Chapter II: Introduction (1)

Argot pervades the whole of French society. It may be heard everywhere, and it is now difficult to peruse a newspaper or open a new novel without meeting with a sprinkling of some of the jargon dialects of the day. These take their rise in the slums, on the boulevards, in workshops, barracks, and studios, and even in the lobbies of the Houses of Legislature. From the beggar to the diplomatist, every class possesses its own vernacular, borrowed more or less from its special avocations. The language of the dangerous classes, which so often savours of evil or bloody deeds, of human suffering, and also of the anguish and fears of the ever-tracked and ever-watchful criminal, though often disguised under a would-be humorous garb, cannot but be interesting to the philosopher. “Everybody,” says Charles Nodier, “must feel that there is more ingenuity in argot than in algebra itself, and that this quality is due to the power it possesses of making language figurative and graphic. With algebra, only calculations can be achieved; with argot, however ignoble and impure its source, a nation and society might be renovated.... Argot is generally formed with ability because it is the outcome of the urgent necessities of a class of men not lacking in brains.... The jargon of the lower classes, which is due to the inventive genius of thieves, is redundant with sparkling wit, and gives evidence of wonderfully imaginative powers.”

If criminals are odious, they are not always vulgar, and a study of their mode of expression possesses certain features of interest. The ordinary slang of the higher strata of French society, as compared with that of the lower classes, being based often on mere distortion of words or misappropriation of meaning, is in many cases vulgar and silly; it casts a stain over a language which has already suffered so much at the hands of the lesser stars of the Naturalistic School. A coarse sentiment, a craving for more violent sensations, will find expression in the jargon of the day. People are no longer content with being astonished, they must be crushed or flattened (épatés), or knocked over (renversés), and so forth; and the silly “on dirait du veau,” repeated _ad nauseam_, seldom fails to raise a laugh. Our English neighbours do not seem to be better off. “So universal,” says a writer in _Household Words_, September 24, 1853, “has the use of slang terms become, that in all societies they are substituted for, and have almost usurped the place of wit. An audience will sit in a theatre and listen to a string of brilliant witticisms with perfect immobility, but let some fellow rush forward and roar out ‘It’s all serene,’ or ‘catch’em alive, oh!’ (this last is sure to take), pit, boxes, and gallery roar with laughter.” It must be said, however, on the other hand, that the slang term is often much more expressive than its corresponding synonym in the ordinary language. Moreover, it is often witty, and capable of suggesting a humorous idea with singular felicity.

Argot is but a bastard tongue grafted on the mother stem, and though it is no easy matter to coin a word that shall remain and take rank among those of any language, yet the field of argot, already so extensive, is ever pushing back its boundaries, the additions surging in together with new ideas, novel fashions, but especially through the necessities of that class of people whose primary interest it is to make themselves unintelligible to their victims, the public, and their enemies, the police. “Argot,” again quoting Nodier’s words, “is an artificial, unsettled tongue, without a syntax properly so called, of which the only object is to disguise under conventional metaphors ideas which are intended to be conveyed to adepts. Consequently its vocabulary must needs change whenever it has become familiar to outsiders, and we find in _Le Jargon de l’Argot Réformé_ curious traces of a like revolution. In every country the men who speak a cant language belong to the lowest, most contemptible stratum of society, but its study, if looked upon as an outcome of the intellect, presents important features, and synoptic tables of its synonyms might prove interesting to the linguist.”

The use of argot in works of any literary pretensions is of modern introduction. However, Villon, the famous poet of the fifteenth century, a _vaurien_ whose misdeeds had wellnigh brought him to the gallows, as he informs us:--

Je suis François, dont ce me poise,
Né de Paris emprès Ponthoise,
Or, d’une corde d’une toise,
Saura mon col que mon cul poise--

Villon himself has given, under the title of _Jargon ou Jobelin de Maistre François Villon_, a series of short poems worded in the jargon of the vagabonds and thieves his boon companions, now almost unintelligible.

In our days Eugène Sue, Balzac, and Victor Hugo have introduced argot in some of their works, taking, no doubt, Vidocq as an authority on the subject; while more recently M. Jean Richepin, in his _Chanson des Gueux_, rhymes in the lingo of roughs, bullies, vagabonds, and thieves; and many others have followed suit. Balzac thus expresses his admiration for argot: “People will perhaps be astonished if we venture to assert that no tongue is more energetic, more picturesque than the tongue of that subterranean world which since the birth of capitals grovels in cellars, in sinks of vice, in the lowest stage floors of societies. For is not the world a theatre? The lowest stage floor is the ground basement under the stage of the opera house where the machinery, the phantoms, the devils, when not in use, are stowed away. Each word of the language recalls a brutal image, either ingenious or terrible. In the jargon one does not sleep, ‘on pionce.’ Notice with what energy that word expresses the uneasy slumbers of the tracked, tired, suspicious animal called thief, which, as soon as it is in safety, sinks down and rolls into the abysses of deep and necessary sleep, with the powerful wings of suspicion constantly spread over it--an awful repose, comparable to that of the wild beast, which sleeps and snores, but whose ears nevertheless remain ever watchful. Everything is fierce in this idiom. The initial or final syllables of words, the words themselves, are harsh and astounding. A woman is a _largue_. And what poetry! Straw is ‘_la plume de Beauce_.’ The word midnight is rendered by _douze plombes crossent_. Does not that make one shudder?”

Victor Hugo, after Balzac, has devoted a whole chapter to argot in his _Misérables_, and both these great authors have left little to be said on the subject. Victor Hugo, dealing with its Protean character, writes: “Argot being the idiom of corruption, is quickly corrupted. Besides, as it always seeks secrecy, so soon as it feels itself understood it transforms itself.... For this reason argot is subject to perpetual transformation--a secret and rapid work which ever goes on. It makes more progress in ten years than the regular language in ten centuries.”

In spite of the successive revolutions referred to, a number of old cant words are still used in their original form. Some have been, besides, more or less distorted by different processes, the results of these alterations being subjected in their turn to fresh disguises. As for slang proper, it is mostly metaphoric.

A large proportion of the vocabulary of argot is to be traced to the early Romance idiom, or to some of our country patois, the offsprings of the ancient Langue d’oc and Langue d’oil. Some of the terms draw their origin from the Italian language and jargon, and were imported by Italian quacks and sharpers. Such are lime (_shirt_), fourline (_thief_), macaronner (_to inform against_), rabouin (_devil_), rif (_fire_), escarpe (_thief_, _murderer_), respectively from lima, forlano, macaronare, rabuino, ruffo, scarpa, some of which belong to the Romany, as lima. The German schlafen has given schloffer, and the Latin fur has provided us with the verb affurer. Several are of Greek parentage: arton (_bread_), from the accusative αρτον; ornie (_fowl_), from ορνις; pier (_to drink_), piolle (_tavern_), pion (_drunk_), from πιεῖν.

