Folk-lore of Shakespeare

Marigold. This flower was a great favorite with our old writers, from a curious notion that it always opened or shut its flowers at the sun’s bidding; in allusion to which Perdita remarks, in “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 3):

“The marigold, that goes to bed wi’ the sun,And with him rises weeping.”

It was also said, but erroneously, to turn its flowers to the sun, a quality attributed to the sunflower (Helianthus annuus), and thus described by Moore:

“The sunflower turns on her god when he setsThe same look which she turn’d when he rose.”

A popular name for the marigold was “mary-bud,” mention of which we find in “Cymbeline” (ii. 3):

“winking Mary-buds beginTo ope their golden eyes.”

Medlar. This fruit, which Shakespeare describes as only fit to be eaten when rotten, is applied by Lucio to a woman of loose character, as in “Measure for Measure” (iv. 3): “they would else have married me to the rotten medlar.”

Chaucer, in the “Reeve’s Prologue,” applies the same name to it:

“That ilke fruit is ever lenger the wers,Till it be roten in mullok, or in stre.We olde men, I drede, so faren we,Till we be roten can we not be ripe.”

Mistletoe. This plant, which, from the earliest times, has been an object of interest to naturalists, on account of its curious growth, deriving its subsistence entirely from the branch to which it annexes itself, has been the subject of widespread superstition. In “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 3), Tamora describes it in the graphic passage below as the “baleful mistletoe,” an epithet which, as Mr. Douce observes, is extremely appropriate, either conformably to an ancient, but erroneous, opinion, that the berries of the mistletoe were poisonous, or on account of the use made of this plant by the Druids during their detestable human sacrifices.531

“Demetrius. How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother,Why doth your highness look so pale and wan?Tamora. Have I not reason, think you, to look pale?These two have ’tic’d me hither to this place: —A barren detested vale, you see, it is;The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean,O’ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe:Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds,Unless the nightly owl, or fatal raven.”

Mushroom. Besides his notice of the mushroom in the following passages, Shakespeare alludes to the fairy rings532 which are formed by fungi, though, as Mr. Ellacombe533 points out, he probably knew little of this. In “The Tempest” (v. 1), Prospero says of the fairies:

“you demi-puppets, thatBy moonshine do the green-sour ringlets make,Whereof the ewe not bites; and you, whose pastimeIs to make midnight mushrooms;”

the allusion in this passage being to the superstition that sheep will not eat the grass that grows on fairy rings.

Mustard. Tewksbury mustard, to which reference is made in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4), where Falstaff speaks of “wit as thick as Tewksbury mustard,” was formerly very famous. Shakespeare speaks only of its thickness, but others have celebrated its pungency. Coles, writing in 1657, says: “In Gloucestershire, about Teuxbury, they grind mustard and make it into balls, which are brought to London, and other remote places, as being the best that the world affords.”

Narcissus. The old legend attached to this flower is mentioned by Emilia in “The Two Noble Kinsmen” (ii. 1):

“That was a fair boy certain, but a fool,To love himself; were there not maids enough?”

Nutmeg. A gilt nutmeg was formerly a common gift at Christmas and on other festive occasions, a notice of which occurs in “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2), in the following dialogue:534

“Armado. ‘The armipotent Mars, of lances the almighty,Gave Hector a gift, – ’Dumain. A gilt nutmeg.”

Oak. A crown of oak was considered by the Romans worthy of the highest emulation of statesmen and warriors. To him who had saved the life of a Roman soldier was given a crown of oak-leaves; one, indeed, which was accounted more honorable than any other. In “Coriolanus” (ii. 1), Volumnia says: “he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.” And again (i. 3): “To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows bound with oak.” Montesquieu, indeed, said that it was with two or three hundred crowns of oak that Rome conquered the world. Although so much historical and legendary lore have clustered round the oak, yet scarcely any mention is made of this by Shakespeare. The legend of Herne the Hunter, which seems to have been current at Windsor, is several times alluded to, as, for instance, in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (iv. 4):

“Mrs. Page. There is an old tale goes, that Herne the hunter,Sometime a keeper here in Windsor forest,Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,Walk round about an oak, with great ragg’d horns.*****Page. … there want not many, that do fearIn deep of night to walk by this Herne’s oak.”

