Chapter VIII: Plants (1)

That Shakespeare possessed an extensive knowledge of the history and superstitions associated with flowers is evident, from even only a slight perusal of his plays. Apart from the extensive use which he has made of these lovely objects of nature for the purpose of embellishing, or adding pathos to, passages here and there, he has also, with a master hand, interwoven many a little legend or superstition, thereby infusing an additional force into his writings. Thus we know with what effect he has made use of the willow in "Othello," in that touching passage where Desdemona (iv. 3), anticipating her death, relates how her mother had a maid called Barbara:

"She was in love; and he she lov'd prov'd mad,
And did forsake her; she had a song of willow,
An old thing 'twas, but it expressed her fortune,
And she died singing it: that song, to-night,
Will not go from my mind."

In a similar manner Shakespeare has frequently introduced flowers with a wonderful aptness, as in the case of poor Ophelia. Those, however, desirous of gaining a good insight into Shakespeare's knowledge of flowers, as illustrated by his plays, would do well to consult Mr. Ellacombe's exhaustive work on the "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," a book to which we are much indebted in the following pages, as also to Mr. Beisly's "Shakespeare's Garden."

_Aconite._[450] This plant, from the deadly virulence of its juice, which, Mr. Turner says, "is of all poysones the most hastie poysone," is compared by Shakespeare to gunpowder, as in "2 Henry IV." (iv. 4):

"the united vessel of their blood,
Mingled with venom of suggestion,
As, force perforce, the age will pour it in,
Shall never leak, though it do work as strong
As aconitum, or rash gunpowder."

[450] _Aconitum napellus_, Wolf's-bane or Monk's-hood.

It is, too, probably alluded to in the following passage in "Romeo and Juliet" (v. 1), where Romeo says:

"let me have
A dram of poison; such soon-speeding gear
As will disperse itself through all the veins,
That the life-weary taker may fall dead;
And that the trunk may be discharg'd of breath
As violently, as hasty powder fir'd
Doth hurry from the fatal cannon's womb."

According to Ovid, it derived its name from growing upon rock (Metamorphoses, bk. vii. l. 418):

"Quæ, quia nascuntur, dura vivacia caute,
Agrestes aconita vocant."

It is probably derived from the Greek [Greek: akonitos], "without a struggle," in allusion to the intensity of its poisonous qualities. Vergil[451] speaks of it, and tells us how the aconite deceives the wretched gatherers, because often mistaken for some harmless plant.[452] The ancients fabled it as the invention of Hecate,[453] who caused the plant to spring from the foam of Cerberus, when Hercules dragged him from the gloomy regions of Pluto. Ovid pictures the stepdame as preparing a deadly potion of aconite (Metamorphoses, bk. i. l. 147):

"Lurida terribiles miscent aconita novercæ."

[451] "Miseros fallunt aconita legentis" (Georgics, bk. ii. l. 152).

[452] See Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," 1878, pp. 7, 8.

[453] Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," 1870, pp.
1, 2.

In hunting, the ancients poisoned their arrows with this venomous plant, as "also when following their mortal brutal trade of slaughtering their fellow-creatures."[454] Numerous instances are on record of fatal results through persons eating this plant. In the "Philosophical Transactions" (1732, vol. xxxvii.) we read of a man who was poisoned in that year, by eating some of it in a salad, instead of celery. Dr. Turner mentions the case of some Frenchmen at Antwerp, who, eating the shoots of this plant for masterwort, all died, with the exception of two, in forty-eight hours. The aconitum is equally pernicious to animals.

[454] Phillips, "Flora Historica," 1829, vol. ii. pp. 122, 128.

_Anemone._ This favorite flower of early spring is probably alluded to in the following passage of "Venus and Adonis:"

"By this, the boy that by her side lay kill'd
Was melted like a vapour from her sight;
And in his blood, that on the ground lay spill'd,
A purple flower sprung up, chequer'd with white,
Resembling well his pale cheeks, and the blood
Which in round drops upon their whiteness stood."

According to Bion, it is said to have sprung from the tears that Venus wept over the body of Adonis:

"Alas, the Paphian! fair Adonis slain!
Tears plenteous as his blood she pours amain,
But gentle flowers are born, and bloom around;
From every drop that falls upon the ground
Where streams his blood, there blushing springs the rose,
And where a tear has dropp'd a wind-flower blows."

