[76] The meaning of worm has degenerated since the days of the Lindwurm, the dragon slain by Siegfried. The Norse form survives in Great Orme's Head, the dragon's head.

[77] Some derive it from Ger. gleich, like, used of a "flush."

[78] This is why so many French military terms are feminine, e.g., recrue, sentinelle, vedette, etc.

[79] Skinner's Etymologicon (1671) has the two entries, centry pro sanctuary and centry v. sentinel. The spellings centry and centinel, which were common when the words still had a collective sense, are perhaps due to some fancied connection with century, a hundred soldiers.

[80] "This rock is Jesus Christ himself, who is the refuge and sanctuary of the humble."



CHAPTER VIII

METAPHOR

Every expression that we employ, apart from those that are connected with the most rudimentary objects and actions, is a metaphor, though the original meaning is dulled by constant use. Thus, in the above sentence, expression means what is "squeezed out," to employ is to "twine in" like a basket maker, to connect is to "weave together," rudimentary means "in the rough state," and an object is something "thrown in our way." A classification of the metaphors in use in the European languages would show that a large number of the most obvious kind, i.e. of those which "come to meet" one, are common property, while others would reflect the most striking habits and pursuits of the various races. It would probably be found that in the common stock of simple metaphor the most important contribution would come from agriculture, while in English the nautical element would occur to an extent quite unparalleled in other European languages.[81] A curious agricultural metaphor which, though of Old French origin, now appears to be peculiar to English, is to rehearse, lit. to harrow over again (see hearse, p. 75).

Some metaphors are easy to track. It does not require much philological knowledge to see that astonish, astound, and stun all contain the idea of "thunder-striking," Vulgar Lat. *ex-tonare. To embarrass is obviously connected with bar, and to interfere is to "strike between," Old Fr. entreferir. This word was especially used in the 16th century of a horse knocking its legs together in trotting, "to interfeere, as a horse" (Cotgrave). When we speak of a prentice-hand, sound journeyman work, and a masterpiece, we revive the medieval classification of artisans into learners, qualified workmen, and those who, by the presentation to their guild of a finished piece of work, were recognised as past (passed) masters.

But many of our metaphors are drawn from pursuits with which we are no longer familiar, or from arts and sciences no longer practised. Disaster, ill-starred, and such adjectives as jovial, mercurial, are reminiscent of astrology. To bring a thing to the test is to put it in the alchemist's or metallurgist's test or trying-pot (cf. test-tube), Old Fr. test (tet). This is related to Old Fr. teste (tete) head, from Lat. testa, tile, pot, etc., used in Roman slang for caput. Shakespeare has the complete metaphor—

"Let there be some more test made of my metal,[82] Before so noble and so great a figure Be stamp'd upon it." (Measure for Measure, i. 1.)

[Page Heading: SHAMBLES—SPICK AND SPAN]

The old butchers' shops which adjoin Nottingham Market Place are still called the Shambles. The word is similarly used at Carlisle, and probably elsewhere; but to most people it is familiar only in the metaphorical sense of place of slaughter, generally regarded as a singular. Thus Denys of Burgundy says—

"The beasts are in the shambles." (Cloister and Hearth, Ch. 33.)

etymologically misusing the word, which does not mean slaughter-house, but the bench on which meat is exposed for sale. It is a very early loan from Lat. scamnum, a bench or form, also explained by Cooper as "a step or grice (see p. 118) to get up to bedde." The same diminutive form occurs in Fr. escabeau, an office stool, and Ger. Schemel, a stool.

Fusty, earlier foisty, is no longer used in its proper sense. It comes from Old Fr. fuste, "fusty; tasting of the caske, smelling of the vessell wherein it hath been kept" (Cotgrave), a derivative of Old Fr. fust (fut) a cask.[83]

The smith's art has given us brand-new, often corrupted into bran-new. Shakespeare uses fire-new—

"You should then have accosted her; and with some excellent jests, fire-new from the mint, you should have banged the youth into dumbness." (Twelfth Night, iii. 2.)

Modern German has funkelnagelneu, spark nail new; but in older German we find also spanneu, splinterneu, chip new, splinter new; which shows the origin of our spick and span (new), i.e., spike and chip new. French has tout battant neuf, beating new, i.e., fresh from the anvil.

Many old hunting terms survive as metaphors. To be at bay, Fr. aux abois, is to be facing the baying hounds. The fundamental meaning of Old Fr. abaier (aboyer), of obscure origin, is perhaps to gape at.[84] Thus a right or estate which is in abeyance is one regarded with open-mouthed expectancy. The toils are Fr. toiles, lit. cloths, Lat. tela, the nets put round a thicket to prevent the game from escaping. To "beat about the bush" seems to be a mixture of two metaphors which are quite unlike in meaning. To "beat the bush" was the office of the beaters, who started the game for others, hence an old proverb, "I will not beat the bush that another may have the birds." To "go about the bush" would seem to have been used originally of a hesitating hound. The two expressions have coalesced to express the idea for which French says "y aller par quatre chemins." Crestfallen and white feather belong to the old sport of cock-fighting. Jeopardy is Old Fr. jeu parti, a divided game, hence an equal encounter. To run full tilt is a jousting phrase. To pounce upon is to seize in the pounces, the old word for a hawk's claws. The ultimate source is Lat. pungere, to prick, pierce. A goldsmith's punch was also called a pounce, hence the verb to pounce, to make patterns on metal. The northern past participle pouncet[85] occurs in pouncet-box, a metal perforated globe for scents—

"And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took't away again." (1 Henry IV., i. 3.)

To the language of hawking belongs also haggard. Cotgrave defines faulcon (faucon) hagard, as "a faulcon that preyed for her selfe long before she was taken." Hence the sense of wild, untameable. The original meaning is hedge-hawk, the first syllable representing Old High Ger. hag, hedge. Hag, a witch, is of cognate origin.