The word argot itself, formerly a cant word, but which has now gained admittance into the _Dictionnaire de l’Académie_, is but the corruption of jargon, called by the Italians “lingua gerga,” abbreviated into “gergo,” from which the French word sprang,--gergo itself being derived, according to Salvini, from the Greek ἱερός (_sacred_). Hence lingua gerga, _sacred language_, only known to the initiated. M. Génin thus traces the origin of argot: lingua hiera, then lingua gerga, il gergo; hence jergon or jargon, finally argot. Other philologists have suggested that it comes from the Greek ἀργός, idler; and this learned derivation is not improbable, as, among the members of the “argot”--originally the corporation of pedlars and vagabonds--were scholars like Villon (though there exists no evidence of the word having been used in his time), and runaway priests who had, as the French say, “thrown the cassock to the nettles.” M. Nisard, however, rejects these derivations, and believes that argot comes from _argutus_, pointed, cunning. It seems, in any case, an indubitable fact that the term argot at first was applied only to the confraternity of vagabonds or “argotiers,” and there is no evidence of its having been used before 1698 as an appellation for their language, which till then had been known as “jargon du matois” or “jargon de l’argot.” Grandval, in his _Vice puni ou Cartouche_, offers the following derivation, which must be taken for what it is worth.

Mais à propos d’argot, dit alors Limosin,
Ne m’apprendrez-vous pas, vous qui parlez latin,
D’où cette belle langue a pris son origine?
--De la ville d’Argos, et je l’ai lu dans Pline,
Répondit Balagny. Le grand Agamemnon
Fit fleurir dans Argos cet éloquent jargon.
. . . . . . . . .
--Tu dis vrai, Balagny, reprit alors Cartouche;
Mais cette langue sort d’une plus vieille souche,
Et j’ai lu quelque part, dans un certain bouquin
D’argot traduit en grec, de grec mis en latin,
Et depuis en françois, que Jason et Thésée,
Hercule, Philoctète, Admète, Hylas, Lyncée,
Castor, Pollux, Orphée et tant d’autres héros
Qui _trimèrent_ pincer la toison à Colchos,
Dans le navire _Argo_, pendant leur long voyage,
Inventèrent entre eux ce sublime langage
Afin de mieux tromper le roi Colchidien
Et que de leur projet il ne soupçonnât rien.
. . . . . . . . .
Enfin tous les doubleurs de la riche toison,
De leur navire Argo lui donnèrent le nom.
Amis, voici quelle est son étymologie.

A certain number of slang terms proceed from uniform and systematic alterations in the body of the French word, but these methods do not seem to have produced many expressions holding a permanent place in the dialect. Such is the “langage en lem,” much used by butchers some forty years ago, but now only known to a few. But a very small number of words thus coined have passed into the main body of the lingo, as being too lengthy, and because argot has a general tendency to brevity.

The more usual suffixes used are mar, anche, inche, in, ingue, o, orgue, aille, ière, muche, mon, mont, oque, ègue, igue, which give such terms as--

épicemar for épicier,
boutanche -- boutique,
aminceminche -- ami,
burlin } -- bureau,
burlingue }
camaro -- camarade,
bonorgue -- bon,
vouzaille -- vous,
mézière -- me,
petmuche -- pet,
cabermon -- cabaret,
gilmont -- gilet,
loufoque -- fou,
chamègue -- chameau,
mézigue -- me.

The army has furnished a large contingent to slang, and has provided us with such words as colon (_colonel_); petit colon (_lieutenant-colonel_); la femme du régiment (_big drum_); la malle (_prison_); un bleu (_recruit_); poulet d’Inde (_steed_), and the humorous expression, sortir sur les jambes d’un autre (_to be confined to barracks, or to the guard-room_).

Much-maligned animals have been put into requisition, the fish tribe serving to denominate the Paris bully, that plague of certain quarters.

With the parts of the body might be formed a complete orchestra. Thus “guitare” stands for the head; “flûtes” for legs; “grosse caisse” for the body; “trompette” does duty for the face, “mirliton” for the nose, and “sifflet” for the throat.

The study of the slang jargon of a nation--a language which is not the expression of conventional ideas, but the unvarnished and rude expression of life in its true aspects--may give us an insight into the foibles and predominant vices of those who use it.

Now though the French as a nation are not hard drinkers, yet we must come to the conclusion--in the face of the many synonyms of the single word drunk, whilst there is not one for the word sober--that Parisian workmen have either a lively imagination, or that they would scarcely prove eligible for recruits in the Blue Ribbon Army. Intoxication--from a state of gentle inebriation, when one is “allumé,” or “elevated,” to the helpless state when the “poivrot,” or “lushington,” is “asphyxié,” or “regularly scammered,” when he can’t “see a hole in a ladder,” or when he “laps the gutter”--has no less than eighty synonyms.

The French possess comparatively few terms for the word money; but, in spite of the well-worn saying, “l’or est une chimère,” or the insincere exclamation, “l’or, ce vil métal!” the argot vocabulary shows as many as fifty-four synonyms for the “needful.” The English are still richer, for Her Majesty’s coin is known by more than one hundred and thirty slang words, from the humble “brown” (halfpenny) to the “long-tailed one” (bank-note).

Though there is no evidence that the social evil has a greater hold on Paris than on London or Berlin, yet the Parisians have no less than one hundred and fifty distinct slang synonyms to indicate the different varieties of “unfortunates,” many being borrowed from the names of animals, such as “vache,” “chameau,” “biche,” &c. Some of the other terms are highly suggestive and appropriate. So we have “omnibus,” “fleur de macadam,” “demoiselle du bitume,” “autel de besoin,” the dismal “pompe funèbre,” the ignoble “paillasse de corps de garde,” and the “grenier à coups de sabre,” which reflects on the brutality of soldiers towards the fallen ones.

For the _head_ the French jargon can boast of about fifty representative slang terms, some of which have been borrowed from the vegetable kingdom. Homage is rendered to its superior or governing powers by such epithets as “boussole” and “Sorbonne,” and a compliment is paid to its inventive genius by the term, “la boîte à surprises,” which is, however, degraded into “la tronche” when it has rolled into the executioner’s basket. But it is treated with still more irreverence when deprived of its natural ornament,--so that a man with a bald pate is described as having no more “paillasson à la porte,” or “mouron sur la cage.” He is also said sometimes to sport a “tête de veau.”

Grim humour is displayed in the long list of metaphors to describe death, the promoters of the slang expressions having borrowed from the technical vocabulary of their craft. Thus soldiers describe it as “défiler la parade,” for which English military men have the equivalent, “to lose the number of one’s mess;” “passer l’arme à gauche;” “descendre la garde,” after which the soldier will never be called again on sentry duty; “recevoir son décompte,” or deferred pay. People who are habitual sufferers from toothache have no doubt contributed the expression, “n’avoir plus mal aux dents;” sailors, “casser son câble” and “déralinguer;” coachmen, “casser son fouet;” drummers, “avaler ses baguettes,” their sticks being henceforth useless to them; billiard-players are responsible for “dévisser son billard;” servants for “déchirer son tablier.” Then what horrible philosophy in the expression, “mettre la table pour les asticots!”

A person of sound mind finds no place in the argot vocabulary; but madness, from the mild state which scarcely goes beyond eccentricity to the confirmed lunatic, has found many definitions, the single expression “to be cracked” being represented by a number of comical synonyms, many of them referring to the presence of some troublesome animal in the brain, such as “un moustique dans la boîte au sel” or “un hanneton dans le plafond.”