Other classical writers make the anemone to be the flower of Adonis. Mr. Ellacombe[455] says that although Shakespeare does not actually name the anemone, yet the evidence is in favor of this plant. The "purple color," he adds, is no objection, for purple in Shakespeare's time had a very wide signification, meaning almost any bright color, just as "purpureus" had in Latin.[456]

[455] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," pp. 10, 11.

[456] Phillips, "Flora Historica," 1829, vol. i. p. 104.

_Apple._ Although Shakespeare has so frequently introduced the apple into his plays, yet he has abstained from alluding to the extensive folk-lore associated with this favorite fruit. Indeed, beyond mentioning some of the popular nicknames by which the apple was known in his day, little is said about it. The term apple was not originally confined to the fruit now so called, but was a generic name applied to any fruit, as we still speak of the love-apple, pine-apple, etc.[457] So when Shakespeare (Sonnet xciii.) makes mention of Eve's apple, he simply means that it was some fruit that grew in Eden:

"How like Eve's apple doth thy beauty grow,
If thy sweet virtue answer not thy show."

[457] Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 13.

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

"_1st Drawer._ What the devil hast thou brought there?
apple-Johns? thou know'st Sir John cannot endure an
apple-John.

_2d Drawer._ Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a
dish of apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five
more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said, 'I will now
take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered
knights.'"

[458] Dyce's "Glossary to Shakespeare," p. 15.

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

"Nor John Apple, whose wither'd rind, entrench'd
By many a furrow, aptly represents
Decrepit age."

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

[459] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 29; probably
synonymous with the term "apple-Squire," which formerly
signified a pimp.

[460] Forby, in his "Vocabulary of East Anglia," says of this
apple, "we retain the name, but whether we mean the same
variety of fruit which was so called in Shakespeare's time, it
is not possible to ascertain."

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

"For all such time of love is lore
And like unto the _bitter swete_,
For though it thinke a man first sweete,
He shall well felen atte laste
That it is sower, and maie not laste."

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

[461] Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 16; Dyce's
"Glossary," p. 430; Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 81; Coles's
"Latin and English Dictionary." "A bitter-suete
[apple]--Amari-mellum."

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

"When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl
Then nightly sings the staring owl."

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

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

[462] See chapter xi., Customs connected with the Calendar.

[463] See chapter on Customs connected with Birth and Baptism.

In Peele's "Old Wives' Tale," it is said:

"Lay a crab in the fire to roast for lamb's wool."[464]

[464] Edited by Dyce, 1861, p. 446. Many fanciful derivations
for this word have been thought of, but it was no doubt named
from its smoothness and softness, resembling the wool of lambs.

And in Herrick's "Poems:"

"Now crowne the bowle
With gentle lamb's wooll,
Add sugar, and nutmegs, and ginger."

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

[465] Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," 1870, p. 50.

[466] Note on Jonson's Works, vol. iv. p. 24.

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

[467] Dyce's "Glossary," p. 242.

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

"A goldsmith telling o'er his cash,
A pipping-monger selling trash."

In Taylor's "Workes"[468] (1630) we read:

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

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

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

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

(_g_) The "pomewater" was a species of apple evidently of a juicy nature, and hence of high esteem in Shakespeare's time; for in "Love's Labour's Lost" (iv. 2) Holofernes says: "The deer was, as you know, _sanguis_--in blood; ripe as the pomewater, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of _coelo_--the sky, the welkin, the heaven; and anon falleth like a crab on the face of _terra_--the soil, the land, the earth."

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

[470] "Theatrum Botanicum," 1640.

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

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

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

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

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

And in "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" (iii. 1) Titania gives directions:

"Be kind and courteous to this gentleman,

* * * * *

Feed him with apricocks, and dewberries."

The spelling "apricock"[473] is derived from the Latin _præcox_, or _præcoquus_; and it was called "the precocious tree," because it flowered and fruited earlier than the peach. The term "apricock" is still in use in Northamptonshire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"O, had the monster seen those lily hands
Tremble, like aspen leaves, upon a lute;"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But, saying thus, instead of oil and balm,
Thou lay'st in every gash that love hath given me
The knife that made it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not all the water in the rough rude sea
Can wash the balm from an anointed king."

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

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

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

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

[480] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 22.

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

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

[481] Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 23.

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

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

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

[482] See Dyce's "Glossary," p. 32.

[483] See also Evelyn's "Sylva," 1776, p. 396.

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

[484] "Glossary," vol. i. p. 150; see Dyce's "Glossary," p. 63.

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

"I will enchant the old Andronicus
With words more sweet, and yet more dangerous,
Than baits to fish, or honey-stalks to sheep."