[Page Heading: SPORTING METAPHORS]

The antiquity of dicing appears in the history of Ger. gefallen, to please, originally used of the "fall" of the dice. In Mid. High German it is always used with wohl, well, or uebel, ill; e.g., es gefaellt mir wohl, it "falls out" well for me. There can be no reasonable doubt that the deuce! is a dicer's exclamation at making the lowest throw, two, Fr. deux. We still use deuce for the two in cards, and German has Daus in both senses. Tennis has given us bandy, Fr. bander, "to bandie, at tennis" (Cotgrave). We now only bandy words or reproaches, but Juliet understood the word in its literal sense—

"Had she affections and warm youthful blood, She'd be as swift in motion as a ball; My words would bandy her to my sweet love, And his to me." (Romeo and Juliet, ii. 5.)

Fowling has given us cajole, decoy, and trepan. Fr. cajoler, which formerly meant to chatter like a jay in a cage, has in modern French assumed the meaning of enjoler, earlier engeoler, "to incage, or ingaole" (Cotgrave), hence to entice. Fr. geole, gaol, represents Vulgar Lat. *caveola. Decoy, earlier also coy, is Du. kooi, cage. The later form is perhaps due to duck-coy. Du. kooi is also of Latin origin. It comes, like Fr. cage, from Vulgar Lat. *cavea, and has a doublet kevie, whence Scot. cavie, a hen-coop. Trepan was formerly trapan, and belongs to trap—

"Some by the nose with fumes trapan 'em, As Dunstan did the devil's grannam." (Hudibras, ii. 3.)

It is now equivalent to kidnap, i.e. to nab kids (children), once a lucrative pursuit. The surgical trepan is a different word altogether, and belongs to Greco-Lat. trypanon, an auger, piercer. To allure is to bring to the lure, or bait. To the same group of metaphors belongs inveigle, which corresponds, with altered prefix, to Fr. aveugler, to blind, Vulgar Lat. *ab-oculare.[86] A distant relative of this word is ogle, which is of Low German origin; cf. Ger. liebaeugeln "to ogle, to smicker, to look amorously, to cast sheeps-eyes, to cast amorous looks" (Ludwig).

The archaic verb to cozen is a metaphor of quite another kind. Every young noble who did the grand tour in the 16th and 17th centuries spent some time at Naples, "where he may improve his knowledge in horsemanship" (Howell, Instructions for Forreine Travell, 1642). Now the Italian horse-dealers were so notorious that Dekker, writing about 1600, describes a swindling "horse-courser" as a "meere jadish Non-politane," a play on Neapolitan. The Italian name is cozzone, "a horse-courser, a horse-breaker, a craftie knave" (Florio), whence the verb cozzonare, "to have perfect skill in all cosenages" (Torriano). The essential idea of to cozen in the Elizabethans is that of selling faulty goods in a bad light, a device said to be practised by some horse-dealers. At any rate the words for horse-dealer in all languages, from the Lat. mango to the Amer. horse-swapper, mean swindler and worse things. Cozen is a favourite word with the Elizabethan dramatists, because it enables them to bring off one of those stock puns that make one feel "The less Shakespeare he"—

"Cousins, indeed; and by their uncle cozen'd Of comfort, kingdom, kindred, freedom, life." (Richard III., iv. 4.)

In the Merry Wives of Windsor (iv. 5) there is a lot of word-play on "cousins-german" and "German cozeners." An exact parallel to the history of cozen is furnished by the verb to jockey, from jockey, in its older sense of horse-dealer.

[Page Heading: HORTICULTURE]

Scion is a metaphor from the garden. It is Fr. scion, "a scion; a young and tender plant; a shoot, sprig, or twig" (Cotgrave). Ger. Sproessling, sproutling, is also used of an "offshoot" from a "stock." We have a similar metaphor in the word imp. We now graft trees, a misspelling of older graffe, Fr. greffe, Greco-Lat. graphium, a pencil, from the shape of the slip. But the older word was imp, which we find also used of inserting a new feather into the wing or tail of a hawk, or fitting a small bell-rope to a larger one. The art of grafting was learnt from the Romans, who had a post-classical verb imputare,[87] to graft, which has given Eng. imp, Ger. impfen, Fr. enter, and is represented in most other European languages. Imp was used like scion, but degenerated in meaning. In Shakespeare it has already the somewhat contemptuous shade of meaning which we find in Ger. Sproessling, and is only used by comic characters. Thus Pistol addresses Prince Hal—

"The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame." (2 Henry IV., v. 5.)

But Thomas Cromwell, in his last letter to Henry VIII., speaks of—

"That most noble imp, the prince's grace, your most dear son."

The special sense of "young devil" appears to be due to the frequent occurrence of such phrases as "imps (children) of Satan," "the devil and his imps," etc. Ger. impfen also means to vaccinate. Our earlier term inoculate[88] originally meant to graft, and, in fact, engraft was also used in this sense.

Zest is quite obsolete in its original meaning of a piece of orange peel used to give piquancy to wine. It is a French word of unknown origin, properly applied to the inner skin of fruit and nuts. Cotgrave explains it as "the thick skinne, or filme whereby the kernell of a wallnut is divided."

FOOTNOTES:

[81] It would be interesting to trace the rise and spread of nautical metaphor in English. We have a good example of the transition from the bucolic to the nautical in the expression "To lose the ship for a ha'porth of tar." Few people who use this metaphor know that ship is here the dialect pronunciation of sheep; cf. Ship Street, at Oxford (and elsewhere), for Sheep Street. Tar was, and is, used as a medicine for sheep, but in this particular case the allusion seems to be rather to the marking of sheep with tar; cf. "tarred with the same brush," i.e., members of the same flock.

[82] See mettle, p. 144.

[83] Lat. fustis, a staff, cudgel, gave also Old Fr. fust, a kind of boat, whence obsolete Eng. foist in the same sense. Both meanings seem to go back to a time when casks and boats were "dug out" instead of being built up.

[84] Related are bouche beante, or bee, mouth agape; bailler, to yawn; and badaud, "a gaping hoydon" (Cotgrave, badault).

[85] Cf. the Stickit Minister.

[86] Or perhaps *alboculare, as albus oculus, lit. white eye, is used of blindness in an early Vulgar Latin glossary.