Courage has but one or two equivalents, but the act of the coward who vanishes, or the thief who seeks to escape the clutches of the police, has received due attention from the promoters of argot. Thus we have the highly picturesque expressions, “faire patatrot,” which gives an impression of the patter of the runaway’s feet; “se faire une paire de mains courantes,” literally to make for oneself a pair of running hands; “se déguiser en cerf,” to imitate that swift animal the deer; “fusilier le plancher,” which reminds one of the quick rat-tat of feet on the boards.

To show kindness to one, as far as I have been able to notice, is not represented, but the act of doing bodily injury, or fighting, has furnished the slang vocabulary with a rich contingent, the least forcible of which is certainly not the amiable invitation expressed in the words of the Paris rough, “viens que j’te mange le nez!” or “numérote tes abattis que j’te démolisse!”

What ingenuity and precision of simile some of these vagaries of language offer! The man who is annoyed, badgered, is compared to an elephant with a small tormentor in a part of his body by which he can be effectually driven to despair, whilst deprived of all means of retaliation--he is then said to have “un rat dans la trompe!” He who gets drunk carves out for himself a wooden face, and “se sculpter une gueule de bois” certainly evokes the sight of the stolid, stupid features of the “lushington,” with half-open mouth and lack-lustre eyes.

The career of an unlucky criminal may thus be described in his own picturesque but awful language. The “pègre” (_thief_), or “escarpe” (_murderer_), who has been imprudent enough to allow himself to be “paumé marron” (_caught in the act_) whilst busy effecting a “choppin” (_theft_), or committing the more serious offence of “faire un gas à la dure” (_to rob with violence_), using the knife when “lavant son linge dans la saignante” (_murdering_), or yet the summary process of breaking into a house and killing all the inmates, “faire une maison entière,” will probably be taken by “la rousse” (_police_), first of all before the “quart d’œil” (_police magistrate_), from whose office he will be conveyed to the dépôt in the “panier à salade” (_prison van_), having perhaps in the meanwhile spent a night in the “violon” (_cells at the police station_). In due time he will be brought into the presence of a very inquisitive person, the “curieux,” who will do his utmost to pump him, “entraver dans ses flanches,” or make him reveal his accomplices, “manger le morceau,” or, again, to say all he knows about the affair, “débiner le truc.” From two to six months after this preliminary examination, he will be brought into the awful presence of the “léon” (_president of assize court_), at the “carré des gerbes,” where he sits in his red robes, administering justice. Now, suffering from a violent attack of “fièvre” (_charge_), the prisoner puts all his hopes in his “parrains d’altèque” (_witnesses for the defence_), and in his “médecin” (_counsel_), who will try whether a “purgation” (_speech for the defence_) will not cure him of his ailment, especially should he have an attack of “redoublement de fièvre” (_new charge_). Should the medicine be ineffectual, and the “hésiteurs opinants” (_jurymen_) have pronounced against him, he leaves the “planche au pain” (_bar_) to return whence he came, to the “hôpital” (_prison_), which he will only leave when “guéri” (_free_). But should he be “un cheval de retour” (_old offender_), he will probably be given a free passage to go “se laver les pieds dans le grand pré” (_be transported_) to “La Nouvelle” (_New Caledonia_), or “Cayenne les Eaux;” or, worse still, he may be left for some time in the “boîte au sel” (_condemned cell_) at La Roquette, attired in a “ligotante de rifle” (_strait waistcoat_), attended by a “mouton” (_spy_), who tries to get at his secrets, and now and then receiving the exhortations of the “ratichon” (_priest_). At an early hour one morning he is apprised by the “maugrée” (_director_) that he is to suffer the penalty of the law. After “la toilette” by “Charlot” (_cutting off the hair by the executioner_), he is assisted to the “Abbaye de Monte-à-regret” (_guillotine_), where, after the “sanglier” (_priest_) has given him a final embrace, the “soubrettes de Charlot” (_executioner’s assistants_) seize him, and make him play “à la main chaude” (_hot cockles_). Charlot pulls a string, when the criminal is turned into “un bœuf” (_is executed_) by being made to “éternuer dans le son” (_guillotined_). His “machabée” (_remains_) is then taken to the “champ de navets” (_cemetery_).

For the following I am indebted to the courtesy of the Rev. J. W. Horsley, Chaplain to H. M. Prison, Clerkenwell, who, in his highly interesting _Prison Notes_ makes the following remarks on thieves’ slang: “It has its antiquity, as well as its vitality and power of growth and development by constant accretion; in it are preserved many words interesting to the student of language, and from it have passed not a few words into the ordinary stock of the Queen’s English. Of multifold origin, it is yet mainly derived from Romany or gipsy talk, and thereby contains a large Eastern element, in which old Sanscrit roots may readily be traced. Many of these words would be unintelligible to ordinary folk, but some have passed into common speech. For instance, the words bamboozle, daddy, pal (companion or friend), mull (to make a mull or mess of a thing), bosh (from the Persian), are pure gipsy words, but have found some lodging, if not a home, in our vernacular. Then there are survivals (not always of the fittest) from the tongue of our Teutonic ancestors, so that Dr. Latham, the philologist, says: ‘The thieves of London’ (and he might still more have said the professional tramps) ‘are the conservators of Anglo-Saxonisms.’ Next, there are the cosmopolitan absorptions from many a tongue. From the French _bouilli_ we probably get the prison slang term ‘bull’ for a ration of meat. Chat, thieves’ slang for house, is obviously _château_. Steel, the familiar name for Coldbath Fields Prison, is an appropriation and abbreviation of Bastille; and he who ‘does a tray’ (serves three months’ imprisonment) therein, borrows his word from our Gallican neighbours. So from the Italian we get _casa_ for house, filly (_figlia_) for daughter, donny (_donna_) for woman, and omee (_uomo_) for man. The Spanish gives us _don_, which the universities have not despised as a useful term. From the German we get durrynacker, for a female hawker, from _dorf_, ‘a village,’ and _nachgehen_, ‘to run after.’ From Scotland we borrow _duds_, for clothes, and from the Hebrew _shoful_, for base coin.

“Considering that in the manufacture of the domestic and social slang of nicknames or pet names not a little humour or wit is commonly found, it might be imagined that thieves’ slang would be a great treasure-house of humorous expression. That this is not the case arises from the fact that there is very little glitter even in what they take for gold, and that their life is mainly one of miserable anxiety, suspicion, and fear; forced and gin-inspired is their merriment, and dismal, for the most part, are their faces when not assuming an air of bravado, which deceives not even their companions. Some traces of humour are to be found in certain euphemisms, such as the delicate expression ‘fingersmith’ as descriptive of a trade which a blunt world might call that of a pickpocket. Or, again, to get three months’ hard labour is more pleasantly described as getting thirteen clean shirts, one being served out in prison each week. The tread-wheel, again, is more politely called the everlasting staircase, or the wheel of life, or the vertical case-grinder. Penal servitude is dignified with the appellation of serving Her Majesty for nothing; and even an attempt is made to lighten the horror of the climax of a criminal career by speaking of dying in a horse’s nightcap, _i.e._, a halter.”