Herne’s Oak, so long an object of much curiosity and enthusiasm, is now no more. According to one theory, the old tree was blown down August 31, 1863; and a young oak was planted by her Majesty, September 12, 1863, to mark the spot where Herne’s Oak stood.535 Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps, however, tells us, “the general opinion is that it was accidentally destroyed in the year 1796, through an order of George III. to the bailiff Robinson, that all the unsightly trees in the vicinity of the castle should be removed; an opinion confirmed by a well-established fact, that a person named Grantham, who contracted with the bailiff for the removal of the trees, fell into disgrace with the king for having included the oak in his gatherings.”536

Olive. This plant, ever famous from its association with the return of the dove to the ark, has been considered typical of peace. It was as an emblem of peace that a garland of olive was given to Judith when she restored peace to the Israelites by the death of Holofernes (Judith, xv. 13). It was equally honored by Greeks and Romans. It is, too, in this sense that Shakespeare speaks of it when he makes Viola, in “Twelfth Night” (i. 5), say: “I bring no overture of war, no taxation of homage; I hold the olive in my hand, my words are as full of peace as matter.” In Sonnet CVII. occurs the well-known line:537

“And peace proclaims olives of endless age.”

Palm. As the symbol of victory, this was carried before the conqueror in triumphal processions. Its classical use is noticed by Shakespeare in “Coriolanus” (v. 3). Volumnia says:538

“And bear the palm, for having bravely shedThy wife and children’s blood.”

In “Julius Cæsar” (i. 2), Cassius exclaims:

“Ye gods, it doth amaze me,A man of such a feeble temper shouldSo get the start of the majestic world,And bear the palm alone.”

Pilgrims were formerly called “palmers,” from the staff or bough of palm they were wont to carry. So, in “All’s Well That Ends Well” (iii. 5), Helena asks:

“Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?”

Pear. In his few notices of the pear Shakespeare only mentions two by name, the warden and the poperin: the former was chiefly used for roasting or baking, and is mentioned by the clown in the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 3):

“I must have saffron, to colour the warden pies.”

Hence Ben Jonson makes a pun upon Church-warden pies. According to some antiquarians, the name warden is from the Anglo-Saxon wearden, to preserve, as it keeps for a long time; but it is more probable that the word had its origin from the horticultural skill of the Cistercian monks of Wardon Abbey, in Bedfordshire, founded in the 12th century. Three warden pears appeared on the armorial bearings of the abbey.539 It is noticeable that the warden pies of Shakespeare’s day, colored with saffron, have been replaced by stewed pears colored with cochineal.

The poperin pear was probably introduced from Flanders by the antiquary Leland, who was made rector of Popering by Henry VIII. It is alluded to by Mercutio in “Romeo and Juliet” (ii. 1), where he wishes that Romeo were “a poperin pear.” In the old dramas there is much attempt at wit on this pear.

Peas. A practice called “peascod wooing” was formerly a common mode of divination in love affairs. The cook, when shelling green peas, would, if she chanced to find a pod having nine, lay it on the lintel of the kitchen-door, and the first man who entered was supposed to be her future husband. Another way of divination by peascod consisted in the lover selecting one growing on the stem, snatching it away quickly, and if the good omen of the peas remaining in the husk were preserved, in then presenting it to the lady of his choice. Touchstone, in “As You Like It” (ii. 4), alludes to this piece of popular suggestion: “I remember the wooing of a peascod540 instead of her.” Gay, who has carefully chronicled many a custom of his time, says, in his “Fourth Pastoral:”

“As peascods once I pluck’d, I chanc’d to see,One that was closely fill’d with three times three,Which when I cropp’d I safely home convey’d,And o’er my door the spell in secret laid.”

We may quote, as a further illustration, the following stanza from Browne’s “Pastorals” (bk. ii. song 3):

“The peascod greene, oft with no little toyle,He’d seek for in the fattest, fertil’st soile,And rende it from the stalke to bring it to her,And in her bosom for acceptance wooe her.”541

Plantain. The leaves of this plant were carefully valued by our forefathers for their supposed efficacy in healing wounds, etc. It was also considered as a preventive of poison; and to this supposed virtue we find an allusion in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 2):

“Benvolio. Take thou some new infection to thy eye,And the rank poison of the old will die.Romeo. Your plantain leaf is excellent for that.Benvolio. For what, I pray thee?Romeo. For your broken shin.”542

In the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (i. 2) Palamon says:

“These poor slight soresNeed not a plantain.”