[87] Of uncertain origin. Lat. putare, to cut (cf. amputate), or Gk. {emphytos}, implanted?

[88] From oculus, eye, in the sense of bud.



CHAPTER IX

FOLK-ETYMOLOGY

The sound, spelling, and even the meaning of a word are often perverted by influences to which the collective name of folk-etymology has been given. I here use the term to include all phenomena which are due to any kind of misunderstanding of a word. A word beginning with n sometimes loses this sound through its being confused with the n of the indefinite article an. Thus an adder and an auger are for a nadder (cf. Ger. Natter) and a nauger, Mid. Eng. navegor, properly an instrument for piercing the nave of a wheel. Apron was in Mid. English naprun, from Old Fr. naperon, a derivative of nappe, cloth. The aitch-bone was formerly the nache-bone, from Old Fr. nache, buttock, Vulgar Lat. *natica for nates. Nache is still used by French butchers. Humble-pie is a popular perversion of umble-pie, i.e., a pie made from the umbles, or inferior parts of the stag. But umble is for earlier numble, Old Fr. nomble, formed, with dissimilation, from Lat. lumbulus, diminutive of lumbus, loin; cf. niveau (p. 58). Thus humble-pie has etymologically no connection with humility. Umpire represents Old Fr. non per (pair), not equal, the umpire being a third person called in when arbitrators could not agree. This appears clearly in the following extract from a medieval letter—

"And if so be that the said arbitrators may not accord before the said feast of Allhalowes, then the said parties be the advise abovesaid are agreed to abide the award and ordinance of an noumper to be chosen be the said arbitrators." (Plumpton Correspondence, 1431.)

For the sense we may compare Span. tercero, "the third, a broaker, a mediator" (Percyvall). An eyas falcon is for a neyas falcon, Fr. niais, foolish, lit. nestling, related to nid, nest. Rosenkrantz uses it in the literal sense—

"But there is, sir, an aiery of children, little eyases, that cry out on the top of question, and are most tyranically clapped for't." (Hamlet, ii. 2.)

Somewhat similar is the loss in French of initial a in la boutique for l'aboutique, Greco-Lat. apotheca, and la Pouille for l'Apouille, Apulia, or of the initial l in ounce, a kind of tiger-cat, from Fr. once, earlier lonce, "the ounce, a ravenous beast" (Cotgrave), taken as l'once. It is almost a doublet of lynx.

The opposite has happened in the case of a newt for an ewt and a nick-name for an eke-name. Eke, also, occurs in the first stanza of John Gilpin. It is cognate with Ger. auch, also, and Lat. augere, to increase. Nuncle, the customary address of a court fool to his superiors—

"How now, nuncle! Would I had two coxcombs and two daughters." (Lear, i. 4.)

is for mine uncle. We also find naunt. Nonce occurs properly only in the phrase for the nonce, which is for earlier for then ones, where then is the dative of the definite article. Family names like Nash, Nokes are aphetic for atten ash, at the ash, atten oakes, at the oaks. The creation of such forms was perhaps helped by our tendency to use initial n in Christian names, e.g., Ned for Edward, Noll for Oliver, Nell for Ellen.

[Page Heading: AGGLUTINATION OF THE ARTICLE]

Agglutination of the definite article is common in French, e.g., lingot, ingot, lierre, ivy, for l'ierre, Lat. hedera, and the dialect levier, sink, for evier, Lat. aquarium, whence Eng. ewer. The derivation of Fr. landier, andiron, is unknown, but the iron of the English word is due to folk-etymology. Such agglutination occurs often in family names such as Langlois, lit. the Englishman, Lhuissier, the usher (see p. 90), and some of these have passed into English, e.g., Levick for l'eveque, the bishop.

The two words alarm and alert include the Italian definite article. The first is Ital. all'arme, to arms, for a le arme, and the second is all'erta for alla (a la) erta, the last word representing Lat. erecta. With rolled r, alarm becomes alarum, whence the aphetic larum—

"Then we shall hear their larum, and they ours." (Coriolanus, i. 4.)

Ger. Laerm, noise, is the same word. In Luther's time we also find Allerm.

We have the Arabic definite article in a great many words borrowed from Spanish. Alcalde, or alcade, and alguazil, common in Elizabethan literature, are two old friends from the Arabian Nights, the cadi and the wazir, or vizier. The Arabic article also occurs in acton, Old Fr. auqueton, now hoqueton, for al qutn (cotton), because originally used of a wadded coat—

"But Cranstoun's lance, of more avail, Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer's mail; Through shield, and jack, and acton past, Deep in his bosom broke at last." (SCOTT, Lay, iii. 6.)

In alligator, Span. el lagarto, the lizard, from Lat. lacertus, we have the Spanish definite article. See also lariat, p. 24.

A foreign word ending in a sibilant is sometimes mistaken for a plural. Thus Old Fr. assets (assez), enough, Lat. ad satis, has given Eng. assets, plural, with a barbarous, but useful, singular asset. Cherry is for cheris, from a dialect form of Fr. cerise, and sherry for sherris, from Xeres in Spain (see p. 51). Falstaff opines that—

"A good sherris-sack[89] hath a twofold operation in it." (2 Henry IV., iv. 3.)

Pea is a false singular from older pease, Lat. pisum. Perhaps the frequent occurrence of pease-soup, not to be distinguished from pea-soup, is partly responsible for this mistake. Marquee, a large tent, is from Fr. marquise. With this we may class the heathen Chinee and the Portugee. Milton wrote correctly of—

"The barren plains Of Sericana, where Chineses drive With sails and wind their cany waggons light." (Paradise Lost, iii. 438.)

It has been ingeniously suggested that Yankee has been derived in the same way from Du. Jan Kees, John Cornelius, supposed to have been a nickname for early Dutch colonists. It is more probably the Dutch dim. Janke, i.e. Johnny. The vulgarism shay for chaise[90] is of similar formation. Corp, for corpse, is also used provincially. Kickshaws is really a singular from Fr. quelque chose—

"Art thou good at these kickshawses, knight?" (Twelfth Night, i. 3.)