The English public schools, but especially the military establishments, seem to be not unimportant manufacturing centres for slang. Only a small proportion, however, of the expressions coined there appear to have been adopted by the general slang-talking public, as most are local terms, and can only be used at their own birthplace. The same expressions in some cases have a totally different signification according to the places where they are in vogue. Thus gentlemen cadets at the “Shop,” _i.e._, the Royal Military Academy, will talk of the doctor as being the “skipper,” whereas elsewhere “skipper” has the signification of master, head of an establishment. The expression “tosh,” meaning bath, seems to have been imported by students from Eton, Harrow, and Charterhouse, to the “Shop,” where “to tosh” means to bathe, to wash, but also to toss an obnoxious individual into a cold bath, advantage being taken of his being in full uniform. Another expression connected with the forced application of cold water at the above establishment is termed “chamber singing” at Eton, a penalty enforced on the new boys of singing a song in public, with the alternative (according to the _Everyday Life in our Public Schools_ of C. E. Pascoe) of drinking a nauseous mixture of salt and beer; the corresponding penalty on the occasion of the arrival of unfortunate “snookers” at the R. M. Academy used to consist some few years ago of splashing them with cold water and throwing wet sponges at their heads, when they could not or would not contribute some ditty or other to the musical entertainment.

“Extra” at Harrow is a punishment which consists of writing out grammar for two and a half hours under the supervision of a master. The word extra at the “Shop” already mentioned is corrupted into “hoxter.” The hoxter consists in the painful ordeal of being compelled to turn out of bed at an early hour, and march up and down with full equipment under the watchful eye of a corporal. Again, we have here the suggestive terms: “greasers,” for fried potatoes; “squish,” for marmalade; “whales,” for sardines; “vaseline,” for honey; “grass,” for vegetables; and to be “roosted” is to be placed under arrest; whilst “to q.” means to qualify at the term examination. Here a man who is vexed or angry “loses his shirt” or his “hair;” at Shrewsbury he is “in a swot;” and at Winchester “front.” At the latter school a clique or party they term a “pitch up;” the word “Johnnies” (newly joined at Sandhurst, termed also “Johns,”) being sometimes used with a like signification by young officers, and the inquiry may occasionally be heard, “I say, old fellow, any more Johnnies coming?”

FIFTEENTH CENTURY.

LE JARGON OU JOBELIN DE MAISTRE FRANÇOIS VILLON.

BALLADE III.

Spélicans,
Qui, en tous temps,
Avancez dedans le pogois
Gourde piarde,
Et sur la tarde,
Desboursez les povres nyois,
Et pour soustenir vostre pois,
Les duppes sont privez de caire,
Sans faire haire,
Ne hault braiere,
Mais plantez ils sont comme joncz,
Pour les sires qui sont si longs.

Souvent aux arques
A leurs marques,
Se laissent tous desbouser
Pour ruer,
Et enterver
Pour leur contre, que lors faisons
La fée aux arques respons.
Vous ruez deux coups, ou bien troys,
Aux gallois.
Deux, ou troys
Mineront trestout aux frontz,
Pour les sires qui sont si longs.

Et pource, benars
Coquillars,
Rebecquez vous de la Montjoye
Qui desvoye
Votre proye,
Et vous fera de tout brouer,
Pour joncher et enterver,
Qui est aux pigeons bien cher;
Pour rifler
Et placquer
Les angels, de mal tous rondz
Pour les sires qui sont si longs.

ENVOI.

De paour des hurmes
Et des grumes,
Rassurez vous en droguerie
Et faerie,
Et ne soyez plus sur les joncz,
Pour les sires qui sont si longs.

TRANSLATION.

Police spies, who at all times drink good wine at the
tavern, and at night empty poor simpletons’ purses, and
to provide for your extortions silly thieves have to part
with their money, without complaining or clamouring,
yet they are planted in jail, like so many reeds, to be
plucked by the gaunt hangmen.

Oftentimes at the cashboxes, at places marked out for
plunder, they allow themselves to be despoiled, when
righting and resisting to save their confederate, while
we are practising our arts on the hidden coffers. You
make two or three onsets on the boon companions. Two or
three will mark them all for the gallows.

Hence, ye simple-minded vagabonds, turn away from the
gallows, which gives you the colic and will deprive you
of all, that you may deceive and steal what is of so much
value to the dupes, that you may outwit and thrash the
police, so eager to bring you to the scaffold.

For fear of the gibbet and the beam, exert more cunning
and be more wily, and be no longer in prison, thence to
be brought to the scaffold.

SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

SONNET EN AUTHENTIQUE LANGAGE SOUDARDANT.[1]

(_Extrait des Premières Œuvres Poétiques du Capitaine Lasphrise._)

Accipant[2] du marpaut[3] la galiere[4] pourrie,
Grivolant[5] porte-flambe[6] enfile le trimart.[7]
Mais en despit de Gille,[8] ô geux, ton Girouart,[9]
A la mette[10] on lura[11] ta biotte[12] conie.[13]

Tu peux gourd pioller[14] me credant[15] et morfie[16]
De l’ornion,[17] du morne:[18] et de l’oygnan[19] criart,
De l’artois blanchemin.[20] Que ton riflant chouart[21]
Ne rive[22] du Courrier l’andrumelle gaudie.[23]

Ne ronce point du sabre[24] au mion[25] du taudis,
Qui n’aille au Gaulfarault,[26] gergonant de tesis,[27]
Que son journal[28] o flus[29] n’empoupe ta fouillouse.[30]

N’embiant[31] on rouillarde,[32] et de noir roupillant,[33]
Sur la gourde fretille,[34] et sur le gourd volant,[35]
Ainsi tu ne luras l’accolante tortouse.[36]

[1] Langage soudardant, _soldiers’ lingo_.

[2] Accipant, _for_ recevant.

[3] Marpaut, _host_.

[4] Galiere, _mare_.

[5] Grivolant, _name for a soldier_.

[6] Flambe, _sword_.

[7] Trimart, _road_.

[8] Gille, _name for a runaway_.

[9] Girouart, _patron_.

[10] Mette, _wine-shop_; _morning_; _thieves’ meeting-place_.

[11] Lura, _will see_.

[12] Biotte, _steed_.

[13] Conie, _dead_.

[14] Gourd pioller, _drink heavily_.

[15] Me credant, _for_ me croyant.

[16] Morfie, _eat_.

[17] Ornion, _capon_.

[18] Morne, _mutton_.

[19] Oygnan, _for_ oignon.

[20] Artois blanchemin, _white bread_.

[21] Riflant chouart, _fiery penis_.

[22] Rive, _refers to coition_.

[23] Andrumelle gaudie, _jolly girl_.

[24] Ne ronce point du sabre, _do not lay the stick on_.

[25] Mion, _boy_, _waiter_.

[26] Gaulfarault, _master of a bawdy house_.

[27] Gergonant de tesis, _complaining of thee_.

[28] Journal, _pocket-book_.

[29] O flus, _or pack of cards_.

[30] N’empoupe ta fouillouse, _fill thy pocket_.

[31] N’embiant, _not travelling_.

[32] Rouillarde, _drinks_.

[33] De noir roupillant, _sleeping at night_.

[34] Gourde fretille, _thick straw_.

[35] Volant, _cloak_.

