
"Last night the very gods show'd me a vision, ... thus:-- I saw Jove's bird, the Roman eagle, wing'd From the spungy south to this part of the west, There vanish'd in the sunbeams: which portends (Unless my sins abuse my divination), Success to the Roman host."
[209] Josephus, "De Bello Judico," iii. 5.
The conscious superiority[210] of the eagle is depicted by Tamora in "Titus Andronicus" (iv. 4):
"The eagle suffers little birds to sing, And is not careful what they mean thereby, Knowing that with the shadow of his wing, He can at pleasure stint their melody."
[210] Harting's "Ornithology of Shakespeare," p. 33.
_Goose._ This bird was the subject[211] of many quaint proverbial phrases often used in the old popular writers. Thus, a _tailor's goose_ was a jocular name for his pressing-iron, probably from its being often roasting before the fire, an allusion to which occurs in "Macbeth" (ii. 3): "come in, tailor; here you may roast your goose." The "wild-goose chase," which is mentioned in "Romeo and Juliet" (ii. 4)--"Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done"--was a kind of horse-race, which resembled the flight of wild geese. Two horses were started together, and whichever rider could get the lead, the other was obliged to follow him over whatever ground the foremost jockey chose to go. That horse which could distance the other won the race. This reckless sport is mentioned by Burton, in his "Anatomy of Melancholy," as a recreation much in vogue in his time among gentlemen. The term "Winchester goose" was a cant phrase for a certain venereal disease, because the stews in Southwark were under the jurisdiction of the Bishop of Winchester, to whom Gloster tauntingly applies the term in the following passage ("1 Henry VI.," i. 3):
"Winchester goose! I cry--a rope! a rope!"
[211] Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 378.
In "Troilus and Cressida" (v. 10) there is a further allusion:
"Some galled goose of Winchester would hiss."
Ben Jonson[212] calls it:
"the Winchestrian goose, Bred on the banke in time of Popery, When Venus there maintain'd the mystery."
[212] "Execration against Vulcan," 1640, p. 37.
"Plucking geese" was formerly a barbarous sport of boys ("Merry Wives of Windsor," v. 1), which consisted in stripping a living goose of its feathers.[213]
[213] Singer's "Notes," 1875, vol. i. p. 283.
In "Coriolanus" (i. 4), the goose is spoken of as the emblem of cowardice. Marcius says:
"You souls of geese, That bear the shapes of men, how have you run From slaves that apes would beat!"
_Goldfinch._ The Warwickshire name[214] for this bird is "Proud Tailor," to which, some commentators think, the words in "1 Henry IV." (iii. 1) refer:
"_Lady P._ I will not sing.
_Hotsp._ 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red-breast teacher."
[214] See "Archæologia," vol. iii. p. 33.
It has, therefore, been suggested that the passage should be read thus: "'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or red-breast teacher," _i. e._, "to turn teacher of goldfinches or redbreasts."[215] Singer,[216] however, explains the words thus: "Tailors, like weavers, have ever been remarkable for their vocal skill. Percy is jocular in his mode of persuading his wife to sing; and this is a humorous turn which he gives to his argument, 'Come, sing.' 'I will not sing.' ''Tis the next [_i. e._, the readiest, nearest] way to turn tailor, or redbreast teacher'--the meaning being, to sing is to put yourself upon a level with tailors and teachers of birds."
[215] Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 693. Some think that the bullfinch is meant.
[216] Singer's "Notes," 1875, vol. v. p. 82; see Dyce's "Glossary," p. 433.
_Gull._ Shakespeare often uses this word as synonymous with fool. Thus in "Henry V." (iii. 6) he says:
"Why, 'tis a gull, a fool."
The same play upon the word occurs in "Othello" (v. 2), and in "Timon of Athens" (ii. 1). In "Twelfth Night" (v. 1) Malvolio asks:
"Why have you suffer'd me to be imprison'd, Kept in a dark house, visited by the priest, And made the most notorious geck and gull That e'er invention played on? tell me why."
It is also used to express a trick or imposition, as in "Much Ado About Nothing" (ii. 3): "I should think this a gull, but that the white-bearded fellow speaks it."[217] "Gull-catchers," or "gull-gropers," to which reference is made in "Twelfth Night" (ii. 5), where Fabian, on the entry of Maria, exclaims: "Here comes my noble gull-catcher," were the names by which sharpers[218] were known in Shakespeare's time.[219] The "gull-catcher" was generally an old usurer, who lent money to a gallant at an ordinary, who had been unfortunate in play.[220] Decker devotes a chapter to this character in his "Lanthorne and Candle-light," 1612. According to him, "the gull-groper is commonly an old mony-monger, who having travailed through all the follyes of the world in his youth, knowes them well, and shunnes them in his age, his whole felicitie being to fill his bags with golde and silver." The person so duped was termed a gull, and the trick also. In that disputed passage in "The Tempest" (ii. 2), where Caliban, addressing Trinculo, says:
"sometimes I'll get thee Young scamels from the rock."
some think that the sea-mew, or sea-gull, is intended,[221] sea-mall, or sea-mell, being still a provincial name for this bird. Mr. Stevenson, in his "Birds of Norfolk" (vol. ii. p. 260), tells us that "the female bar-tailed godwit is called a 'scammell' by the gunners of Blakeney. But as this bird is not a rock-breeder,[222] it cannot be the one intended in the present passage, if we regard it as an accurate description from a naturalist's point of view." Holt says that "scam" is a limpet, and scamell probably a diminutive. Mr. Dyce[223] reads "scamels," _i. e._, the kestrel, stannel, or windhover, which breeds in rocky situations and high cliffs on our coasts. He also further observes that this accords well with the context "from the rock," and adds that staniel or stannyel occurs in "Twelfth Night" (ii. 5), where all the old editions exhibit the gross misprint "stallion."
[217] Some doubt exists as to the derivation of _gull_. Nares says it is from the old French _guiller_. Tooke holds that gull, guile, wile, and guilt are all from the Anglo-Saxon "wiglian, gewiglian," that by which any one is deceived. Harting's "Ornithology of Shakespeare," p. 267.
[218] See D'Israeli's "Curiosities of Literature," vol. iii. p. 84.
[219] See Thornbury's "Shakespeare's England," vol. i. pp. 311-322.
[220] Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 394.
[221] Harting's "Ornithology of Shakespeare," p. 269.
[222] Aldis Wright's "Notes to 'The Tempest'," 1875, pp. 120, 121.
[223] See Dyce's "Shakespeare," vol. i. p. 245.