Cotgrave spells it quelkchoses (s.v. fricandeau).

[Page Heading: FALSE SINGULARS AND DOUBLE PLURALS]

Skate has a curious history. It is a false singular from Du. schaats. This is from escache, an Old French dialect form of echasse, stilt, which was used in the Middle Ages for a wooden leg. It is of German origin, and is related to shank. Cf., for the sense development, Eng. patten, from Fr. patin, a derivative of patte, foot, cognate with paw. Skates are still called pattens by the fenmen of Cambridgeshire. We also had formerly a doublet from Old Fr. escache directly, but in the older sense, for Cotgrave has eschasses (echasses), "stilts, or scatches to go on." Row, a disturbance, belongs to rouse, a jollification—

"The king doth wake to-night and takes his rouse." (Hamlet, i. 4.)

of uncertain origin, but probably aphetic for carouse, drink carouse being wrongly separated as drink a rouse. The bird called a wheatear was formerly called wheatears, a corruption of a name best explained by its French equivalent cul blanc, "the bird called a whittaile" (Cotgrave). We may compare the bird-name redstart, where start means rump.

Conversely a word used in the plural is sometimes regarded as a singular, the result being a double plural. Many Latin neuter plurals were adopted into French as feminine singulars, e.g., cornua, corne, horn; labra, levre, lip; vela, voile, sail. It is obvious that this is most likely to occur in the case of plurals which are used for a pair, or set, of things, and thus have a kind of collective sense. Breeches or breeks is a double plural, Anglo-Sax. brēc being already the plural of brōc. In Mid. English we still find breche or breke used of this garment. Trousers was earlier trouses, plural of trouse, now trews, and was used especially of Irish native costume. The latest researches throw doubt on the identity of these words with Fr. trousse, a page's short breeches. The etymology which now finds most favour is Irish and Gaelic triubhas, from Late Lat. tubracci or tribracci, which is supposed to be a corrupted compound from tibia, leg, shank, and braccae, breeches. Bodice is for bodies, as pence is for pennies. Cotgrave explains corset by "a paire of bodies for a woman," and the plural sense occurs as late as Harrison Ainsworth—

"A pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last century." (Jack Sheppard, Ch. 1.)

Trace, of a horse, is the Old Fr. plural trais[91] (traits) of trait, "a teame-trace" (Cotgrave). Apprentice is the plural of Fr. apprenti, formerly apprentif, a derivative of apprendre, to learn, hence a disciple. Invoice is the plural of the obsolete invoy, from Fr. envoi, sending.

In the Grecian steps, at Lincoln, we have a popular corruption of the common Mid. Eng. and Tudor grece, grese, plural of Old Fr. gre, step, from Lat. gradus. Shakespeare spells it grize—

"Let me speak like yourself; and lay a sentence, Which, as a grize, or step, may help these lovers Into your favour." (Othello, i. 3.)

[Page Heading: SINGULARS FROM PLURALS]

Scot. brose, or brewis, was in Mid. Eng. browes, from Old Fr. brouez, plural of brouet, a word cognate with our broth. From this association comes perhaps the use of broth as a plural in some of our dialects. Porridge, not originally limited to oatmeal, seems to be combined from pottage and Mid. Eng. porrets, plural of porret, leek, a diminutive from Lat. porrum. Porridge is sometimes used as a plural in Scottish—

"They're fine, halesome food, they're grand food, parritch." (Kidnapped, Ch. 3.)

and in the northern counties of England people speak of taking "a few" porridge, or broth. Baize, now generally green, is for earlier bayes, the plural of the adjective bay, now used only of horses; cf. Du. baai, baize. The origin of the adjective bay, Fr. bai, forms of which occur in all the Romance languages, is Lat. badius, "of bay colour, bayarde" (Cooper). Hence the name Bayard, applied to FitzJames' horse in The Lady of the Lake (v. 18), and earlier to the steed that carried the four sons of Aymon. Quince is the plural of quin, from the Norman form of Old Fr. coin (coing), which is derived from Gk. {kydonion}. Truce is the plural of Mid. Eng. trewe (lit. truth, faith) with the same meaning. Already in Anglo-Saxon it is found in the plural, probably as rendering Lat. induciae. Lettuce, Mid. Eng. letows, seems also to be a plural, from Fr. laitue, Lat. lactuca.

Earnest in the sense of pledge—

"And, for an earnest of a greater honour, He bade me, from him, call thee Thane of Cawdor." (Macbeth, i. 3.)

has nothing to do with the adjective earnest. It is the Mid. Eng. ernes, earlier erles, which survives as arles in some of our dialects. The verb to earl is still used in Cumberland of "enlisting" a servant with a shilling in the open market. The Old French word was arres or erres, now written learnedly arrhes, a plural from Lat. arrha, "an earnest penny, earnest money" (Cooper). The existence of Mid. Eng. erles shows that there must have been also an Old French diminutive form. For the apparently arbitrary change of l to n we may compare banister for baluster (see p. 60).

The jesses of a hawk—

"If I do prove her haggard,[92] Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, To prey at fortune." (Othello, iii. 3.)

were the thongs by which it was held or "thrown" into the air. Jess is the Old Fr. jes, the plural of jet, from jeter, to throw. In Colman's Elder Brother we read of a gentleman who lounged and chatted, "not minding time a souse," where souse is the plural of Fr. sou, halfpenny. From Fr. muer, to moult, Lat. mutare, we get Fr. mue, moulting, later applied to the coop or pen in which moulting falcons were confined, whence the phrase "to mew (up)"—

"More pity, that the eagles should be mew'd, While kites and buzzards prey at liberty." (Richard III., i. 1.)

When, in 1534, the royal mews, or hawk-houses, near Charing Cross were rebuilt as stables, the word acquired its present meaning.