[36] Tortouse, _rope_.

SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A HEADMAN IN THE CANTING CREW AND A VAGABOND.

(_From Thomas Harman’s Caveat or Warening for Common Cursetors, vulgarly called Vagabones_, 1568.)

_Upright Man._ Bene Lightmans[37] to thy quarromes,[38] in
what lipken[39] hast thou lypped[40] in this darkemans,[41]
whether in a lybbege[42] or in the strummel?[43]

_Roge._ I couched a hogshead[44] in a Skypper[45] this
darkemans.

_Man._ I towre[46] the strummel trine[47] upon thy
nachbet[48] and Togman.[49]

_Roge._ I saye by the Salomon[50] I will lage it of[51]
with a gage of bene bouse;[52] then cut to my nose
watch.[53]

_Man._ Why, hast thou any lowre[54] in thy bonge[55] to
bouse?[56]

_Roge._ But a flagge,[57] a wyn,[58] and a make.[59]

_Man._ Why, where is the kene[60] that hath the ben bouse?

_Roge._ A bene mort[61] hereby at the signe of the
prauncer.[62]

_Man._ I cutt it is quyer[63] bouse, I bousd a flagge the
last darkmans.

_Roge._ But bouse there a bord,[64] and thou shalt haue
beneship.[65] Tower ye yander is the kene, dup the
gygger,[66] and maund[67] that is bene shyp.

_Man._ This bouse is as benship as rome bouse.[68] Now I
tower that ben bouse makes nase nabes.[69] Maunde of this
morte what ben pecke[70] is in her ken.

_Roge._ She has a Cacling chete,[71] a grunting chete,[72]
ruff Pecke,[73] Cassan,[74] and poplarr of yarum.[75]

_Man._ That is benship to our watche.[76] Now we haue well
bousd, let vs strike some chete.[77] Yonder dwelleth a
quyer cuffen,[78] it were benship to myll[79] hym.

_Roge._ Now bynge we a waste[80] to the hygh pad,[81] the
ruffmanes[82] is by.

_Man._ So may we happen on the Harmanes,[83] and cly
the Tarke,[84] or to the quyerken[85] and skower quyaer
crampings,[86] and so to tryning on the chates.[87] Gerry
gan,[88] the ruffian[89] clye the.[90]

_Roge._ What, stowe your bene,[91] cofe,[92] and sut
benat wydds,[93] and byng we to rome vyle,[94] to nyp a
bonge;[95] so shall we haue lowre for the bousing ken,[96]
and when we byng back to the deuseauyel,[97] we wyll fylche
some duddes[98] of the Ruffemans,[99] or myll the ken for a
lagge of dudes.[100]

[37] Bene Lightmans, _good day_.

[38] Quarromes, _body_.

[39] Lipken, _house_.

[40] Lypped, _slept_.

[41] Darkemans, _night_.

[42] Lybbege, _bed_.

[43] Strummel, _straw_.

[44] Couched a hogshead, _lay down to sleep_.

[45] Skypper, _barn_.

[46] I towre, _I see_.

[47] Trine, _hang_.

[48] Nachbet, _cap_.

[49] Togman, _coat_.

[50] Salomon, _mass_.

[51] Lage it of, _wipe it off_.

[52] Gage of bene bouse, _quart of good drink_.

[53] Cut to my nose watch, _say what you will to me_.

[54] Lowre, _money_.

[55] Bonge, _purse_.

[56] To bouse, _to drink_.

[57] Flagge, _groat_.

[58] Wyn, _penny_.

[59] Make, _halfpenny_.

[60] Kene, _house_.

[61] Bene mort, _good woman_.

[62] Prauncer, _horse_.

[63] Quyer, _bad_.

[64] Bord, _shilling_.

[65] Beneship, _excellent_.

[66] Dup the gygger, _open the door_.

[67] Maund, _ask_.

[68] Rome bouse, _wine_.

[69] Nase nabes, _drunken head_.

[70] Pecke, _meat_.

[71] Cacling chete, _fowl_.

[72] Grunting chete, _pig_.

[73] Ruff pecke, _bacon_.

[74] Cassan, _cheese_.

[75] Poplarr of yarum, _milk porridge_.

[76] To our watche, _for us_.

[77] Strike some chete, _steal something_.

[78] Quyer cuffen, _magistrate_.

[79] Myll, _rob_.

[80] Bynge we a waste, _let us away_.

[81] Pad, _road_.

[82] Ruffmanes, _wood_.

[83] Harmanes, _stocks_.

[84] Cly the Tarke, _be whipped_.

[85] Quyerken, _prison_.

[86] Skower quyaer crampings, _be shackled with bolts and fetters_.

[87] Chates, _gallows_.

[88] Gerry gan, _hold your tongue_.

[89] Ruffian, _devil_.

[90] Clye the, _take thee_.

[91] Stowe your bene, _hold your peace_.

[92] Cofe, _good fellow_.

[93] Sut benat wydds, _speak better words_.

[94] Rome vyle, _London_.

[95] Nyp a bonge, _cut a purse_.

[96] Bousing ken, _alehouse_.

[97] Deuseauyel, _country_.

[98] Duddes, _linen clothes_.

[99] Ruffemans, _hedges_.

[100] Lagge of dudes, _parcel of clothes_.

SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

DIALOGUE DE DEUX ARGOTIERS.[101]

L’UN POLISSON[102] ET L’AUTRE MALINGREUX,[103] QUI SE RENCONTRENT JUSTE À LA LOURDE[104] D’UNE VERGNE.[105]

(_Extrait du Jargon de l’Argot._)

_Le Malingreux._ La haute[106] t’aquige[107] en
chenastre[108] santé.

_Le Polisson._ Et tézière[109] aussi, fanandel;[110] où
trimardes[111]-tu?

_Le Malingreux._ En ce pasquelin[112] de Berry, on m’a
rouscaillé[113] que trucher[114] était chenastre; et en
cette vergne fiche-t-on la thune[115] gourdement?[116]

_Le Polisson._ Quelque peu, pas guère.

_Le Malingreux._ La rousse[117] y est-elle chenastre?

_Le Polisson._ Nenni; c’est ce qui me fait ambier[118] hors
de cette vergne; car si je n’eusse eu du michon,[119] je
fusse cosni[120] de faim.

_Le Malingreux._ Y a-t-il un castu[121] dans cette vergne.

_Le Polisson._ Jaspin.[122]

_Le Malingreux._ Est-il chenu?[123]

_Le Polisson._ Pas guère; les pioles[124] ne sont que de
fretille.[125]...

_Le Malingreux._ Veux-tu venir prendre de la morfe[126] et
piausser[127] avec mézière[128] en une des pioles que tu
m’as rouscaillées?

_Le Polisson._ Il n’y a ni ronds,[129] ni herplis,[130] en
ma felouse;[131] je vais piausser en quelque grenasse.[132]

_Le Malingreux._ Encore que n’y ayez du michon, ne laissez
pas de venir, car il y a deux menées[133] de ronds en ma
henne,[134] et deux ornies[135] en mon gueulard,[136] que
j’ai égraillées[137] sur le trimar;[138] bions[139] les
faire riffoder,[140] veux-tu?