_Hawk._ The diversion of catching game with hawks was very popular in Shakespeare's time,[224] and hence, as might be expected, we find many scattered allusions to it throughout his plays. The training of a hawk for the field was an essential part of the education of a young Saxon nobleman; and the present of a well-trained hawk was a gift to be welcomed by a king. Edward the Confessor spent much of his leisure time in either hunting or hawking; and in the reign of Edward III. we read how the Bishop of Ely attended the service of the church at Bermondsey, Southwark, leaving his hawk in the cloister, which in the meantime was stolen--the bishop solemnly excommunicating the thieves. On one occasion Henry VIII. met with a serious accident when pursuing his hawk at Hitchin, in Hertfordshire. In jumping over a ditch his pole broke, and he fell headlong into the muddy water, whence he was with some difficulty rescued by one of his followers. Sir Thomas More, writing in the reign of Henry VIII., describing the state of manhood, makes a young man say:
"Man-hod I am, therefore I me delyght To hunt and hawke, to nourish up and fede The greyhounde to the course, the hawke to th' flight, And to bestryde a good and lusty stede."
[224] See Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes," 1876, pp. 60-97, and "Book of Days," 1863, vol. ii. pp. 211-213; Smith's "Festivals, Games, and Amusements," 1831, p. 174.
In noticing, then, Shakespeare's allusions to this sport, we have a good insight into its various features, and also gain a knowledge of the several terms associated with it. Thus frequent mention is made of the word "haggard"--a wild, untrained hawk--and in the following allegory ("Taming of the Shrew," iv. 1), where it occurs, much of the knowledge of falconry is comprised:
"My falcon now is sharp, and passing empty; And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged,[225] For then she never looks upon her lure. Another way I have to man my haggard, To make her come, and know her keeper's call; That is, to watch her, as we watch these kites That bate, and beat, and will not be obedient. She eat no meat to-day, nor none shall eat; Last night she slept not, nor to-night she shall not."[226]
[225] "A hawk full-fed was untractable, and refused the lure--the lure being a thing stuffed to look like the game the hawk was to pursue; its lure was to tempt him back after he had flown."
[226] In the same play (iv. 2) Hortensio describes Bianca as "this proud disdainful haggard." See Dyce's "Glossary," p. 197; Cotgrave's "French and English Dictionary," sub. "Hagard;" and Latham's "Falconry," etc., 1658.
Further allusions occur in "Twelfth Night" (iii. 1), where Viola says of the Clown:
"This fellow is wise enough to play the fool; And to do that well craves a kind of wit: He must observe their mood on whom he jests, The quality of persons, and the time; And, like the haggard, check at every feather That comes before his eye."
In "Much Ado About Nothing" (iii. 1), Hero, speaking of Beatrice, says that:
"her spirits are as coy and wild As haggards of the rock."
And Othello (iii. 3), mistrusting Desdemona, and likening her to a hawk, exclaims:
"if I do prove her haggard,-- I'd whistle her off."[227]
[227] "To whistle off," or dismiss by a whistle; a hawk seems to have been usually sent off in this way against the wind when sent in pursuit of prey.
The word "check" alluded to above was a term in falconry applied to a hawk when she forsook her proper game and followed some other of inferior kind that crossed her in her flight[228]--being mentioned again in "Hamlet" (iv. 7), where the king says:
"If he be now return'd As checking at his voyage."[229]
[228] Dyce's "Glossary," p. 77; see "Twelfth Night," ii. 5.
[229] The use of the word is not quite the same here, because the voyage was Hamlet's "proper game," which he abandons. "Notes to Hamlet," Clark and Wright, 1876, p. 205.
Another common expression used in falconry is "tower," applied to certain hawks, etc., which tower aloft, soar spirally to a height in the air, and thence swoop upon their prey. In "Macbeth" (ii. 4) we read of
"A falcon, towering in her pride of place;"
in "2 Henry VI." (ii. 1) Suffolk says,
"My lord protector's hawks do tower so well;"
and in "King John" (v. 2) the Bastard says,
"And like an eagle o'er his aery[230] towers."
[230] See Dyce's "Glossary," p. 456; Harting's "Ornithology of Shakespeare," p. 39; Tuberville's "Booke of Falconrie," 1611, p. 53.
The word "quarry," which occurs several times in Shakespeare's plays, in some instances means the "game or prey sought." The etymology has, says Nares, been variously attempted, but with little success. It may, perhaps, originally have meant the square, or enclosure (_carrée_), into which the game was driven (as is still practised in other countries), and hence the application of it to the game there caught would be a natural extension of the term. Randle Holme, in his "Academy of Armory" (book ii. c. xi. p. 240), defines it as "the fowl which the hawk flyeth at, whether dead or alive." It was also equivalent to a heap of slaughtered game, as in the following passages. In "Coriolanus" (i. 1), Caius Marcius says:
"I'd make a quarry With thousands of these quarter'd slaves."
In "Macbeth" (iv. 3)[231] we read "the quarry of these murder'd deer;" and in "Hamlet" (v. 2), "This quarry cries on havock."
[231] Also in i. 2 we read:
"And fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling, Show'd like a rebel's whore."
Some read "quarry;" see "Notes to Macbeth." Clark and Wright, p. 77. It denotes the square-headed bolt of a cross-bow; see Douce's "Illustrations," 1839, p. 227; Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 206.
Another term in falconry is "stoop," or "swoop," denoting the hawk's violent descent from a height upon its prey. In "Taming of the Shrew" (iv. 1) the expression occurs, "till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged." In "Henry V." (iv. 1), King Henry, speaking of the king, says, "though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing." In "Macbeth" (iv. 3), too, Macduff, referring to the cruel murder of his children, exclaims, "What! ... at one fell swoop?"[232] Webster, in the "White Devil,"[233] says:
"If she [_i. e._, Fortune] give aught, she deals it in small parcels, That she may take away all at one swoop."
[232] See Spenser's "Fairy Queen," book i. canto xi. l. 18:
"Low stooping with unwieldy sway."
[233] Ed. Dyce, 1857, p. 5.
Shakespeare gives many incidental allusions to the hawk's trappings. Thus, in "Lucrece" he says:
"Harmless Lucretia, marking what he tells With trembling fear, as fowl hear falcon's bells."
And in "As You Like It" (iii. 3),[234] Touchstone says, "As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires." The object of these bells was to lead the falconer to the hawk when in a wood or out of sight. In Heywood's play entitled "A Woman Killed with Kindness," 1617, is a hawking scene, containing a striking allusion to the hawk's bells. The dress of the hawk consisted of a close-fitting hood of leather or velvet, enriched with needlework, and surmounted with a tuft of colored feathers, for use as well as ornament, inasmuch as they assisted the hand in removing the hood when the birds for the hawk's attack came in sight. Thus in "Henry V." (iii. 7), the Constable of France, referring to the valor of the Dauphin, says, "'Tis a hooded valour; and when it appears, it will bate."[235] And again, in "Romeo and Juliet" (iii. 2), Juliet says:
"Hood my unmann'd[236] blood, bating in my cheeks."
[234] See "3 Henry VI." i. 1.
[235] A quibble is perhaps intended between bate, the term of falconry, and abate, _i. e._, fall off, dwindle. "Bate is a term in falconry, to flutter the wings as preparing for flight, particularly at the sight of prey." In '1 Henry IV.' (iv. 1):
"'All plumed like estridges, that with the wind Bated, like eagles having lately bathed.'"
--Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 60.
[236] "Unmann'd" was applied to a hawk not tamed.
The "jesses" were two short straps of leather or silk, which were fastened to each leg of a hawk, to which was attached a swivel, from which depended the leash or strap which the falconer[237] twisted round his hand. Othello (iii. 3) says:
"Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings."
[237] See Singer's "Notes to Shakespeare," 1875, vol. x. p. 86; Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 448.
We find several allusions to the training of hawks.[238] They were usually trained by being kept from sleep, it having been customary for the falconers to sit up by turns and "watch" the hawk, and keep it from sleeping, sometimes for three successive nights. Desdemona, in "Othello" (iii. 3), says:
"my lord shall never rest; I'll watch him tame and talk him out of patience; His bed shall seem a school, his board a shrift; I'll intermingle everything he does With Cassio's suit."
[238] See passage in "Taming of the Shrew," iv. 1, already referred to, p. 122.
So, in Cartwright's "Lady Errant" (ii. 2):
"We'll keep you as they do hawks, Watching until you leave your wildness."
In "The Merry Wives of Windsor" (v. 5), where Page says,
"Nay, do not fly: I think we have watch'd you now,"
the allusion is, says Staunton, to this method employed to tame or "reclaim" hawks.
Again, in "Othello" (iii. 3),[239] Iago exclaims:
"She that, so young, could give out such a seeming, To seel her father's eyes up close as oak;"
in allusion to the practice of seeling a hawk, or sewing up her eyelids, by running a fine thread through them, in order to make her tractable and endure the hood of which we have already spoken.[240] King Henry ("2 Henry IV." iii. 1), in his soliloquy on sleep, says:
"Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge."
[239] Also in same play, i. 3.
[240] Turbervile, in his "Booke of Falconrie," 1575, gives some curious directions as "how to seele a hawke;" we may compare similar expressions in "Antony and Cleopatra," iii. 13; v. 2.
In Spenser's "Fairy Queen" (I. vii. 23), we read:
"Mine eyes no more on vanity shall feed, But sealed up with death, shall have their deadly meed."
It was a common notion that if a dove was let loose with its eyes so closed it would fly straight upwards, continuing to mount till it fell down through mere exhaustion.[241]
[241] Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. pp. 777, 778; cf. Beaumont and Fletcher, "Philaster," v. 1.
In "Cymbeline" (iii. 4), Imogen, referring to Posthumus, says:
"I grieve myself To think, when thou shalt be disedged by her That now thou tir'st on,"--
this passage containing two metaphorical expressions from falconry. A bird was said to be _disedged_ when the keenness of its appetite was taken away by _tiring_, or feeding upon some tough or hard substance given to it for that purpose. In "3 Henry VI." (i. 1), the king says:
"that hateful duke, Whose haughty spirit, winged with desire, Will cost my crown, and like an empty eagle Tire on the flesh of me and of my son."
In "Timon of Athens" (iii. 6), one of the lords says: "Upon that were my thoughts tiring, when we encountered."
In "Venus and Adonis," too, we find a further allusion:
"Even as an empty eagle, sharp by fast, Tires with her beak on feathers, flesh, and bone," etc.
Among other allusions to the hawk may be mentioned one in "Measure for Measure" (iii. 1):
"This outward-sainted deputy, Whose settled visage and deliberate word Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth _emmew_, As falcon doth the fowl"
--the word "emmew" signifying the place where hawks were shut up during the time they moulted. In "Romeo and Juliet" (iii. 4), Lady Capulet says of Juliet:
"To-night she's mew'd up to her heaviness;"
and in "Taming of the Shrew" (i. 1), Gremio, speaking of Bianca to Signor Baptista, says: "Why will you mew her?"
When the wing or tail feathers of a hawk were dropped, forced out, or broken, by any accident, it was usual to supply or repair as many as were deficient or damaged, an operation called "to imp[242] a hawk." Thus, in "Richard II." (ii. 1), Northumberland says:
"If, then, we shall shake off our slavish yoke, Imp out our drooping country's broken wing."
[242] Imp, from Anglo-Saxon, _impan_, to graft. Turbervile has a whole chapter on "The way and manner how to ympe a hawke's feather, howsoever it be broken or bruised."
So Massinger, in his "Renegado" (v. 8), makes Asambeg say:
"strive to imp New feathers to the broken wings of time."
Hawking was sometimes called birding.[243] In the "Merry Wives of Windsor" (iii. 3) Master Page says: "I do invite you to-morrow morning to my house to breakfast; after, we'll a-birding together, I have a fine hawk for the bush." In the same play (iii. 5) Dame Quickly, speaking of Mistress Ford, says: "Her husband goes this morning a-birding;" and Mistress Ford says (iv. 2): "He's a-birding, sweet Sir John." The word hawk, says Mr. Harting, is invariably used by Shakespeare in its generic sense; and in only two instances does he allude to a particular species. These are the kestrel and sparrow-hawk. In "Twelfth Night" (ii. 5) Sir Toby Belch, speaking of Malvolio, as he finds the letter which Maria has purposely dropped in his path, says:
"And with what wing the staniel[244] checks at it"
--staniel being a corruption of stangdall, a name for the kestrel hawk.[245] "Gouts" is the technical term for the spots on some parts of the plumage of a hawk, and perhaps Shakespeare uses the word in allusion to a phrase in heraldry. Macbeth (ii. 1), speaking of the dagger, says:
"I see thee still, And on thy blade and dudgeon gouts of blood."
[243] Harting's "Ornithology of Shakspeare," p. 72.
[244] The reading of the folios here is stallion; but the word wing, and the falconer's term _checks_, prove that the bird must be meant. See Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 832.
[245] See kestrel and sparrow-hawk.
_Heron._ This bird was frequently flown at by falconers. Shakespeare, in "Hamlet" (ii. 2), makes Hamlet say, "I am but mad north-north-west; when the wind is southerly, I know a hawk from a handsaw;" handsaw being a corruption of "heronshaw," or "hernsew," which is still used, in the provincial dialects, for a heron. In Suffolk and Norfolk it is pronounced "harnsa," from which to "handsaw" is but a single step.[246] Shakespeare here alludes to a proverbial saying, "He knows not a hawk from a handsaw."[247] Mr. J. C. Heath[248] explains the passage thus: "The expression obviously refers to the sport of hawking. Most birds, especially one of heavy flight like the heron, when roused by the falconer or his dog, would fly down or with the wind, in order to escape. When the wind is from the north the heron flies towards the south, and the spectator may be dazzled by the sun, and be unable to distinguish the hawk from the heron. On the other hand, when the wind is southerly the heron flies towards the north, and it and the pursuing hawk are clearly seen by the sportsman, who then has his back to the sun, and without difficulty knows the hawk from the hernsew."