Chess, Old Fr. esches (echecs), is the plural of check, Fr. echec, from Persian shāh, king. By analogy with the "game of kings," the name jeu des dames was given in French to draughts, still called dams in Scotland. Draught, from draw, meant in Mid. English a "move" at chess. The etymology of tweezers can best be made clear by starting from French etui, a case, of doubtful origin. This became in English etwee, or twee, e.g., Cotgrave explains estui (etui) as "a sheath, case, or box to put things in; and (more particularly) a case of little instruments, as sizzars, bodkin, penknife, etc., now commonly termed an ettwee." Such a case generally opens book-fashion, each half being fitted with instruments. Accordingly we find it called a surgeon's "pair of twees," or simply tweese, and later a "pair of tweeses." The implement was named from the case (cf. Fr. boussole, p. 127), and became tweezers by association with pincers (Fr. pinces), scissors, etc.

[Page Heading: ANALOGY]

The form of a word is often affected by association with some other word with which it is instinctively coupled. Thus larboard, for Mid. Eng. ladeboard, i.e. loading side, is due to starboard, steering side. Bridal, for bride-ale, from the liquid consumed at marriage festivities, is due to analogy with betrothal, espousal, etc. A 16th-century Puritan records with satisfaction the disappearance of—

"Church-ales, helpe-ales, and soule-ales, called also dirge-ales, and heathenish rioting at bride-ales." (HARRISON, Description of England, 1577.)

Rampart is from Old Fr. rempar, a verbal noun from remparer, to repair; cf. Ital. riparo, "a rampire, a fort, a banke" (Florio). By analogy with Old Fr. boulevart (boulevard), of German origin and identical with our bulwark,[93] rempar became rempart. The older English form occurs in the obsolete rampier or rampire, which survive in the dialect ramper, embankment, causeway. For the spelling rampire we may compare umpire (p. 113). The apple called a jenneting, sometimes "explained" as for June-eating, was once spelt geniton, no doubt for Fr. jeanneton, a diminutive of Jean. It is called in French pomme de Saint-Jean, and in German Johannisapfel, because ripe about St John's Day (June 24). The modern form is due to such apple names as golding, sweeting, codlin, pippin.

In the records of medieval London we frequently come across the distinction made between people who lived "in the city," Anglo-Fr. deinz (dans) la cite, and "outside the city," Anglo-Fr. fors (hors) la cite. The former were called deinzein, whence our denizen, and the latter forein.[94] The Anglo-French form of modern Fr. citoyen was citein, which became citizen by analogy with denizen. The following passage from a medieval London by-law shows how rigid was the division between "denizen" and "foreign" traders—

"Item, qe nulle pulletere deinzeyn n'estoise a Carfeux del Ledenhalle deins mesoun ne dehors, ove conilles, volatilie, n'autre pulletrie pur vendre ... issint qe les forreins pulleters, ove lour pulletrie, estoisent par eux mesmes, et vendent lour pulletrie sur le cornere de Ledenhalle, sanz ceo qe ascuns pulletere deinzein viegne ou medle en vent ou en achate ove eux, ne entre eux."[95] (Liber Albus.)

Even words which have opposite meanings may affect each other by association. Thus Lat. reddere, to give back, became Vulgar Lat. *rendere by analogy with prendere (prehendere), to take away; hence Fr. rendre. Our word grief, from Fr. grief, is derived from a Vulgar Lat. *grĕvis, heavy (for grăvis), which is due to lĕvis, light.

[Page Heading: TITMOUSE—PURLIEU]

The plural of titmouse is now usually titmice, by analogy with mouse, mice, with which it has no connection. The second part of the word is Anglo-Sax. māse, used of several small birds. It is cognate with Ger. Meise, titmouse, and Fr. mesange, "a titmouse, or tittling" (Cotgrave). Tit, of Norse origin, is applied to various small animals, and occurs also as a prefix in titbit or tidbit. Cf. tomtit (p. 37).

The Spanish word salva, "a taste, a salutation" (Percyvall), was used of the pregustation of a great man's food or drink. We have given the name to the tray or dish from which the "assay" was made, but, by analogy with platter, trencher, we spell it salver. In another sense, that of a "salutation" in the form of a volley of shot, we have corrupted it into salvo. With the use of Span. salva we may compare that of Ital. credenza, lit. faith, "the taste or assaie of a princes meate and drinke" (Florio), whence Fr. credence, side-board, used in English only in the ecclesiastical compound credence table, and Ger. credenzen, to pour out.

In spoken English the ending -ew, -ue, of French origin, has been often changed to -ee, -ey. Thus pedigree was formerly pedigrew (see p. 77). The fencing term veney—

"I bruised my shin the other day with playing at sword and dagger with a master of fence—three veneys for a dish of stewed prunes." (Merry Wives, i. 1.)

also spelt venew, is from Fr. venue, "a venny in fencing" (Cotgrave). Carew has become Carey, and Beaulieu, in Hampshire, is called Bewley. Under the influence of these double forms we sometimes get the opposite change, e.g., purlieu, now generally used of the outskirts of a town, is for purley, a strip of disforested woodland. This is a contraction of Anglo-Fr. pour-allee, used to translate the legal Lat. perambulatio, a going through. A change of venue[96] is sometimes made when it seems likely that an accused person, or a football team, will not get justice from a local jury. This venue is in law Latin vicinetum, neighbourhood, which gave Anglo-Fr. visne, and this, perhaps by confusion with the venire facias, or jury summons, became venew, venue.

In the preceding examples the form has been chiefly affected. In the word luncheon both form and meaning have been influenced by the obsolete nuncheon, a meal at noon, Mid. Eng. none-chenche, for *none-schenche, noon draught, from Anglo-Sax. scencan,[97] to pour. Drinking seems to have been regarded as more important than eating, for in some counties we find this nuncheon replaced by bever, the Anglo-French infinitive from Lat. bibere, to drink. Lunch, a piece or hunk, especially of bread, also used in the sense of a "snack" (cf. Scot. "piece"), was extended to luncheon by analogy with nuncheon, which it has now replaced—

"So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon." (BROWNING, Pied Piper of Hamelin.)