_Le Polisson._ Girole,[141] et béni soit le grand
havre,[142] qui m’a fait rencontrer si chenastre occasion;
je vais me réjouir et chanter une petite chanson....

_Le Malingreux._ Si tu veux trimer[143] de compagnie avec
mézière, nous aquigerons grande chère,[144] je sais bien
aquiger les luques,[145] engrailler l’ornie, casser la hane
aux frémions,[146] pour épouser la fourcandière,[147] si
quelques rovaux[148] me mouchaillent.[149]

_Le Polisson._ Ah! le havre garde mézière, je ne fus jamais
ni fourgue[150] ni doubleux.[151]

_Le Malingreux._ Ni mézière non plus, je rouscaille[152]
tous les luisans[153] au grand havre de l’oraison.

[101] Argotiers, _members of the “canting crew.”_

[102] Polisson, _half-naked beggar_.

[103] Malingreux, _maimed or sick beggar_.

[104] Lourde, _gate_.

[105] Vergne, _town_.

[106] La haute, _the Almighty_.

[107] Aquige, _keep_.

[108] Chenastre, _good_.

[109] Tézière, _thee_.

[110] Fanandel, _comrade_.

[111] Trimardes, _going_.

[112] Pasquelin, _country_.

[113] Rouscaillé, _told_.

[114] Trucher, _to beg_.

[115] Fiche-t-on la thune, _do they give alms_.

[116] Gourdement, _much_.

[117] La rousse, _the police_.

[118] Ambier, _go_.

[119] Michon, _money_.

[120] Cosni, _died_.

[121] Castu, _hospital_.

[122] Jaspin, _yes_.

[123] Chenu, _good_.

[124] Pioles, _rooms_.

[125] Fretille, _straw_.

[126] Morfe, _food_.

[127] Piausser, _to sleep_.

[128] Mézière, _me_.

[129] Ronds, _halfpence_.

[130] Herplis, _farthings_.

[131] Felouse, _pocket_.

[132] Grenasse, _barn_.

[133] Menées, _dozen_.

[134] Henne, _purse_.

[135] Ornies, _hens_.

[136] Gueulard, _wallet_.

[137] Egraillées, _hooked_.

[138] Trimar, _road_.

[139] Bions, _let us go_.

[140] Riffoder, _cook_.

[141] Girole, _so be it_.

[142] Havre, _God_.

[143] Trimer, _to walk_.

[144] Aquigerons grande chère, _will live well_.

[145] Aquiger les luques, _prepare pictures_.

[146] Casser la hane aux frémions, _steal purses at fairs_.

[147] Epouser la fourcandière, _to throw away the stolen property_.

[148] Rovaux, _police_.

[149] Mouchaillent, _see_.

[150] Fourgue, _receiver of stolen property_.

[151] Doubleux, _thief_.

[152] Je rouscaille, _I pray_.

[153] Tous les luisans, _every day_.

SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

ENGLISH GIPSIES’ OATH.

(_Extract from Bampfylde-Moore Carew, King of the Mendicants._)

When a fresh recruit is admitted into this fraternity,
he is to take the following oath, administered by the
principal maunder,[154] after going through the annexed
form:--

First a new name is given him, by which he is ever after
to be called; then, standing up in the middle of the
assembly, and directing his face to the dimber damber, or
principal man of the gang, he repeats the following oath,
which is dictated to him by some experienced member of the
fraternity:--

“I, Crank Cuffin, do swear to be a true brother, and that
I will in all things obey the commands of the great tawny
prince,[155] keep his counsel, and not divulge the secrets
of my brethren.

“I will never leave or forsake the company, but observe
and keep all the times of appointment, either by day or by
night, in every place whatever.

“I will not teach anyone to cant; nor will I disclose any
of our mysteries to them.

“I will take my prince’s part against all that shall
oppose him, or any of us, according to the utmost of my
ability; nor will I suffer him, or anyone belonging to us,
to be abased by any strange abrams,[156] ruffies,[157]
hookers,[158] palliardes,[159] swaddlers,[160] Irish
toyles,[161] swigmen,[162] whip Jacks,[163] Jarkmen,[164]
bawdy baskets,[165] dommerars,[166] clapper dogeons,[167]
patricoes,[168] or curtails;[169] but I will defend
him, or them, as much as I can, against all other
outliers whatever. I will not conceal aught I win out of
libkins,[170] or from the ruffmans,[171] but will preserve
it for the use of the company. Lastly, I will cleave to my
doxy,[172] wap[173] stiffly, and will bring her duds,[174]
margery praters,[175] gobblers,[176] grunting cheats,[177]
or tibs of the buttery,[178] or anything else I can come
at, as winnings for her wappings.”[179]

[154] Maunder, _beggar_.

[155] Tawny prince, _Prince Prig, the head of the gipsies_.

[156] Abrams, _half-naked beggars_.

[157] Ruffies, _beggars who sham the old soldier_.

[158] Hookers, _thieves who beg in the daytime and steal at night from shops with a hook_.

[159] Palliardes, _ragged beggars_.

[160] Swaddlers, _Irish Roman Catholics who pretend conversion_.

[161] Toyles, _beggars with pedlar’s pack_.

[162] Swigmen, _beggars_.

[163] Whip Jacks, _beggars who sham the shipwrecked sailor_.

[164] Jarkmen, _learned beggars_, _begging-letter impostors_.

[165] Bawdy baskets, _prostitutes_.

[166] Dommerars, _dumb beggars_.

[167] Clapper dogeons, _beggars by birth_.

[168] Patricoes, _those who perform the marriage ceremony_.

[169] Curtails, _second in command, with short cloak_.

[170] Libkins, _lodgings_.

[171] Ruffmans, _bushes or woods_.

[172] Doxy, _mistress_.

[173] Wap, _to lie with a woman_.

[174] Duds, _clothes_.

[175] Margery praters, _hens_.

[176] Gobblers, _ducks_.

[177] Grunting cheats, _pigs_.

[178] Tibs of the buttery, _geese_.

[179] Wappings, _coition_.

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

JERRY JUNIPER’S CHANT.

(_From Ainsworth’s Rookwood._)

In a box[180] of the stone jug[181] I was born,
Of a hempen widow[182] the kid[183] forlorn,
Fake away!
And my father, as I’ve heard say,
Fake away!
Was a merchant of capers gay,
Who cut his last fling with great applause,
Nix my doll pals, fake away![184]
To the tune of hearty choke with caper sauce.
Fake away!
The knucks[185] in quod[186] did my schoolmen[187] play,
Fake away!
And put me up to the time of day,[188]
Until at last there was none so knowing,
No such sneaksman[189] or buzgloak[190] going,
Fake away!
Fogles[191] and fawnies[192] soon went their way,
Fake away!
To the spout[193] with the sneezers[194] in grand array,
No dummy hunter[195] had forks so fly,[196]
No knuckler so deftly could fake a cly,[197]
Fake away!
No slourd hoxter[198] my snipes[199] could stay,
Fake away!
None knap a reader[200] like me in the lay.[201]
Soon then I mounted in swell street-high,
Nix my doll pals, fake away!
Soon then I mounted in swell street-high,
And sported my flashest toggery,[202]
Fake away!
Fainly resolved I would make my hay,
Fake away!
While Mercury’s star shed a single ray;
And ne’er was there seen such a dashing prig,[203]
Nix my doll pals, fake away!
And ne’er was there seen such a dashing prig,
With my strummel faked[204] in the newest twig,[205]
Fake away!
With my fawnied famms[206] and my onions gay,[207]
Fake away!
My thimble of ridge,[208] and my driz kemesa,[209]
All my togs[210] were so niblike[211] and plash.[212]
Readily the queer screens[213] I then could smash.[214]
Fake away!
But my nuttiest blowen,[215] one fine day,
Fake away!
To the beaks[216] did her fancy man betray,
And thus was I bowled at last,
And into the jug for a lay was cast,
Fake away!
But I slipped my darbies[217] one morn in May,
And gave to the dubsman[218] a holiday.
And here I am, pals, merry and free,
A regular rollicking romany.[219]

[180] Box, _cell_.