[246] "Notes to Hamlet," Clark and Wright, 1876, p. 159.
[247] Ray's "Proverbs," 1768, p. 196.
[248] Quoted in "Notes to Hamlet," by Clark and Wright, p. 159; see Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 416.
_Jay._ From its gay and gaudy plumage this bird has been used for a loose woman, as "Merry Wives of Windsor" (iii. 3): "we'll teach him to know turtles from jays," _i. e._, to distinguish honest women from loose ones. Again, in "Cymbeline" (iii. 4), Imogen says:
"Some jay of Italy, Whose mother was her painting,[249] hath betray'd him."
[249] That is, made by art: the creature not of nature, but of painting; cf. "Taming of the Shrew," iv. 3; "The Tempest," ii. 2.
_Kestrel._ A hawk of a base, unserviceable breed,[250] and therefore used by Spenser, in his "Fairy Queen" (II. iii. 4), to signify base:
"Ne thought of honour ever did assay His baser breast, but in his kestrell kynd A pleasant veine of glory he did fynd."
[250] Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 482.
By some[251] it is derived from "coystril," a knave or peasant, from being the hawk formerly used by persons of inferior rank. Thus, in "Twelfth Night" (i. 3), we find "coystrill," and in "Pericles" (iv. 6) "coystrel." The name kestrel, says Singer,[252] for an inferior kind of hawk, was evidently a corruption of the French _quercelle_ or _quercerelle_, and originally had no connection with coystril, though in later times they may have been confounded. Holinshed[253] classes coisterels with lackeys and women, the unwarlike attendants on an army. The term was also given as a nickname to the emissaries employed by the kings of England in their French wars. Dyce[254] also considers kestrel distinct from coistrel.
[251] Harting's "Ornithology of Shakespeare," p. 74.
[252] "Notes," vol. iii. pp. 357, 358.
[253] "Description of England," vol. i. p. 162.
[254] "Glossary to Shakespeare," p. 88.
_Kingfisher._ It was a common belief in days gone by that during the days the halcyon or kingfisher was engaged in hatching her eggs, the sea remained so calm that the sailor might venture upon it without incurring risk of storm or tempest; hence this period was called by Pliny and Aristotle "the halcyon days," to which allusion is made in "1 Henry VI." (i. 2):
"Expect Saint Martin's summer, halcyon days."
Dryden also refers to this notion:
"Amidst our arms as quiet you shall be, As halcyons brooding on a winter's sea."
Another superstition connected with this bird occurs in "King Lear" (ii. 2), where the Earl of Kent says:
"turn their halcyon beaks With every gale and vary of their masters;"
the prevalent idea being that a dead kingfisher, suspended from a cord, would always turn its beak in that direction from whence the wind blew. Marlowe, in his "Jew of Malta" (i. 1), says:
"But now how stands the wind? Into what corner peers my halcyon's bill?"
Occasionally one may still see this bird hung up in cottages, a remnant, no doubt, of this old superstition.[255]
[255] Sir Thomas Browne's "Vulgar Errors," bk. iii. chap. 10.
_Kite._ This bird was considered by the ancients to be unlucky. In "Julius Cæsar" (v. 1) Cassius says:
"ravens, crows, and kites, Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us."
In "Cymbeline" (i. 2), too, Imogen says,
"I chose an eagle, And did avoid a puttock,"
puttock, here, being a synonym sometimes applied to the kite.[256] Formerly the kite became a term of reproach from its ignoble habits. Thus, in "Antony and Cleopatra" (iii. 13), Antony exclaims, "you kite!" and King Lear (i. 4) says to Goneril, "Detested kite! thou liest." Its intractable disposition is alluded to in "Taming of the Shrew," by Petruchio (iv. 1). A curious peculiarity of this bird is noticed in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 3), where Autolycus says: "My traffic is sheets; when the kite builds, look to lesser linen"--meaning that his practice was to steal sheets; leaving the smaller linen to be carried away by the kites, who will occasionally carry it off to line their nests.[257] Mr. Dyce[258] quotes the following remarks of Mr. Peck on this passage: "Autolycus here gives us to understand that he is a thief of the first class. This he explains by an allusion to an odd vulgar notion. The common people, many of them, think that if any one can find a kite's nest when she hath young, before they are fledged, and sew up their back doors, so as they cannot mute, the mother-kite, in compassion to their distress, will steal lesser linen, as caps, cravats, ruffles, or any other such small matters as she can best fly with, from off the hedges where they are hanged to dry after washing, and carry them to her nest, and there leave them, if possible to move the pity of the first comer, to cut the thread and ease them of their misery."
[256] Also to the buzzard, which see, p. 100.
[257] Singer's "Shakespeare," vol. iv. p. 67.
[258] "Glossary," p. 243.
_Lapwing._ Several interesting allusions are made by Shakespeare to this eccentric bird. It was a common notion that the young lapwings ran out of the shell with part of it sticking on their heads, in such haste were they to be hatched. Horatio ("Hamlet," v. 2) says of Osric: "This lapwing runs away with the shell on his head."
It was, therefore, regarded as the symbol of a forward fellow. Webster,[259] in the "White Devil" (1857, p. 13), says:
"forward lapwing! He flies with the shell on's head."
[259] "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 495; see Yarrell's "History of British Birds," 2d edition, vol. ii. p. 482.
The lapwing, like the partridge, is also said to draw pursuers from her nest by fluttering along the ground in an opposite direction or by crying in other places. Thus, in the "Comedy of Errors" (iv. 2), Shakespeare says:
"Far from her nest the lapwing cries away."
Again, in "Measure for Measure" (i. 4), Lucio exclaims:
"though 'tis my familiar sin, With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest, Tongue far from heart."
Once more, in "Much Ado About Nothing" (iii. 1), we read:
"For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs, Close by the ground, to hear our conference."
Several, too, of our older poets refer to this peculiarity. In Ben Jonson's "Underwoods" (lviii.) we are told:
"Where he that knows will like a lapwing fly, Farre from the nest, and so himself belie."
Through thus alluring intruders from its nest, the lapwing became a symbol of insincerity; and hence originated the proverb, "The lapwing cries tongue from heart," or, "The lapwing cries most, farthest from her nest."[260]
[260] Ray's "Proverbs," 1768, p. 199.
_Lark._ Shakespeare has bequeathed to us many exquisite passages referring to the lark, full of the most sublime pathos and lofty conceptions. Most readers are doubtless acquainted with that superb song in "Cymbeline" (ii. 3), where this sweet songster is represented as singing "at heaven's gate;" and again, as the bird of dawn, it is described in "Venus and Adonis," thus:
"Lo, here the gentle lark, weary of rest, From his moist cabinet mounts up on high, And wakes the morning, from whose silver breast The sun ariseth in his majesty."[261]
[261] Cf. "Midsummer-Night's Dream" (iv. 1). "the morning lark;" "Romeo and Juliet" (iii. 5), "the lark, the herald of the morn."