[Page Heading: WRONG ASSOCIATION]

The term folk-etymology is often applied in a narrower sense to the corruption of words through a mistaken idea of their etymology or origin. The tendency of the uneducated is to distort an unfamiliar or unintelligible word into some form which suggests a meaning. Some cases may have originated in a kind of heavy jocularity, as in sparrow-grass for asparagus or sparagus (see p. 66), or Rogue Riderhood's Alfred David for affidavit—

"'Is that your name?' asked Lightwood. 'My name?' returned the man. 'No; I want to take a Alfred David.'" (Our Mutual Friend, Ch. 12.)

In others there has been a wrong association of ideas, e.g., the primrose, rosemary, and tuberose have none of them originally any connection with the rose. Primrose was earlier primerole, an Old French derivative of Latin primula; rosemary, French romarin, is from Lat. ros marinus, sea-dew; tuberose is the Latin adjective tuberosus, bulbous, tuberous. Or attempts are made at translation, such as Sam Weller's Have his carcase for Habeas Corpus, or the curious names which country folk give to such complaints as bronchitis, erysipelas, etc. To this class belongs Private Mulvaney's perversion of locomotor ataxy—

"'They call ut Locomotus attacks us,' he sez, 'bekaze,' sez he, 'it attacks us like a locomotive.'" (Love o' Women.)

Our language is, owing to our borrowing habits, particularly rich in these gems. Examples familiar to everybody are crayfish from Fr. ecrevisse, gilly-flower from Fr. giroflee, shame-faced for shamefast. Other words in which the second element has been altered are causeway, earlier causey, from the Picard form of Fr. chaussee, Lat. (via) calciata, i.e., made with lime, calx; penthouse, for pentice, Fr. appentis, "the penthouse of a house" (Cotgrave), a derivative of Old Fr. appendre, to hang to. Fr. hangar, a shed, now introduced into English by aviators as unnecessarily as garage by motorists, may also contain the same idea of "hanging."

In hiccough, for earlier hickup, an onomatop[oe]ic word, the spelling, suggested by cough, has not affected the pronunciation. Surcease is Fr. sursis, past participle of surseoir, "to surcease, pawse, intermit, leave off, give over, delay or stay for a time" (Cotgrave), Lat. supersedere. Taffrail has been confused with rail, its older form being tafferel, from Du. tafereel, diminutive of tafel, picture, from Lat. tabula. It meant originally the flat part of the stern of a ship ornamented with carvings or pictures. This is called tableau in nautical French. Fr. coutelas, an augmentative of Old Fr. coutel (couteau), knife, gave Eng. cutlass, which has no more etymological connection with "cutting" than a cutler, Fr. coutelier, or a cutlet, Fr. cotelette, little rib, Lat. costa. Cutlas was popularly corrupted into curtal-axe, the form used by Rosalind—

"A gallant curtal-axe upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand." (As You Like It, i. 3.)

We have a similar corruption in pick-axe, Mid. Eng. pikeys, Old Fr. piquois, picquois, "a pickax" (Cotgrave), from the verb piquer. The word posthumous has changed its meaning through folk-etymology. It represents the Latin superlative postumus, latest born. By association with humus, ground, earth, it came to be used of a child born, or a work published, after its author's death, a meaning which the derivatives of postumus have in all the Romance languages.

The first part of the word has been distorted in pursy, short-winded—

"And pursy insolence shall break his wind With fear and horrid flight." (Timon of Athens, v. 5.)

Fr. poussif, from Lat. pulsus, throbbing. It was formerly used also in connection with horses—

"You must warrant this horse clear of the glanders, and pursyness." (The Gentleman's Dictionary, 1705.)

[Page Heading: ARQUEBUS—JAUNTY]

Arquebus, Fr. arquebuse, is a doublet of hackbut, Old Fr. haquebute, "an haquebut, or arquebuse; a caliver" (Cotgrave). The corruption is due to arcus, bow. Both arquebus and hackbut are common in Scott—

"His arms were halbert, axe, or spear, A cross-bow there, a hackbut here, A dagger-knife, and brand." (Marmion, v. 3.)

The origin is Du. haakbus, hook-gun, the second element of which appears in blunderbuss. The first part of this word has undergone so many popular transformations that it is difficult to say which was the original form. Ludwig has Donner-buechs, Blunder-buechs, oder Muszketon, "a thunder-box; a blunder-buss; a musketoon; a wide-mouthed brass-gun, carrying about twenty pistol bullets at once." It was also called in German Plantier-buechs, from plantieren, to plant, set up, because fired from a rest. Du. bus, like Ger. Buechse, means both "box" and "gun." In the bushes, or axle-boxes, of a cart-wheel, we have the same word. The ultimate origin is Greek {pyxos}, the box-tree, whence also the learned word pyx. Fr. boite, box, is cognate, and Fr. boussole, mariners' compass, is from the Italian diminutive bossola, "a boxe that mariners keepe their compasse in. Also taken for the compasse" (Florio).

Scissors were formerly cizars (cf. Fr. ciseaux), connected with Lat. caedere, to cut. The modern spelling is due to association with Lat. scissor, a cutter, tailor, from scindere, to cut. Runagate is well known to be a corrupt doublet of renegade, one who has "denied" his faith. Recreant, the present participle of Old Fr. recreire, Vulgar Lat. *recredere, to change one's faith, contains very much the same idea; cf. miscreant, lit. unbeliever. Jaunty, spelt janty by Wycherley and genty by Burns, is Fr. gentil, wrongly brought into connection with jaunt.