[181] Stone jug, _Newgate_.

[182] Hempen widow, _woman whose husband has been hanged_.

[183] Kid, _child_.

[184] Nix my doll pals, fake away! _never mind, friends, work away!_

[185] Knucks, _thieves_.

[186] Quod, _prison_.

[187] Schoolmen, _fellows of the gang_.

[188] Put me up to the time of day, _made a knowing one of me_, _taught me thieving_.

[189] Sneaksman, _shoplifter_.

[190] Buzgloak, _pickpocket_.

[191] Fogles, _silk handkerchiefs_.

[192] Fawnies, _rings_.

[193] Spout, _pawnbroker’s_.

[194] Sneezers, _snuff-boxes_.

[195] Dummy hunter, _stealer of pocket books_.

[196] Forks so fly, _such nimble fingers_.

[197] No knuckler so deftly could fake a cly, _no pickpocket so skilfully could pick a pocket_.

[198] Slourd hoxter, _inside pocket buttoned up_.

[199] Snipes, _scissors_.

[200] Knap a reader, _steal a pocket book_.

[201] Lay, _robbery_, _dodge_.

[202] Flashest toggery, _best made clothes_.

[203] Prig, _thief_.

[204] Strummel faked, _hair dressed_.

[205] Twig, _fashion_.

[206] Fawnied famms, _hands bejewelled_.

[207] Onions, _seals_.

[208] Thimble of ridge, _gold watch_.

[209] Driz kemesa, _shirt with lace frill_.

[210] Togs, _clothes_.

[211] Niblike, _fashionable_.

[212] Plash, _fine_.

[213] Queer screens, _forged notes_.

[214] Smash, _pass_.

[215] Nuttiest blowen, _favourite girl_.

[216] Beaks, _magistrates_.

[217] Darbies, _handcuffs_.

[218] Dubsman, _turnkey_.

[219] Romany, _gipsy_.

EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

CHANSON.

(_Extrait du Vice Puni ou Cartouche, 1725._)

Fanandels[220] en cette Piolle[221]
On vit chenument;[222]
Arton, Pivois et Criolle[223]
On a gourdement.[224]
Pitanchons, faisons riolle[225]
Jusqu’au Jugement.

Icicaille[226] est le Théâtre
Du Petit Dardant;[227]
Fonçons à ce Mion[228] folâtre
Notre Palpitant.[229]
Pitanchons Pivois chenâtre[230]
Jusques au Luisant.[231]

[220] Fanandels, _comrades_.

[221] Piolle, _house_, _tavern_.

[222] Chenument, _well_.

[223] Arton, pivois et criolle, _bread, wine, and meat_.

[224] Gourdement, _in plenty_.

[225] Pitanchons, faisons riolle, _let us drink_, _amuse ourselves_.

[226] Icicaille, _here_.

[227] Petit Dardant, _Cupid_.

[228] Fonçons à ce Mion, _let us give this boy_.

[229] Palpitant, _heart_.

[230] Chenâtre, _good_.

[231] Luisant, _day_.

BEGINNING OF NINETEENTH CENTURY.

VIDOCQ’S SLANG SONG.

En roulant de vergne en vergne[232]
Pour apprendre à goupiner,[233]
J’ai rencontré la mercandière,[234]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Qui du pivois solisait,[235]
Lonfa malura dondé.

J’ai rencontré la mercandière
Qui du pivois solisait;
Je lui jaspine en bigorne;[236]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Qu’as tu donc à morfiller?[237]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Je lui jaspine en bigorne;
Qu’as tu donc à morfiller?
J’ai du chenu[238] pivois sans lance.[239]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et du larton savonné[240]
Lonfa malura dondé.

J’ai du chenu pivois sans lance
Et du larton savonné,
Une lourde[241] et une tournante,[242]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et un pieu[243] pour roupiller[244]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Une lourde, une tournante
Et un pieu pour roupiller.
J’enquille[245] dans sa cambriole,[246]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Espérant de l’entifler,[247]
Lonfa malura dondé.

J’enquille dans sa cambriole
Espérant de l’entifler;
Je rembroque[248] au coin du rifle,[249]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Un messière[250] qui pionçait,[251]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Je rembroque au coin du rifle
Un messière qui pionçait;
J’ai sondé dans ses vallades,[252]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Son carle[253] j’ai pessigué,[254]
Lonfa malura dondé.

J’ai sondé dans ses vallades,
Son carle j’ai pessigué,
Son carle et sa tocquante,[255]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et ses attaches de cé,[256]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Son carle et sa tocquante,
Et ses attaches de cé,
Son coulant[257] et sa montante,[258]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et son combre galuché[259]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Son coulant et sa montante
Et son combre galuché,
Son frusque,[260] aussi sa lisette,[261]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et ses tirants brodanchés,[262]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Son frusque, aussi sa lisette
Et ses tirants brodanchés.
Crompe,[263] crompe, mercandière,
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Car nous serions béquillés,[264]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Crompe, crompe, mercandière,
Car nous serions béquillés.
Sur la placarde de vergne,[265]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Il nous faudrait gambiller,[266]
Lonfa malura dondé.

Sur la placarde de vergne
Il nous faudrait gambiller,
Allumés[267] de toutes ces largues,[268]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Et du trèpe[269] rassemblé,
Lonfa malura dondé.

Allumés de toutes ces largues
Et du trèpe rassemblé;
Et de ces charlots bons drilles,[270]
Lonfa malura dondaine,
Tous aboulant[271] goupiner.
Lonfa malura dondé.

[232] Vergne, _town_.

[233] Goupiner, _to steal_.

[234] Mercandière, _tradeswomen_.

[235] Du pivois solisait, _sold wine_.

[236] Jaspine en bigorne, _say in cant_.

[237] Morfiller, _to eat and drink_.

[238] Chenu, _good_.

[239] Lance, _water_.

[240] Larton savonné, _white bread_.

[241] Lourde, _door_.

[242] Tournante, _key_.

[243] Pieu, _bed_.

[244] Roupiller, _to sleep_.

[245] J’enquille, _I enter_.

[246] Cambriole, _room_.

[247] Entifler, _to marry_.

[248] Rembroque, _see_.

[249] Rifle, _fire_.

[250] Messière, _man_.

[251] Pionçait, _was sleeping_.

[252] Vallades, _pockets_.