In "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2, song) we have a graphic touch of pastoral life:
"When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks."
The words of Portia, too, in "Merchant of Venice" (v. 1), to sing "as sweetly as the lark," have long ago passed into a proverb.
It was formerly a current saying that the lark and toad changed eyes, to which Juliet refers in "Romeo and Juliet" (iii. 5):
"Some say, the lark and loathed toad change eyes;"
Warburton says this popular fancy originated in the toad having very fine eyes, and the lark very ugly ones. This tradition was formerly expressed in a rustic rhyme:
"to heav'n I'd fly, But that the toad beguil'd me of mine eye."
In "Henry VIII." (iii. 2) the Earl of Surrey, in denouncing Wolsey, alludes to a curious method of capturing larks, which was effected by small mirrors and red cloth. These, scaring the birds, made them crouch, while the fowler drew his nets over them:
"let his grace go forward, And dare us with his cap, like larks."
In this case the cap was the scarlet hat of the cardinal, which it was intended to use as a piece of red cloth. The same idea occurs in Skelton's "Why Come Ye not to Court?" a satire on Wolsey:
"The red hat with his lure Bringeth all things under cure."
The words "tirra-lirra" ("Winter's Tale," iv. 3) are a fanciful combination of sounds,[262] meant to imitate the lark's note; borrowed, says Nares, from the French _tire-lire_. Browne, "British Pastorals" (bk. i. song 4), makes it "teery-leery." In one of the Coventry pageants there is the following old song sung by the shepherds at the birth of Christ, which contains the expression:
"As I out rode this endenes night, Of three joli sheppards I sawe a syght, And all aboute there fold a stare shone bright, They sang terli terlow, So mereli the sheppards their pipes can blow."
[262] Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 886; Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," 1839, p. 217.
In Scotland[263] and the north of England the peasantry say that if one is desirous of knowing what the lark says, he must lie down on his back in the field and listen, and he will then hear it say:
"Up in the lift go we, Tehee, tehee, tehee, tehee! There's not a shoemaker on the earth Can make a shoe to me, to me! Why so, why so, why so? Because my heel is as long as my toe."
[263] Chambers's "Popular Rhymes of Scotland," 1870, p. 192.
_Magpie._ It was formerly known as magot-pie, probably from the French _magot_, a monkey, because the bird chatters and plays droll tricks like a monkey. It has generally been regarded with superstitious awe as a mysterious bird,[264] and is thus alluded to in "Macbeth" (iii. 4):
"Augurs and understood relations, have By magot-pies, and choughs, and rooks, brought forth The secret'st man of blood."
[264] See "English Folk-Lore," p. 81.
And again, in "3 Henry VI." (v. 6), it is said:
"chattering pies in dismal discords sung."
There are numerous rhymes[265] relating to the magpie, of which we subjoin, as a specimen, one prevalent in the north of England:
"One is sorrow, two mirth, Three a wedding, four a birth, Five heaven, six hell, Seven the de'il's ain sell."
[265] Henderson's "Folk-Lore of Northern Counties," p. 127.
In Devonshire, in order to avert the ill-luck from seeing a magpie, the peasant spits over his right shoulder three times, and in Yorkshire various charms are in use. One is to raise the hat as a salutation, and then to sign the cross on the breast; and another consists in making the same sign by crossing the thumbs. It is a common notion in Scotland that magpies flying near the windows of a house portend a speedy death to one of its inmates. The superstitions associated with the magpie are not confined to this country, for in Sweden[266] it is considered the witch's bird, belonging to the evil one and the other powers of night. In Denmark, when a magpie perches on a house it is regarded as a sign that strangers are coming.
[266] Thorpe's "Northern Mythology," vol. ii. p. 34; Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, pp. 215, 216; see also Harland and Wilkinson's "Lancashire Folk-Lore," 1867, pp. 143, 145.
_Martin._ The martin, or martlet, which is called in "Macbeth" (i. 6) the "guest of summer," as being a migratory bird, has been from the earliest times treated with superstitious respect--it being considered unlucky to molest or in any way injure its nest. Thus, in the "Merchant of Venice" (ii. 9), the Prince of Arragon says:
"the martlet Builds in the weather, on the outward wall, Even in the force and road of casualty."
Forster[267] says that the circumstance of this bird's nest being built so close to the habitations of man indicates that it has long enjoyed freedom from molestation. There is a popular rhyme still current in the north of England:
"The martin and the swallow Are God Almighty's bow and arrow."
[267] "Atmospherical Researches," 1823, p. 262.
_Nightingale._ The popular error that the nightingale sings with its breast impaled upon a thorn is noticed by Shakespeare, who makes Lucrece say:
"And whiles against a thorn thou bear'st thy part To keep thy sharp woes waking."
In the "Passionate Pilgrim" (xxi.) there is an allusion:
"Everything did banish moan, Save the nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity."
Beaumont and Fletcher, in "The Faithful Shepherdess" (v. 3), speak of
"The nightingale among the thick-leaved spring, That sits alone in sorrow, and doth sing Whole nights away in mourning."
Sir Thomas Browne[268] asks "Whether the nightingale's sitting with her breast against a thorn be any more than that she placeth some prickles on the outside of her nest, or roosteth in thorny, prickly places, where serpents may least approach her?"[269] In the "Zoologist" for 1862 the Rev. A. C. Smith mentions "the discovery, on two occasions, of a strong thorn projecting upwards in the centre of the nightingale's nest." Another notion is that the nightingale never sings by day; and thus Portia, in "Merchant of Venice" (v. 1), says:
"I think, The nightingale, if she should sing by day, When every goose is cackling, would be thought No better a musician than the wren."
[268] Sir Thomas Browne's Works, 1852, vol. i. p. 378.
[269] See "Book of Days," vol. i. p. 515.
Such, however, is not the case, for this bird often sings as sweetly in the day as at night-time. There is an old superstition[270] that the nightingale sings all night, to keep itself awake, lest the glow-worm should devour her. The classical fable[271] of the unhappy Philomela turned into a nightingale, when her sister Progne was changed to a swallow, has doubtless given rise to this bird being spoken of as _she_; thus Juliet tells Romeo (iii. 5):
"It was the nightingale, and not the lark, That pierc'd the fearful hollow of thine ear; Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate tree; Believe me, love, it was the nightingale."
[270] Southey's "Commonplace Book." 5th series. 1851, p. 305.
[271] Ovid's "Metamorphoses," bk. vi. ll. 455-676; "Titus Andronicus," iv. 1.
Sometimes the nightingale is termed Philomel, as in "Midsummer-Night's Dream" (ii. 2, song):[272]
"Philomel, with melody, Sing in our sweet lullaby."
[272] Cf. "Lucrece," ll. 1079, 1127.
_Osprey._ This bird,[273] also called the sea-eagle, besides having a destructive power of devouring fish, was supposed formerly to have a fascinating influence, both which qualities are alluded to in the following passage in "Coriolanus" (iv. 7):
"I think he'll be to Rome, As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it By sovereignty of nature."