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

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

"There with fantastic garlands did she come
Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples."

_Cuckoo-buds._ Commentators are uncertain to what flower Shakespeare refers in "Love's Labour's Lost" (v. 2):

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

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

[485] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 212.

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

"he was met even now
As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiter, and furrow weeds,
With burdocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn."

[486] "Shakespeare's Garden," p. 143.

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

In Quarles's "Argalus and Parthenia" (1726, bk. iii.) a knight is introduced, whose

"horse was black as jet,
His furniture was round about beset
With branches slipt from the sad cypress tree."

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

[487] See "Winter's Tale," iv. 4:

"Lawn as white as driven snow;
Cyprus black as e'er was crow."

Its transparency is alluded to in "Twelfth Night," iii. 1:

"a cyprus, not a bosom,
Hides my heart."

[488] See Dyce's "Glossary," 1872, p. 113.

[489] Douce's "Illustrations of Shakespeare," 1839, p. 56. See
Mr. Gough's "Introduction to Sepulchral Monuments," p. lxvi.;
also Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 221.

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

"daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty."

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

"When daffodils begin to peer,--
With, heigh! the doxy over the dale,
Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year."

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

"Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining corn."

[490] See Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," 1870,
p. 63.

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

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

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

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

"_King._ By heaven, thy love is black as ebony.

_Biron._ Is ebony like her? O wood divine!
A wife of such wood were felicity."

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

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

"Judas, he japed
With jewen silver,
And sithen on an eller
Hanged hymselve."

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

"Grow, patience!
And let the stinking elder, grief, untwine
His perishing root with the increasing vine!"

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

"This is the pit and this the elder tree."

[491] "Flower-Lore," p. 35.

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

[492] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 66.

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

[493] Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 302; Dyce's "Glossary," p. 159.

[494] "Shakspere's Garden," p. 158.

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

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

[495] Quoted in Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 303.

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

"_Gadshill._ We have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk
invisible.

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

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

"Did you think that you had Gyges' ring?
Or the herb that gives invisibility?"

Again, in Ben Jonson's "New Inn" (i. 1):

"I had
No medicine, sir, to go invisible,
No fern-seed in my pocket."

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

[496] See Brand's "Pop. Antiq.," 1849, vol. i. pp. 314-316.

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

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

[497] "Illustrations of Shakespeare," pp. 302-308.

[498] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 305.

[499] See Gifford's note on Jonson's Works, vol. i. p. 52;
Dyce's "Glossary," p. 161; Du Cange's "Glossary;" Connelly's
"Spanish and English Dictionary," 4to.

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

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

and in Shirley's "Brothers:"[501]

"I must poison him;
One fig sends him to Erebus;"

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

[500] Edited by Dyce, 1857, p. 30.

[501] Edited by Gifford and Dyce, vol. i. p. 231.

[502] "Glossary," p. 161.

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

"A sceptre shall it have,--have I a soul,--
On which I'll toss the flower-de-luce of France."

[503] See "Winter's Tale," iv. 3; "Henry V.," v. 2; "1 Henry
VI.," i. 1.

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

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

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

[504] "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 73.

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

"Her nekke was white as the flour-de-lis."

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

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

"The maiden's sword protects the royal crown;
Beneath the maiden's sword the lilies safely blow."

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

_Gillyflower._ This was the old name for the whole class of carnations, pinks, and sweet-williams, from the French _girofle_, which is itself corrupted from the Latin _caryophyllum_.[505] The streaked gillyflowers, says Mr. Beisly,[506] noticed by Perdita in "Winter's Tale" (iv. 4)--

"the fairest flowers o' the season
Are our carnations and streak'd gillyvors,
Which some call nature's bastards"--

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

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

[505] "Nares's Glossary," vol. i. p. 363.

[506] "Shakespeare's Garden," p. 82; see Dyce's "Glossary," p. 184.

_Harebell._ This flower, mentioned in "Cymbeline" (iv. 2), is no doubt another name for the wild hyacinth.

Arviragus says of Imogen:

"thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor
The azured harebell, like thy veins."

_Hemlock._ In consequence of its bad and poisonous character, this plant was considered an appropriate ingredient for witches' broth. In "Macbeth" (iv. 1) we read of

"Root of hemlock, digged i' the dark."

Its scientific name, _conium_, is from the Greek word meaning cone or top, whose whirling motion resembles the giddiness produced on the constitution by its poisonous juice. It is by most persons supposed to be the death-drink of the Greeks, and the one by which Socrates was put to death.