Poppy. The plant referred to by Shakespeare in “Othello” (iii. 3) is the opium poppy, well known in his day for its deadly qualities. It is described by Spenser in the “Fairy Queen” (ii. 7, 52) as the “dead-sleeping poppy,” and Drayton (“Nymphidia,” v.) enumerates it among the flowers that procure “deadly sleeping.”

Potato. It is curious enough, says Nares,543 to find that excellent root, which now forms a regular portion of the daily nutriment of every individual, and is the chief or entire support of multitudes in Ireland, spoken of continually as having some powerful effect upon the human frame, in exciting the desires and passions; yet this is the case in all the writings contemporary with Shakespeare. Thus Falstaff, in “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5), says: “Let the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of ‘Green Sleeves,’ hail kissing comfits,” etc. In “Troilus and Cressida” (v. 2), Thersites adds: “How the devil luxury, with his fat rump and potato finger, tickles these together.”544 It appears, too, that the medical writers of the times countenanced this fancy. Mr. Ellacombe545 observes that the above passages are of peculiar interest, inasmuch as they contain almost the earliest notice of potatoes after their introduction into England.

Primrose. Although the early primrose has always been such a popular and favorite flower, yet it seems to have been associated with sadness,546 or even worse than sadness; for, in the following passages, the “primrose paths” and “primrose way” are meant to be suggestive of sinful pleasures. Thus, in “Hamlet” (i. 3), Ophelia says:

“like a puff’d and reckless libertine,Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads,And recks not his own rede.”

And in “Macbeth” (ii. 3), the Porter declares: “I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire.” Curious to say, too, Shakespeare’s only epithets for this fair flower are, “pale,” “faint,” “that die unmarried.” Nearly all the poets of that time spoke of it in the same strain, with the exception of Ben Jonson and the two Fletchers.

Reed. Among the uses to which the reed was formerly applied were the thatching of houses and the making of shepherds’ pipes. The former is alluded to in the “Tempest” (v. 1):

“His tears run down his beard, like winter’s dropsFrom eaves of reeds;”

and the latter in “Merchant of Venice” (iii. 4), where Portia speaks of “a reed voice.” It has generally been regarded as the emblem of weakness, as in “Antony and Cleopatra” (ii. 7): “a reed that will do me no service.”

Rose. As might be expected, the rose is the flower most frequently mentioned by Shakespeare, a symbol, in many cases, of all that is fair and lovely. Thus, for instance, in “Hamlet” (iii. 4), Hamlet says:

“Such an act … takes off the roseFrom the fair forehead of an innocent love,And sets a blister there.”

And Ophelia (iii. 1) describes Hamlet as,

“The expectancy and rose of the fair state.”

In days gone by the rose entered largely into the customs and superstitions of most nations, and even nowadays there is an extensive folk-lore associated with it.

It appears that, in Shakespeare’s time, one of the fashions of the day was the wearing of enormous roses on the shoes, of which full-length portraits afford striking examples.547 Hamlet (iii. 2) speaks of “two Provincial roses on my razed shoes;” meaning, no doubt, rosettes of ribbon in the shape of roses of Provins or Provence. Douce favors the former, Warton the latter locality. In either case, it was a large rose. The Provence, or damask rose, was probably the better known. Gerarde, in his “Herbal,” says that the damask rose is called by some Rosa Provincialis.548 Mr. Fairholt549 quotes, from “Friar Bacon’s Prophecy” (1604), the following, in allusion to this fashion:

“When roses in the gardens grew,And not in ribbons on a shoe:Now ribbon roses take such placeThat garden roses want their grace.”

Again, in “King John” (i. 1), where the Bastard alludes to the three-farthing silver pieces of Queen Elizabeth, which were extremely thin, and had the profile of the sovereign, with a rose on the back of her head, there doubtless is a fuller reference to the court fashion of sticking roses in the ear:550

“my face so thin,That in mine ear I durst not stick a rose,Lest men should say, ‘Look, where three-farthings goes.’”

Shakespeare also mentions the use of the rose in rose-cakes and rose-water, the former in “Romeo and Juliet” (v. 1), where Romeo speaks of “old cakes of roses,” the latter in “Taming of the Shrew” (Induction, 1):

“Let one attend him with a silver basinFull of rose-water and bestrew’d with flowers.”

Referring to its historical lore, we may mention its famous connection with the Wars of the Roses. In the fatal dispute in the Temple Gardens, Somerset, on the part of Lancaster, says (“1 Henry VI.” ii. 4):

“Let him that is no coward, nor no flatterer,But dare maintain the party of the truth,Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.”