In some cases of folk-etymology it is difficult to see to what idea the corruption is due.[98] The mollusc called a periwinkle was in Anglo-Saxon pinewincla, which still survives in dialect as pennywinkle. It appears to have been influenced by the plant-name periwinkle, which is itself a corruption of Mid. Eng. pervenke, from Lat. pervinca; cf. Fr. pervenche. The material called lutestring was formerly lustring, Fr. lustrine, from its glossiness. A wiseacre is "one that knows or tells truth; we commonly use it in malam partem for a fool" (Blount, Glossographia, 1674). This comes, through Dutch, from Ger. Weissager, commonly understood as wise-sayer, but really unconnected with sagen, to say. The Old High Ger. wīzago, prophet, is cognate with Eng. witty. The military and naval word ensign is in Shakespeare corrupted, in both its meanings, into ancient. Thus Falstaff describes his tatterdemalion recruits as—

"Ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old-faced ancient." (1 Henry IV., iv. 2.)

while Ancient Pistol is familiar to every reader. A cordwainer, from Old Fr. cordouanier, "a shoomaker, a cordwainer" (Cotgrave), worked with cordouan, "Cordovan leather; which is properly a goat's skin tanned." The modern French form cordonnier is due to association with cordon, a thong, bootlace, etc. Witch-elm has nothing to do with witches. It is for older weech-elm, wiche-elm, and belongs to Anglo-Sax. wīcan, to bend. Service-tree is a meaningless corruption of Mid. Eng. serves, an early loan word from Lat. sorbus.

In the case of a double-barrelled word, folk-etymology usually affects one half only, e.g., verdigris is for Fr. vert-de-gris, for Old Fr. vert de Grece, Greek green. The reason for the name is unknown. Cotgrave calls it "Spanish green." Mid. English had the more correct vertegresse and verte Grece (Promptorium Parvulorum, 1440). The cavalry trumpet-call boot and saddle is for Fr. boute-selle, lit. "put saddle." Court card is for coat card, a name given to these cards from the dresses depicted on them. Florio has carta di figura, "a cote carde." The card game called Pope Joan would appear to be in some way corrupted from nain jaune, lit. "yellow dwarf," its French name.

[Page Heading: "PREPOSTEROUS" PERVERSIONS]

But occasionally the results of folk-etymology are literally preposterous.[99] The Fr. choucroute is from sūrkrūt, a dialect pronunciation of Ger. Sauer-kraut, sour cabbage, so that the first syllable, meaning "sour," has actually been corrupted so as to mean "cabbage." Another example, which I have never seen quoted, is the name of a beech-wood near the little town of Remilly in Lorraine. The trees of this wood are very old and curiously twisted, and they are called in French les jolis fous, where fou (Lat. fagus) is the Old French for "beech" (fouet, whip, is its diminutive). This is rendered in German as tolle Buchen, mad beeches, the fou having been misunderstood as referring to the fantastic appearance of the trees.

Forlorn hope is sometimes used metaphorically as though the hope were of the kind that springs eternal in the human breast. In military language it now means the leaders of a storming party—

"The forlorn hope of each attack consisted of a sergeant and twelve Europeans." (Wellington's Despatches, 1799.)

but was earlier used of soldiers in any way exposed to special danger. Cotgrave has enfans perdus, "perdus; or the forlorne hope of a campe (are commonly gentlemen of companies)." It is from obsolete Du. verloren hoop, where hoop, cognate with Eng. heap, is used for a band or company. In 16th-century German we find ein verlorener Haufe. Both the Dutch and German expressions are obsolete in this sense.

The military phrase to run the gauntlet has no connection with gauntlet, glove. The older form gantlope—

"Some said he ought to be tied neck and heels; others that he deserved to run the gantlope." (Tom Jones, vii. 1.)

It is a punishment of Swedish origin from the period of the Thirty Years' War. The Swedish form is gatlopp, in which gat is cognate with Eng. gate, in its northern sense of "street," and lopp with Eng. leap and Ger. laufen, to run.

The press-gang had originally nothing to do with "pressing." When soldiers or seamen were engaged, they received earnest money called prest-money, i.e., an advance on "loan," Old Fr. prest (pret), and the engagement was called presting or impresting. Florio explains soldato (see p. 154), lit. "paid," by "prest with paie as soldiers are." The popular corruption to press took place naturally as the method of enlistment became more "pressing."

The black art is a translation of Old Fr. nigromance, "nigromancie, conjuring, the black art" (Cotgrave); but this is folk-etymology for necromantie, Greco-Lat. necromantia, divination by means of the dead. The popular form negromancie still survives in French. To curry favour is a corruption of Mid. Eng. "to curry favel." The expression is translated from French. Palsgrave has curryfavell, a flatterer, "estrille faveau," estriller (etriller) meaning "to curry (a horse)." Faveau, earlier fauvel, is the name of a horse in the famous Roman de Fauvel, a satirical Old French poem of the early 14th century. He symbolises worldly vanity carefully tended by all classes of society. The name is a diminutive of Fr. fauve, tawny, cognate with Eng. fallow (deer). (See also p. 192, n.)

A very curious case of folk-etymology is seen in the old superstition of the hand of glory. This is understood to be a skeleton hand from the gallows which will point out hidden treasure—

"Now mount who list, And close by the wrist Sever me quickly the Dead Man's fist." (INGOLDSBY, The Hand of Glory.)

It is simply a translation of Fr. main de gloire. But the French expression is a popular corruption of mandragore, from Lat. mandragora, the mandragore, or mandrake, to the forked roots of which a similar virtue was attributed, especially if the plant were obtained from the foot of the gallows.

[Page Heading: CONTAMINATION]

Akin to folk-etymology is contamination, i.e., the welding of two words into one. This can often be noticed in children, whose linguistic instincts are those of primitive races. I have heard a child, on her first visit to the Zoo, express great eagerness to see the canimals (camels x animals), which, by the way, turned out to be the giraffes. A small boy who learnt English and German simultaneously evolved, at the age of two, the word spam (sponge x Ger. Schwamm). In a college in the English midlands, a student named Constantine, who sat next to a student named Turpin, once heard himself startlingly addressed by a lecturer as Turpentine. People who inhabit the frontier of two languages, and in fact all who are in any degree bilingual, must inevitably form such composites occasionally. The h aspirate of Fr. haut, Lat. altus, high, can only be explained by the influence of Old High Ger. hōh (hoch). The poetic word glaive cannot be derived from Lat. gladius, sword, which has given Fr. glai, an archaic name for the gladiolus. We must invoke the help of a Gaulish word cladebo, sword, which is related to Gaelic clay-more, big sword. It has been said that in this word the swords of Caesar and Vercingetorix still cross each other. In Old French we find oreste, a storm, combined from orage and tempeste (tempete). Fr. orteil, toe, represents the mixture of Lat. articulus, a little joint, with Gaulish ordag. A battledore was in Mid. English a washing beetle, which is in Provencal batedor, lit. beater. Hence it seems that this is one of the very few Provencal words which passed directly into English during the period of our occupation of Guienne. It has been contaminated by the cognate beetle.