_Herb of Grace_ or _Herb Grace_. A popular name in days gone by for rue. The origin of the term is uncertain. Most probably it arose from the extreme bitterness of the plant, which, as it had always borne the name _rue_ (to be sorry for anything), was not unnaturally associated with repentance. It was, therefore, the herb of repentance,[507] "and this was soon changed into 'herb of grace,' repentance being the chief sign of grace." The expression is several times used by Shakespeare. In "Richard II." (iii. 4) the gardener narrates:

"Here did she fall a tear; here, in this place
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen."

[507] Ellacombe's "Plant-Lore of Shakespeare," p. 204; Prior's
"Popular Names of British Plants," 1870, p. 111.

In "Hamlet" (iv. 5), Ophelia, when addressing the queen, says, "There's rue for you; and here's some for me: we may call it herb-grace o' Sundays: O, you must wear your rue with a difference."[508]

[508] Cf. "All's Well that Ends Well," iv. 5; "Antony and
Cleopatra," iv. 2; "Romeo and Juliet," ii. 3, where Friar
Laurence says:

"In man as well as herbs, grace and rude will."

Malone observes that there is no ground for supposing that rue was called "herb of grace" from its being used in exorcisms in churches on Sunday, a notion entertained by Jeremy Taylor, who says, referring to the _Flagellum Dæmonum_, "First, they (the Romish exorcisers) are to try the devil by holy water, incense, sulphur, rue, which from thence, as we suppose, came to be called 'herb of grace.'"[509] Rue was also a common subject of puns, from being the same word which signified sorrow or pity (see "Richard II.," iii. 4, cited above).

[509] "A Dissuasive from Popery," pt. i. chap. ii. sec. 9; see
Dyce's "Glossary," p. 371.

_Holy Thistle._ The Carduus Benedictus, called also "blessed thistle," was so named, like other plants which bear the specific name of "blessed," from its supposed power of counteracting the effect of poison.[510] Cogan, in his "Haven of Health," 1595, says, "This herbe may worthily be called _Benedictus_, or _Omnimorbia_, that is, a salve for every sore, not known to physitians of old time, but lately revealed by the special providence of Almighty God." It is alluded to in "Much Ado About Nothing" (iii. 4):

"_Margaret._ Get you some of this distilled Carduus
Benedictus, and lay it to your heart; it is the only thing for
a qualm.

_Hero._ There thou prickest her with a thistle.

_Beatrice._ Benedictus! why Benedictus? you have some moral in
this Benedictus.

_Margaret._ Moral? no, by my troth, I have no moral meaning. I
meant, plain holy-thistle."

[510] Nares's "Glossary," vol. i. p. 464.

_Insane Root._ There is much doubt as to what plant is meant by Banquo in "Macbeth" (i. 3):

"have we eaten on the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner?"

The origin of this passage is probably to be found in North's "Plutarch," 1579 ("Life of Antony," p. 990), where mention is made of a plant which "made them out of their wits." Several plants have been suggested--the hemlock, belladonna, mandrake, henbane, etc. Douce supports the last, and cites the following passage:[511] "Henbane ... is called insana, mad, for the use thereof is perillous; for if it be eate or dronke, it breedeth madness, or slow lykenesse of sleepe." Nares[512] quotes from Ben Jonson ("Sejanus," iii. 2), in support of hemlock:

"well, read my charms,
And may they lay that hold upon thy senses
As thou hadst snufft up hemlock."

[511] Batman's "Upon Bartholomæus de Proprietate Rerum," lib.
xvii. chap. 87.

[512] "Glossary," vol. i. p. 465.

_Ivy._ It was formerly the general custom in England, as it is still in France and the Netherlands, to hang a bush of ivy at the door of a vintner.[513] Hence the allusion in "As You Like It" (v. 4, Epilogue), where Rosalind wittily remarks: "If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 'tis true that a good play needs no epilogue." This custom is often referred to by our old writers, as, for instance, in Nash's "Summer's Last Will and Testament," 1600:

"Green ivy bushes at the vintner's doors."

And in the "Rival Friends," 1632:

"'Tis like the ivy bush unto a tavern."

[513] See Hotten's "History of Sign Boards."

This plant was no doubt chosen from its being sacred to Bacchus. The practice was observed at statute hirings, wakes, etc., by people who sold ale at no other time. The manner, says Mr. Singer,[514] in which they were decorated appears from a passage in Florio's "Italian Dictionary," in _voce tremola_, "Gold foile, or thin leaves of gold or silver, namely, thinne plate, as our vintners adorn their bushes with." We may compare the old sign of "An owl in an ivy bush," which perhaps denoted the union of wisdom or prudence with conviviality, with the phrase "be merry and wise."