[273] See Yarrell's "History of British Birds," 1856, vol. i. p. 30; Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 620; also Pennant's "British Zoology;" see Peele's Play of the "Battle of Alcazar" (ii. 3), 1861, p. 28.
Drayton, in his "Polyolbion" (song xxv.), mentions the same fascinating power of the osprey:
"The osprey, oft here seen, though seldom here it breeds, Which over them the fish no sooner do espy, But, betwixt him and them by an antipathy, Turning their bellies up, as though their death they saw, They at his pleasure lie, to stuff his gluttonous maw."
_Ostrich._ The extraordinary digestion of this bird[274] is said to be shown by its swallowing iron and other hard substances.[275] In "2 Henry VI." (iv. 10), the rebel Cade says to Alexander Iden: "Ah, villain, thou wilt betray me, and get a thousand crowns of the king by carrying my head to him; but I'll make thee eat iron like an ostrich, and swallow my sword like a great pin, ere thou and I part." Cuvier,[276] speaking of this bird, says, "It is yet so voracious, and its senses of taste and smell are so obtuse, that it devours animal and mineral substances indiscriminately, until its enormous stomach is completely full. It swallows without any choice, and merely as it were to serve for ballast, wood, stones, grass, iron, copper, gold, lime, or, in fact, any other substance equally hard, indigestible, and deleterious." Sir Thomas Browne,[277] writing on this subject, says, "The ground of this conceit in its swallowing down fragments of iron, which men observing, by a forward illation, have therefore conceived it digesteth them, which is an inference not to be admitted, as being a fallacy of the consequent." In Loudon's "Magazine of Natural History" (No. 6, p. 32) we are told of an ostrich having been killed by swallowing glass.
[274] Called _estridge_ in "1 Henry IV." iv. 1.
[275] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. iii. p. 365.
[276] "Animal Kingdom," 1829, vol. viii. p. 427.
[277] See Sir Thomas Browne's Works, 1852, vol. i. pp. 334-337.
_Owl._ The dread attached to this unfortunate bird is frequently spoken of by Shakespeare, who has alluded to several of the superstitions associated with it. At the outset, many of the epithets ascribed to it show the prejudice with which it was regarded--being in various places stigmatized as "the vile owl," in "Troilus and Cressida" (ii. I); and the "obscure bird," in "Macbeth" (ii. 3), etc. From the earliest period it has been considered a bird of ill-omen, and Pliny tells us how, on one occasion, even Rome itself underwent a lustration, because one of them strayed into the Capitol. He represents it also as a funereal bird, a monster of the night, the very abomination of human kind. Vergil[278] describes its death-howl from the top of the temple by night, a circumstance introduced as a precursor of Dido's death. Ovid,[279] too, constantly speaks of this bird's presence as an evil omen; and indeed the same notions respecting it may be found among the writings of most of the ancient poets. This superstitious awe in which the owl is held may be owing to its peculiar look, its occasional and uncertain appearance, its loud and dismal cry,[280] as well as to its being the bird of night.[281] It has generally been associated with calamities and deeds of darkness.[282] Thus, its weird shriek pierces the ear of Lady Macbeth (ii. 2), while the murder is being committed:
"Hark!--Peace! It was the owl that shriek'd, the fatal bellman, Which gives the stern'st good night."
[278] "Æneid," bk. iv. l. 462.
[279] "Metamorphoses," bk. v. l. 550; bk. vi. l. 432; bk. x. l. 453; bk. xv. l. 791.
[280] "2 Henry VI." iii. 2; iv. 1.
[281] "Titus Andronicus," ii. 3.
[282] Cf. "Lucrece," l. 165; see Yarrell's "History of British Birds," vol. i. p. 122.
And when the murderer rushes in, exclaiming,
"I have done the deed. Didst thou not hear a noise?"
she answers:
"I heard the owl scream."
Its appearance at a birth has been said to foretell ill-luck to the infant, a superstition to which King Henry, in "3 Henry VI." (v. 6), addressing Gloster, refers:
"The owl shriek'd at thy birth, an evil sign."
Its cries[283] have been supposed to presage death, and, to quote the words of the _Spectator_, "a screech-owl at midnight has alarmed a family more than a band of robbers." Thus, in "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" (v. 1), we are told how
"the screech-owl, screeching loud, Puts the wretch that lies in woe In remembrance of a shroud;"
and in "1 Henry VI." (iv. 2), it is called the "ominous and fearful owl of death." Again, in "Richard III." (iv. 4), where Richard is exasperated by the bad news, he interrupts the third messenger by saying:
"Out on ye, owls! nothing but songs of death?"
[283] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. iii. p. 209.
The owl by day is considered by some equally ominous, as in "3 Henry VI." (v. 4):
"the owl by day, If he arise, is mock'd and wonder'd at."
And in "Julius Cæsar" (i. 3), Casca says:
"And yesterday the bird of night did sit, Even at noon-day, upon the market-place, Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies Do so conjointly meet, let not men say, 'These are their reasons,--they are natural;' For, I believe, they are portentous things Unto the climate that they point upon."
Considering, however, the abhorrence with which the owl is generally regarded, it is not surprising that the "owlet's wing"[284] should form an ingredient of the caldron in which the witches in "Macbeth" (iv. 1) prepared their "charm of powerful trouble." The owl is, too, in all probability, represented by Shakespeare as a witch,[285] a companion of the fairies in their moonlight gambols. In "Comedy of Errors" (ii. 2), Dromio of Syracuse says:
"This is the fairy land: O, spite of spites! We talk with goblins, owls, and elvish sprites. If we obey them not, this will ensue, They'll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue!"
[284] The spelling of the folios is "howlets." In Holland's translation of Pliny (chap. xvii. book x.), we read "of owlls or howlets." Cotgrave gives "Hulotte."
[285] Halliwell-Phillipps's, "Handbook Index," 1866, p. 354.
Singer, in his Notes on this passage (vol. ii. p. 28) says: "It has been asked, how should Shakespeare know that screech-owls were considered by the Romans as witches?" Do these cavillers think that Shakespeare never looked into a book? Take an extract from the Cambridge Latin Dictionary (1594, 8vo), probably the very book he used: "Strix, a _scritche owle_; an unluckie kind of bird (as they of olde time said) which sucked out the blood of infants lying in their cradles; a witch, that changeth the favour of children; an hagge or fairie." So in the "London Prodigal," a comedy, 1605: "Soul, I think I am sure crossed or witch'd with an owl."[286] In "The Tempest" (v. 1) Shakespeare introduces Ariel as saying:
"Where the bee sucks, there suck I, In a cowslip's bell I lie, There I couch when owls do cry."
[286] See Dyce's "Glossary," p. 302.