Warwick, on the part of York, replies:

“I love no colours, and, without all colourOf base insinuating flattery,I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.”

The trailing white dog-rose is commonly considered to have been the one chosen by the House of York. A writer, however, in the Quarterly Review (vol. cxiv.) has shown that the white rose has a very ancient interest for Englishmen, as, long before the brawl in the Temple Gardens, the flower had been connected with one of the most ancient names of our island. The elder Pliny, in discussing the etymology of the word Albion, suggests that the land may have been so named from the white roses which abounded in it. The York and Lancaster rose, with its pale striped flowers, is a variety of the French rose known as Rosa Gallica. It became famous when the two emblematical roses, in the persons of Henry VII. and Elizabeth of York, at last brought peace and happiness to the country which had been so long divided by internal warfare. The canker-rose referred to by Shakespeare is the wild dog-rose, a name occasionally applied to the common red poppy.

Rosemary. This plant was formerly in very high esteem, and was devoted to various uses. It was supposed to strengthen the memory; hence it was regarded as a symbol of remembrance, and on this account was often given to friends. Thus, in “Hamlet” (iv. 5), where Ophelia seems to be addressing Laertes, she says: “There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.” In the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4) rosemary and rue are beautifully put together:

“For you there’s rosemary and rue; these keepSeeming and savour all the winter long:Grace and remembrance be to you both,And welcome to our shearing!”

Besides being used at weddings, it was also in request at funerals, probably for its odor, and as a token of remembrance of the deceased. Thus the Friar, in “Romeo and Juliet” (iv. 5), says:

“Dry up your tears, and stick your rosemaryOn this fair corse.”

This practice is thus touchingly alluded to by Gay, in his “Pastorals:”

“To shew their love, the neighbours far and nearFollowed, with wistful look, the damsel’s bier:Sprigg’d rosemary the lads and lasses bore,While dismally the parson walk’d before.”

Rosemary, too, was one of the evergreens with which dishes were anciently garnished during the season of Christmas, an allusion to which occurs in “Pericles” (iv. 6): “Marry, come up, my dish of chastity with rosemary and bays.”

Rush. Before the introduction of carpets, the floors of churches and houses were strewed with rushes, a custom to which Shakespeare makes several allusions. In “Taming of the Shrew” (iv. 1), Grumio asks: “Is supper ready, the house trimmed, rushes strewed, cobwebs swept?” and Glendower, in “1 Henry IV.” (iii. 1), says:

“She bids you on the wanton rushes lay you down,And rest your gentle head upon her lap.”

At the coronation of Henry V. (“2 Henry IV.,” v. 5), when the procession is coming, the grooms cry, “More rushes! more rushes!” which seems to have been the usual cry for rushes to be scattered on a pavement or a platform when a procession was approaching.551 Again, in “Richard II.” (i. 3), the custom is further alluded to by John of Gaunt, who speaks of “the presence strew’d,” referring to the presence-chamber. So, too, in “Cymbeline” (ii. 2), Iachimo soliloquizes:

“Tarquin thusDid softly press the rushes, ere he waken’dThe chastity he wounded.”

And in “Romeo and Juliet” (i. 4), Romeo says:

“Let wantons, light of heart,Tickle the senseless rushes with their heels;”

an expression which Middleton has borrowed in his “Blunt Master Constable,” 1602:

“Bid him, whose heart no sorrow feels,Tickle the rushes with his wanton heels,I have too much lead at mine.”

In the “Two Noble Kinsmen” (ii. 1) the Gaoler’s Daughter is represented carrying “strewings” for the two prisoners’ chamber.

Rush-bearings were a sort of rural festival, when the parishioners brought rushes to strew the church.552

The “rush-ring” appears to have been a kind of token for plighting of troth among rustic lovers. It was afterwards vilely used, however, for mock-marriages, as appears from one of the Constitutions of Salisbury. In “All’s Well that Ends Well” (ii. 2) there seems a covert allusion to the rush-ring: “As Tib’s rush for Tom’s fore-finger.” Spenser, in the “Shepherd’s Kalendar,” speaks of

“The knotted rush-rings and gilt Rosemarie.”

Du Breul, in his “Antiquities of Paris,”553 mentions the rush-ring as “a kind of espousal used in France by such persons as meant to live together in a state of concubinage; but in England it was scarcely ever practised except by designing men, for the purpose of corrupting those young women to whom they pretended love.”