[514] "Shakespeare," vol. iii. p. 112.

_Kecksies._ These are the dry, hollow stalks of hemlock. In "Henry V." (v. 2) Burgundy makes use of the word:

"and nothing teems,
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
Losing both beauty and utility."

It has been suggested[515] that kecksies may be a mistaken form of the plural kex; and that kex may have been formed from keck, something so dry that the eater would keck at it, or be unable to swallow it. The word is probably derived from the Welsh "cecys," which is applied to several plants of the umbelliferous kind. Dr. Prior,[516] however, says that kecksies is from an old English word keek, or kike, retained in the northern counties in the sense of "peep" or "spy."

[515] See Nares's "Glossary," vol. ii. p. 482.

[516] "Popular Names of British Plants," 1879, p. 128.

_Knotgrass._[517] The allusion to this plant in "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" (iii. 2)--

"Get you gone, you dwarf!
You minimus, of hindering knot-grass made;
You bead, you acorn!"--

refers to its supposed power of hindering the growth of any child or animal, when taken in an infusion, a notion alluded to by Beaumont and Fletcher ("Coxcombe," ii. 2):

"We want a boy extremely for this function,
Kept under for a year with milk and knot-grass."

[517] _Polygonum aviculare._

In "The Knight of the Burning Pestle" (ii. 2) we read: "The child's a fatherless child, and say they should put him into a strait pair of gaskins, 'twere worse than knot-grass; he would never grow after it."

_Lady-smocks._ This plant is so called from the resemblance of its white flowers to little smocks hung out to dry ("Love's Labour's Lost," v. 2), as they used to be at that season of the year especially

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

* * * * *

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws,

* * * * *

And maidens bleach their summer smocks."

According to another explanation, the lady-smock is a corruption of "Our Lady's Smock," so called from its first flowering about Lady-tide. This plant has also been called cuckoo-flower, because, as Gerarde says, "it flowers in April and May, when the cuckoo doth begin to sing her pleasant notes without stammering."

_Laurel._ From the very earliest times this classical plant has been regarded as symbolical of victory, and used for crowns. In "Titus Andronicus" (i. 1) Titus says:

"Cometh Andronicus, bound with laurel boughs."

And in "Antony and Cleopatra" (i. 3) the latter exclaims:

"upon your sword
Sit laurelled victory."[518]

[518] See "3 Henry VI.," iv. 6; "Troilus and Cressida," i. 3.

_Leek._ The first of March is observed by the Welsh in honor of St. David, their patron saint, when, as a sign of their patriotism, they wear a leek. Much doubt exists as to the origin of this custom. According to the Welsh, it is because St. David ordered his Britons to place leeks in their caps, that they might be distinguished in fight from their Saxon foes. Shakespeare, in "Henry V." (iv. 7), alludes to the custom when referring to the battle of Cressy. Fluellen says, "If your majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps, which your majesty know to this hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day."[519] Dr. Owen Pughe[520] supposes the custom arose from the practice of every farmer contributing his leek to the common repast when they met at the Cymmortha, an association by which they reciprocated assistance in ploughing the land. Anyhow, the subject is one involved in complete uncertainty, and the various explanations given are purely conjectural (see p. 303).

[519] See "Henry V.," iv. 1.

[520] "Cambrian Biography," 1803, p. 86; see Brand's "Pop.
Antiq.," 1849, vol. i. pp. 102-108.

_Lily._ Although so many pretty legends and romantic superstitions have clustered round this sweet and favorite flower, yet they have escaped the notice of Shakespeare, who, while attaching to it the choicest epithets, has simply made it the type of elegance and beauty, and the symbol of purity and whiteness.

_Long Purples._ This plant, mentioned by Shakespeare in "Hamlet" (iv. 7) as forming part of the nosegay of poor Ophelia, is generally considered to be the early purple orchis (_Orchis mascula_), which blossoms in April or May. It grows in meadows and pastures, and is about ten inches high. Tennyson ("A Dirge") uses the name:

"Round thee blow, self-pleached deep,
Bramble roses, faint and pale,
And long purples of the dale."

Another term applied by Shakespeare to this flower was "Dead Men's Fingers," from the pale color and hand-like shape of the palmate tubers:

"Our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them."