Ariel,[287] who sucks honey for luxury in the cowslip's bell, retreats thither for quiet when owls are abroad and screeching. According to an old legend, the owl was originally a baker's daughter, to which allusion is made in "Hamlet" (iv. 5), where Ophelia exclaims: "They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord! we know what we are, but know not what we may be." Douce[288] says the following story was current among the Gloucestershire peasantry: "Our Saviour went into a baker's shop where they were baking, and asked for some bread to eat; the mistress of the shop immediately put a piece of dough into the oven to bake for him; but was reprimanded by her daughter, who, insisting that the piece of dough was too large, reduced it to a very small size; the dough, however, immediately began to swell, and presently became a most enormous size, whereupon the baker's daughter cried out, 'Heugh, heugh, heugh!' which owl-like noise probably induced our Saviour to transform her into that bird for her wickedness." Another version of the same story, as formerly known in Herefordshire, substitutes a fairy in the place of our Saviour. Similar legends are found on the Continent.[289]
[287] See Singer's "Notes to The Tempest," 1875, vol. i. p. 82.
[288] See _Gentleman's Magazine_, November, 1804, pp. 1083, 1084. Grimm's "Deutsche Mythologie."
[289] See Dasent's "Tales of the Norse," 1859, p. 230.
_Parrot._ The "popinjay," in "1 Henry IV." (i. 3), is another name for the parrot--from the Spanish _papagayo_--a term which occurs in Browne's "Pastorals" (ii. 65):
"Or like the mixture nature dothe display Upon the quaint wings of the popinjay."
Its supposed restlessness before rain is referred to in "As You Like It" (iv. 1): "More clamorous than a parrot against rain." It was formerly customary to teach the parrot unlucky words, with which, when any one was offended, it was the standing joke of the wise owner to say, "Take heed, sir, my parrot prophesies"--an allusion to which custom we find in "Comedy of Errors" (iv. 4), where Dromio of Ephesus says: "prophesy like the parrot, _beware the rope's end_." To this Butler hints, where, speaking of Ralpho's skill in augury, he says:[290]
"Could tell what subtlest parrots mean, That speak and think contrary clean; What member 'tis of whom they talk, When they cry _rope_, and _walk, knave, walk_."
[290] "Hudibras," pt. i. ch. i.
The rewards given to parrots to encourage them to speak are mentioned in "Troilus and Cressida" (v. 2):[291] "the parrot will not do more for an almond." Hence, a proverb for the greatest temptation that could be put before a man seems to have been "An almond for a parrot." To "talk like a parrot" is a common proverb, a sense in which it occurs in "Othello" (ii. 3).
[291] In "Much Ado About Nothing" (i. 1), Benedick likens Beatrice to a "parrot-teacher," from her talkative powers.
_Peacock._ This bird was as proverbially used for a proud, vain fool as the lapwing for a silly one. In this sense some would understand it in the much-disputed passage in "Hamlet" (iii. 2):
"For thou dost know, O Damon dear, This realm dismantled was Of Jove himself; and now reigns here A very, very--peacock."[292]
[292] This is the reading adopted by Singer.
The third and fourth folios read _pajock_,[293] the other editions have "paiock," "paiocke," or "pajocke," and in the later quartos the word was changed to "paicock" and "pecock," whence Pope printed peacock.
[293] "Notes to Hamlet," Clark and Wright, 1876, pp. 179, 180.
Dyce says that in Scotland the peacock is called the peajock. Some have proposed to read _paddock_, and in the last scene Hamlet bestows this opprobrious name upon the king. It has been also suggested to read _puttock_, a kite.[294] The peacock has also been regarded as the emblem of pride and arrogance, as in "1 Henry VI." (iii. 3):[295]
"Let frantic Talbot triumph for a while, And, like a peacock, sweep along his tail; We'll pull his plumes, and take away his train."
[294] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 645; Singer's "Notes," vol. ix. p. 228.
[295] Cf. "Troilus and Cressida," iii. 3.
_Pelican._ There are several allusions by Shakespeare to the pelican's piercing her own breast to feed her young. Thus, in "Hamlet" (iv. 5), Laertes says:
"To his good friends thus wide I'll ope my arms; And like the kind life-rendering pelican, Repast them with my blood."
And in "King Lear," where the young pelicans are represented as piercing their mother's breast to drink her blood, an illustration of filial impiety (iii. 4), the king says:
"Is it the fashion, that discarded fathers Should have thus little mercy on their flesh? Judicious punishment! 'Twas this flesh begot Those pelican daughters."[296]
[296] Cf. "Richard II." i. 1.
It is a common notion that the fable here alluded to is a classical one, but this is an error. Shakespeare, says Mr. Harting, "was content to accept the story as he found it, and to apply it metaphorically as the occasion required." Mr. Houghton, in an interesting letter to "Land and Water"[297] on this subject, remarks that the Egyptians believed in a bird feeding its young with its blood, and this bird is none other than the vulture. He goes on to say that the fable of the pelican doubtless originated in the Patristic annotations on the Scriptures. The ecclesiastical Fathers transferred the Egyptian story from the vulture to the pelican, but magnified the story a hundredfold, for the blood of the parent was not only supposed to serve as food for the young, but was also able to reanimate the dead offspring. Augustine, commenting on Psalm cii. 6--"I am like a pelican of the wilderness"--remarks: "These birds [male pelicans] are said to kill their offspring by blows of their beaks, and then to bewail their death for the space of three days. At length, however, it is said that the mother inflicts a severe wound on herself, pouring the flowing blood over the dead young ones, which instantly brings them to life." To the same effect write Eustathius, Isidorus, Epiphanius, and a host of other writers.[298]
[297] Mr. Harting, in his "Ornithology of Shakespeare," quotes an interesting correspondence from "Land and Water" (1869), on the subject.
[298] See Sir Thomas Browne's Works, 1852, vol. ii. pp. 1-4.
According to another idea[299] pelicans are hatched dead, but the cock pelican then wounds his breast, and lets one drop of blood fall upon each, and this quickens them.
[299] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. iii. pp. 366, 367.
_Pheasant._ This bird is only once alluded to, in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4), where the Clown jokingly says to the Shepherd, "Advocate's the court-word for a pheasant; say, you have none."
_Phoenix._ Many allusions are made to this fabulous bird, which is said to rise again from its own ashes. Thus, in "Henry VIII." (v. 4), Cranmer tells how
"when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself."
Again, in "3 Henry VI." (i. 4), the Duke of York exclaims:
"My ashes, as the phoenix, may bring forth A bird that will revenge upon you all."
Once more, in "1 Henry VI." (iv. 7), Sir William Lucy, speaking of Talbot and those slain with him, predicts that
"from their ashes shall be rear'd A phoenix that shall make all France afeard."[300]
[300] Cf. "The Tempest," iii. 3; "All's Well that Ends Well," i. 1; "Antony and Cleopatra," iii. 2; "Cymbeline," i. 6.