[253] Carle, _money_.

[254] Pessigué, _taken_.

[255] Tocquante, _watch_.

[256] Attaches de cé, _silver buckles_.

[257] Coulant, _chain_.

[258] Montante, _breeches_.

[259] Combre galuché, _laced hat_.

[260] Frusque, _coat_.

[261] Lisette, _waistcoat_.

[262] Tirants brodanchés, _embroidered stockings_.

[263] Crompe, _run away_.

[264] Béquillés, _hanged_.

[265] Placarde de vergne, _public place_.

[266] Gambiller, _to dance_.

[267] Allumés, _stared at_.

[268] Largues, _women_.

[269] Trèpe, _crowd_.

[270] Charlots bons drilles, _jolly thieves_.

[271] Aboulant, _coming_.

BEGINNING OF NINETEENTH CENTURY.

THE SAME SONG VERSIFIED BY WILLIAM MAGINN.

As from ken[272] to ken I was going,
Doing a bit on the prigging lay,[273]
Who should I meet but a jolly blowen,[274]
Tol lol, lol lol, tol derol ay;
Who should I meet but a jolly blowen,
Who was fly[275] to the time o’ day?[276]

Who should I meet but a jolly blowen,
Who was fly to the time of day.
I pattered in flash,[277] like a covey[278] knowing,
Tol lol, &c.,
“Ay, bub or grubby,[279] I say.”

I pattered in flash like a covey knowing,
“Ay, bub or grubby, I say.”
“Lots of gatter,”[280] quo’ she, “are flowing,
Tol lol, &c.,
Lend me a lift in the family way.[281]

“Lots of gatter,” quo’ she, “are flowing,
Lend me a lift in the family way.
You may have a crib[282] to stow in,
Tol lol, &c.,
Welcome, my pal,[283] as the flowers in May.”

“You may have a crib to stow in,
Welcome, my pal, as the flowers in May.”
To her ken at once I go in,
Tol lol, &c.,
Where in a corner out of the way;

To her ken at once I go in,
Where in a corner out of the way,
With his smeller[284] a trumpet blowing,
Tol lol, &c.,
A regular swell cove[285] lushy[286] lay.

With his smeller a trumpet blowing,
A regular swell cove lushy lay.
To his clies[287] my hooks[288] I throw in,
Tol lol, &c.,
And collar his dragons[289] clear away.

To his clies my hooks I throw in,
And collar his dragons clear away.
Then his ticker[290] I set a-going,
Tol lol, &c.,
And his onions,[291] chain and key.

Then his ticker I set a-going,
With his onions, chain and key;
Next slipt off his bottom clo’ing,
Tol lol, &c.,
And his ginger head topper gay.

Next slipt off his bottom clo’ing,
And his ginger head topper gay.
Then his other toggery[292] stowing,
Tol lol, &c.,
All with the swag[293] I sneak away.

Then his other toggery stowing,
All with the swag I sneak away.
Tramp it, tramp it, my jolly blowen,
Tol lol, &c.,
Or be grabbed[294] by the beaks[295] we may.

Tramp it, tramp it, my jolly blowen,
Or be grabbed by the beaks we may.
And we shall caper a-heel-and-toeing,
Tol lol, &c.,
A Newgate hornpipe some fine day.

And we shall caper a-heel-and-toeing,
A Newgate hornpipe some fine day,
With the mots[296] their ogles[297] throwing,
Tol lol, &c.,
And old Cotton[298] humming his pray.[299]

With the mots their ogles throwing,
And old Cotton humming his pray,
And the fogle-hunters[300] doing,
Tol lol, &c.,
Their morning fake[301] in the prigging lay.

[272] Ken, _shop_, _house_.

[273] Prigging lay, _thieving business_.

[274] Blowen, _girl_, _strumpet_, _sweetheart_.

[275] Fly (contraction of flash), _awake_, _up to_, _practised in_.

[276] Time o’ day, _knowledge of business_, _thieving_

[277] Pattered in flash, _spoke in slang_.

[278] Covey, _man_.

[279] Bub and grub, _drink and food_.

[280] Gatter, _porter_.

[281] Family, _the thieves in general_; the family way, _the thieving line_.

[282] Crib, _bed_.

[283] Pal, _friend_, _companion_, _paramour_.

[284] Smeller, _nose_.

[285] Swell cove, _gentleman_, _dandy_.

[286] Lushy, _drunk_.

[287] Clies, _pockets_.

[288] Hooks, _fingers_.

[289] Collar his dragons, _take his sovereigns_.

[290] Ticker, _watch_.

[291] Onions, _seals_.

[292] Toggery, _clothes_.

[293] Swag, _plunder_.

[294] Grabbed, _taken_.

[295] Beaks, _police officers_.

[296] Mots, _girls_.

[297] Ogles, _eyes_.

[298] Old Cotton, _the ordinary of Newgate_.

[299] Humming his pray, _saying prayers_.

[300] Fogle-hunters, _pickpockets_.

[301] Morning fake, _morning thieving_.

NINETEENTH CENTURY.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A THIEF IN THIEVES’ LANGUAGE.

By J. W. HORSLEY,

_Chaplain of H. M. Prison, Clerkenwell._

TRANSLATED INTO THE LANGUAGE OF FRENCH THIEVES.

I was born in 1853 at Stamford Hill, Middlesex. My parents removed from there to Stoke Newington, when I was sent to an infant school. Some time afterwards I was taken by two pals (companions) to an orchard to cop (steal) some fruit, me being a mug (inexperienced) at the game. This got to my father’s ears. When I went home he set about me with a strap until he was tired. He thought that was not enough, but tied me to a bedstead. You may be sure what followed. I got loose, tied a blanket and a counterpane together, fastened it to the bedstead, and let myself out of the window, and did not go home that night, but met my two pals and dossed (slept) in a haystack. Early next morning my pals said they knew where we could get some toke (food), and took me to a terrace. We went down the dancers (steps) to a safe, and cleared it out. Two or three days after I met my mother, who in tears begged of me to go home; so I went home. My parents moved to Clapton, when they sent me to school. My pals used to send stiffs (notes) to the schoolmaster, saying that I was wanted at home; but instead of that we used to go and smug snowy (steal linen) that was hung out to dry, or rob the bakers’ barrows. Things went from bad to worse, so I was obliged to leave home again. This time I palled in with some older hands at the game, who used to take me a parlour-jumping (robbing rooms), putting me in where the windows was open. I used to take anything there was to steal, and at last they told me all about wedge (silver-plate), how I should know it by the ramp (hall-mark--rampant lion?); we used to break it up in small pieces and sell it to watchmakers, and afterwards to a fence down the Lane (Petticoat Lane). Two or three times a week I used to go to the Brit. (Britannia Theatre) in Hoxton, or the gaff (penny music-room) in Shoreditch. I used to steal anything to make money to go to these places. Some nights I used to sleep at my pals’ houses, sometimes in a shed where there was a fire kept burning night and day. All this time I had escaped the hands of the reelers (police), but one day I was taken for robbing a baker’s cart, and got twenty-one days. While there I made pals with another one who came from Shoreditch, and promised to meet him when we got out, which I did, and we used to go together, and left the other pals at Clapton.