In "Flowers from Stratford-on-Avon," it is said, "there can be no doubt that the wild arum is the plant alluded to by Shakespeare," but there seems no authority for this statement.

_Love-in-Idleness_, or, with more accuracy, _Love-in-Idle_,[521] is one of the many nicknames of the pansy or heart's-ease--a term said to be still in use in Warwickshire. It occurs in "Midsummer-Night's Dream" (ii. 1),[522] where Oberon says:

"Yet mark'd I where the bolt of Cupid fell:
It fell upon a little western flower,
Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound,
And maidens call it love-in-idleness."

[521] See Dr. Prior's "Popular Names of British Plants," 1870,
p. 139.

[522] Cf. "Taming of the Shrew," i. 1.

The phrase literally signifies love in vain, or to no purpose, as Taylor alludes to it in the following couplet:

"When passions are let loose without a bridle,
Then precious time is turned to _love and idle_."

That flowers, and pansies especially, were used as love-philters,[523] or for the object of casting a spell over people, in Shakespeare's day, is shown in the passage already quoted. where Puck and Oberon amuse themselves at Titania's expense. Again, a further reference occurs (iv. 1), where the fairy king removes the spell:

"But first I will release the fairy queen.
Be as thou wast wont to be:
See as thou wast wont to see:
Dian's bud[524] o'er Cupid's flower[525]
Hath such force and blessed power.
Now, my Titania; wake you, my sweet queen."

[523] Cf. what Egeus says (i. 1) when speaking of Lysander:

"This man hath bewitch'd the bosom of my child;
Thou, thou Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes
And interchanged love-tokens with my child."

[524] Dian's bud is the bud of the _Agnus castus_, or chaste
tree. "The virtue this herbe is, that he will kepe man and
woman chaste." "Macer's Herbal," 1527.

[525] Cupid's flower, another name for the pansy.

"It has been suggested," says Mr. Aldis Wright,[526] "that the device employed by Oberon to enchant Titania by anointing her eyelids with the juice of a flower, may have been borrowed by Shakespeare from the Spanish romance of 'Diana' by George of Montemayor. But apart from the difficulty which arises from the fact that no English translation of this romance is known before that published by Young in 1598, there is no necessity to suppose that Shakespeare was indebted to any one for what must have been a familiar element in all incantations at a time when a belief in witchcraft was common." Percy ("Reliques," vol. iii. bk. 2) quotes a receipt by the celebrated astrologer, Dr. Dee, for "an ungent to anoynt under the eyelids, and upon the eyelids eveninge and morninge, but especially when you call," that is, upon the fairies. It consisted of a decoction of various flowers.

[526] Notes to "A Midsummer-Night's Dream," 1877. Preface, p. xx.

_Mandragora_ or _Mandrake_. No plant, perhaps, has had, at different times, a greater share of folk-lore attributed to it than the mandrake; partly owing, probably, to the fancied resemblance of its root to the human figure, and the accidental circumstance of _man_ being the first syllable of the word. An inferior degree of animal life was assigned to it; and it was commonly supposed that, when torn from the ground, it uttered groans of so pernicious a character, that the person who committed the violence either went mad or died. In "2 Henry VI." (iii. 2) Suffolk says:

"Would curses kill, as doth the mandrake's groan,
I would invent," etc.

And Juliet ("Romeo and Juliet," iv. 3) speaks of

"shrieks like mandrakes' torn out of the earth,
That living mortals, hearing them, run mad."

To escape this danger, it was recommended to tie one end of a string to the plant and the other to a dog, upon whom the fatal groan would discharge its whole malignity. The ancients, it appears, were equally superstitious with regard to this mysterious plant, and Columella, in his directions for the site of gardens, says they may be formed where

"the mandrake's flowers
Produce, whose root shows half a man, whose juice
With madness strikes."

Pliny[527] informs us that those who dug up this plant paid particular attention to stand so that the wind was at their back; and, before they began to dig, they made three circles round the plant with the point of the sword, and then, proceeding to the west, commenced digging it up. It seems to have been well known as an opiate in the time of Shakespeare, who makes Iago say in "Othello" (iii. 3):

"Not poppy, nor mandragora,
Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world,
Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep
Which thou ow'dst yesterday."

[527] "Natural History," bk. xxv. chap. 94.

In "Antony and Cleopatra" (i. 5), the queen pathetically says:

"Give me to drink mandragora.

_Char._ Why, madam?

_Cleo._ That I might sleep out this great gap of time,
My Antony is away."