Sir Thomas Browne[301] tells us that there is but one phoenix in the world, "which after many hundred years burns herself, and from the ashes thereof ariseth up another." From the very earliest times there have been countless traditions respecting this wonderful bird. Thus, its longevity has been estimated from three hundred to fifteen hundred years; and among the various localities assigned as its home are Ethiopia, Arabia, Egypt, and India. In "The Phoenix and Turtle," it is said,
"Let the bird of loudest lay On the sole Arabian tree, Herald sad and trumpet be."
[301] Works, 1852, vol. i. pp. 277-284.
Pliny says of this bird, "Howbeit, I cannot tell what to make of him; and first of all, whether it be a tale or no, that there is never but one of them in the whole world, and the same not commonly seen." Malone[302] quotes from Lyly's "Euphues and his England" (p. 312, ed. Arber): "For as there is but one phoenix in the world, so is there but one tree in Arabia wherein she buyldeth;" and Florio's "New Worlde of Wordes" (1598), "Rasin, a tree in Arabia, whereof there is but one found, and upon it the phoenix sits."
[302] See Aldis Wright's "Notes to The Tempest," 1875, p. 129.
_Pigeon._ As carriers, these birds have been used from a very early date, and the Castle of the Birds, at Bagdad, takes its name from the pigeon-post which the old monks of the convent established. The building has crumbled into ruins long ago by the lapse of time, but the bird messengers of Bagdad became celebrated as far westward as Greece, and were a regular commercial institution between the distant parts of Asia Minor, Arabia, and the East.[303] In ancient Egypt, also, the carrier breed was brought to great perfection, and, between the cities of the Nile and the Red Sea, the old traders used to send word of their caravans to each other by letters written on silk, and tied under the wings of trained doves. In "Titus Andronicus" (iv. 3) Titus, on seeing a clown enter with two pigeons, says:
"News, news from heaven! Marcus, the post is come. Sirrah, what tidings? have you any letters?"
[303] _Daily Telegraph_, January 31, 1880; see Southey's "Commonplace Book," 1849, 2d series, p. 447.
From the same play we also learn that it was customary to give a pair of pigeons as a present. The Clown says to Saturninus (iv. 4), "I have brought you a letter and a couple of pigeons here."[304]
[304] See _Dove_, pp. 114, 115.
In "Romeo and Juliet" (i. 3) the dove is used synonymously for pigeon, where the nurse is represented as
"Sitting in the sun under the dove-house wall."
Mr. Darwin, in his "Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication" (vol. i. pp. 204, 205), has shown that from the very earliest times pigeons have been kept in a domesticated state. He says: "The earliest record of pigeons in a domesticated condition occurs in the fifth Egyptian dynasty, about 3000 B.C.; but Mr. Birch, of the British Museum, informs me that the pigeon appears in a bill of fare in the previous dynasty. Domestic pigeons are mentioned in Genesis, Leviticus, and Isaiah. Pliny informs us that the Romans gave immense prices for pigeons; 'nay, they are come to this pass that they can reckon up their pedigree and race.' In India, about the year 1600, pigeons were much valued by Akbar Khan; 20,000 birds were carried about with the court." In most countries, too, the breeding and taming of pigeons has been a favorite recreation. The constancy of the pigeon has been proverbial from time immemorial, allusions to which occur in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 3), and in "As You Like It" (iii. 3).
_Quail._ The quail was thought to be an amorous bird, and hence was metaphorically used to denote people of a loose character.[305] In this sense it is generally understood in "Troilus and Cressida" (v. 1): "Here's Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails." Mr. Harting,[306] however, thinks that the passage just quoted refers to the practice formerly prevalent of keeping quails, and making them fight like game-cocks. The context of the passage would seem to sanction the former meaning. Quail fighting[307] is spoken of in "Antony and Cleopatra" (ii. 3), where Antony, speaking of the superiority of Cæsar's fortunes to his own, says:
"if we draw lots, he speeds; His cocks do win the battle still of mine, When it is all to nought; and his quails ever Beat mine, inhoop'd, at odds."
[305] Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 704; Halliwell-Phillipps's "Handbook Index to Shakespeare," 1866, p. 398; Dyce's "Glossary," p. 345; Singer's "Shakespeare," vol. vii. p. 264.
[306] "Ornithology of Shakespeare," p. 218.
[307] Strutt's "Sports and Pastimes," 1876, pp. 19, 97, 677; Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. ii. pp. 59, 60.
It appears that cocks as well as quails were sometimes made to fight within a broad hoop--hence the term _inhoop'd_--to keep them from quitting each other. Quail-fights were well known among the ancients, and especially at Athens.[308] Julius Pollux relates that a circle was made, in which the birds were placed, and he whose quail was driven out of this circle lost the stake, which was sometimes money, and occasionally the quails themselves. Another practice was to produce one of these birds, which being first smitten with the middle finger, a feather was then plucked from its head. If the quail bore this operation without flinching, his master gained the stake, but lost it if he ran away. Some doubt exists as to whether quail-fighting prevailed in the time of Shakespeare. At the present day[309] the Sumatrans practise these quail combats, and this pastime is common in some parts of Italy, and also in China. Mr. Douce has given a curious print, from an elegant Chinese miniature painting, which represents some ladies engaged at this amusement, where the quails are actually inhooped.
[308] Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," 1839, p. 367.
[309] Marsden's "History of Sumatra," 1811, p. 276.
_Raven._ Perhaps no bird is so universally unpopular as the raven, its hoarse croak, in most countries, being regarded as ominous. Hence, as might be expected, Shakespeare often refers to it, in order to make the scene he depicts all the more vivid and graphic. In "Titus Andronicus" (ii. 3), Tamora, describing "a barren detested vale," says:
"The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven."
And in "Julius Cæsar" (v. 1), Cassius tells us how ravens
"Fly o'er our heads, and downward look on us, As we were sickly prey."[310]
[310] Cf. "2 Henry VI." iii. 2; "Troilus and Cressida," v. 2.
It seems that the superstitious dread[311] attaching to this bird has chiefly arisen from its supposed longevity,[312] and its frequent mention and agency in Holy Writ. By the Romans it was consecrated to Apollo, and was believed to have a prophetic knowledge--a notion still very prevalent. Thus, its supposed faculty[313] of "smelling death" still renders its presence, or even its voice, ominous. Othello (iv. 1) exclaims,
"O, it comes o'er my memory, As doth the raven o'er the infected house, Boding to all."
[311] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. iii. pp. 211, 212.
[312] "English Folk-lore," 1878, p. 78.
[313] See Hunt's "Popular Romances of West of England," 1881, p. 380.
There is no doubt a reference here to the fanciful notion that it was a constant attendant on a house infected with the plague. Most readers, too, are familiar with that famous passage in "Macbeth" (i. 5) where Lady Macbeth, having heard of the king's intention to stay at the castle, exclaims,
"the raven himself is hoarse That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan Under my battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here, And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of direst cruelty!"
We may compare Spenser's language in the "Fairy Queen" (bk. ii. c. vii.