The “rush candle,” which, in times past, was found in nearly every house, and served as a night-light for the rich and candle for the poor, is mentioned in “Taming of the Shrew” (iv. 5):

“be it moon, or sun, or what you please:An if you please to call it a rush candle,Henceforth, I vow, it shall be so for me.”

Saffron. In the following passage (“All’s Well that Ends Well,” iv. 5) there seems to be an allusion554 by Lafeu to the fashionable and fantastic custom of wearing yellow, and to that of coloring paste with saffron: “No, no, no, your son was misled with a snipt-taffeta fellow there, whose villanous saffron would have made all the unbaked and doughy youth of a nation in his colour.”

Spear-grass. This plant – perhaps the common reed – is noticed in “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 4) as used for tickling the nose and making it bleed. In Lupton’s “Notable Things” it is mentioned as part of a medical recipe: “Whoever is tormented with sciatica or the hip-gout, let them take an herb called spear-grass, and stamp it, and lay a little thereof upon the grief.” Mr. Ellacombe555 thinks that the plant alluded to is the common couch-grass (Triticum repens), which is still known in the eastern counties as spear-grass.

Stover. This word, which is often found in the writings of Shakespeare’s day, denotes fodder and provision of all sorts for cattle. In Cambridgeshire stover signifies hay made of coarse, rank grass, such as even cows will not eat while it is green. In “The Tempest” (iv. 1), Iris says:

“Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep,And flat meads thatch’d with stover, them to keep.”

According to Steevens, stover was used as a thatch for cart-lodges and other buildings that required but cheap coverings.

Strawberry. Shakespeare’s mention of the strawberry in connection with the nettle, in “Henry V.” (i. 1), deserves, says Mr. Ellacombe, a passing note. “It was the common opinion in his day that plants were affected by the neighborhood of other plants to such an extent that they imbibed each others virtues and faults. Thus sweet flowers were planted near fruit-trees with the idea of improving the flavor of the fruit, and evil-smelling trees, like the elder, were carefully cleared away from fruit-trees, lest they should be tainted. But the strawberry was supposed to be an exception to the rule, and was said to thrive in the midst of ‘evil communications, without being corrupted.’”

“The strawberry grows underneath the nettle,And wholesome berries thrive and ripen bestNeighbour’d by fruit of baser quality,”

Thorns. The popular tradition, which represents the marks on the moon556 to be that of a man carrying a thorn-bush on his head, is alluded to in “Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (v. 1), in the Prologue:

“This man, with lanthorn, dog, and bush of thorn,Presenteth Moonshine.”

Little else is mentioned by Shakespeare with regard to thorns, save that they are generally used by him as the emblems of desolation and trouble.

Violets. An old superstition is alluded to by Shakespeare when he makes Laertes wish that violets may spring from the grave of Ophelia (“Hamlet,” v. 1):

“Lay her i’ the earth:And from her fair and unpolluted fleshMay violets spring!”

an idea which occurs in Persius’s “Satires” (i. 39):

“E tumulo fortunataque favillaNascentur violæ.”

The violet has generally been associated with early death. This, Mr. Ellacombe considers,557 “may have arisen from a sort of pity for flowers that were only allowed to see the opening year, and were cut off before the first beauty of summer had come, and so were looked upon as apt emblems of those who enjoyed the bright springtide of life, and no more.” Thus, the violet is one of the flowers which Marina carries to hang “as a carpet on the grave” in “Pericles” (iv. 1):

“the yellows, blues,The purple violets, and marigolds,Shall, as a carpet, hang upon thy grave,While summer days do last.”

Again, in that exquisite passage in the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4), where Perdita enumerates the flowers of spring, she speaks of,

“violets, dim,But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes,Or Cytherea’s breath;”

upon which Mr. Singer558 thus comments: “The eyes of Juno were as remarkable as those of Pallas, and

‘Of a beauty never yetEqualled in height of tincture.’”

The beauties of Greece and other Asiatic nations tinged their eyes of an obscure violet color, by means of some unguent, which was doubtless perfumed, like those for the hair, etc., mentioned by Athenæus.

Willow. From time immemorial the willow has been regarded as the symbol of sadness. Hence it was customary for those who were forsaken in love to wear willow garlands, a practice to which Shakespeare makes several allusions. In “Othello” (iv. 3), Desdemona, anticipating her death, says:

“My mother had a maid call’d 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 express’d her fortune,And she died singing it: that song, to-night,Will not go from my mind.”

The following is the song:559