Cannibal is from Span. canibal, earlier caribal, i.e. Carib, the n being perhaps due to contamination with Span. canino, canine, voracious. It can hardly be doubted that this word suggested Shakespeare's Caliban. Seraglio is due to confusion between the Turkish word serai, a palace, and Ital. serraglio, "an inclosure, a close, a padocke, a parke, a cloister or secluse" (Florio), which belongs to Lat. sera, a bolt or bar.

Anecdotage is a deliberate coinage ascribed to John Wilkes—

"When a man fell into his anecdotage, it was a sign for him to retire from the world." (DISRAELI, Lothair, Ch. 28.)

[Page Heading: ARBOUR—FRET]

In some cases it is impossible to estimate the different elements in a word. Arbour certainly owes its modern spelling to Lat. arbor, a tree, but it represents also Mid. Eng. herbere, erbere, which comes, through French, from Lat. *herbarium. But this can only mean herb-garden, so that the sense development of the word must have been affected by harbour, properly "army-shelter," ultimately identical with Fr. auberge (p. 164). When Dryden wrote—

"Tardy of aid, unseal thy heavy eyes, Awake, and with the dawning day arise." (The Cock and the Fox, 247.)

he was expressing a composite idea made up from the verb seal, Old Fr. seeler (sceller), Lat. sigillare, and seel, Old Fr. ciller, Vulgar Lat. *ciliare, from cilium, eye-brow. The latter verb, meaning to sew together the eyelids of a young falcon, was once a common word—

"Come, seeling night, Scarf up the tender eye of pitiful day." (Macbeth, iii. 2.)

The verb fret is Anglo-Sax. fretan, to eat away (cf. Ger. fressen). Fret is also used of interlaced bars in heraldry, in which sense it corresponds to Fr. frette with the same meaning; for this word, which also means ferrule, a Vulgar Lat. *ferritta (ferrum, iron) has been suggested. When Hamlet speaks of—

"This majestical roof fretted with golden fire," (Hamlet, ii. 3.)

is he thinking of frets in heraldry, or of fretwork, or are these two of one origin? Why should fret, in this sense, not come from fret, to eat away, since fretwork may be described as the "eating away" of part of the material? Cf. etch, which comes, through Dutch, from Ger. aetzen, the factitive of essen, to eat. But the German for fretwork is durchbrochene Arbeit, "broken-through" work, and Old Fr. fret or frait, Lat. fractus, means "broken." Who shall decide how much our fretwork owes to each of these possible etymons?

That form of taxation called excise, which dates from the time of Charles I., has always been unpopular. Andrew Marvell says that Excise—

"With hundred rows of teeth the shark exceeds, And on all trades like cassowar she feeds."

Dr Johnson defines it as "a hateful tax levied upon commodities, and adjudged not by the common judges of property, but wretches hired by those to whom excise is paid," an outburst which Lord Mansfield considered "actionable." The name, like the tax, came from the Netherlands, where it was called accijs—

"'Twere cheap living here, were it not for the monstrous excises which are impos'd upon all sorts of commodities, both for belly and back." (HOWELL, Letter from Amsterdam, 1619.)

In modern Dutch it has become accijns, through confusion with cijns, tax (Lat. census; cf. Ger. Zins, interest). But the Dutch word is from Fr. accise, which appears in medieval Latin as accisia, as though connected with "cutting" (cf. tallage, from Fr. tailler, to cut), or with the "incidence" of the tax. It is perhaps a perversion of Ital. assisa, "an imposition, or taxe, or assesment" (Torriano); but there is also an Old Fr. aceis which must be related to Latin census.

When folk-etymology and contamination work together, the result is sometimes bewildering. Thus equerry represents an older querry or quirry, still usual in the 18th century. Among my books is—

"The Compleat Horseman, or Perfect Farrier, written in French by the Sieur de Solleysell, Querry to the Present King of France" (1702).

The modern spelling is due to popular association with Lat. equus. But this querry is identical with French ecurie, stable, just as in Scottish the post often means the postman. And ecurie, older escurie, is from Old High Ger. scura[100] (Scheuer, barn). The word used in modern French in the sense of our equerry is ecuyer, older escuier, Lat. scutarius, shield-bearer, whence our word esquire. This ecuyer is in French naturally confused with ecurie, so that Cotgrave defines escuyrie as "the stable of a prince, or nobleman; also, a querry-ship; or the duties, or offices belonging thereto; also (in old authors) a squire's place; or, the dignity, title, estate of an esquire."

[Page Heading: PLEONASM]

Ignorance of the true meaning of a word often leads to pleonasm. Thus greyhound means hound-hound, the first syllable representing Icel. grey, a dog. Peajacket is explanatory of Du. pij, earlier pye, "py-gown, or rough gown, as souldiers and seamen wear" (Hexham). On Greenhow Hill means "on green hill hill," and Buckhurst Holt Wood means "beech wood wood wood," an explanatory word being added as its predecessor became obsolete. The second part of salt-cellar is not the same word as in wine-cellar. It comes from Fr. saliere, "a salt-seller" (Cotgrave), so that the salt is unnecessary. We speak pleonastically of "dishevelled hair," while Old Fr. deschevele, lit. dis-haired, now replaced by echevele, can only be applied to a person, e.g., une femme toute deschevelee, "discheveled, with all her haire disorderly falling about her eares" (Cotgrave). The word cheer meant in Mid. English "face." Its French original chere scarcely survives except in the phrase faire bonne chere, lit. "make a good face," a meaning preserved in "to be of good cheer." In both languages the meaning has been transferred to the more substantial blessings which the pleasant countenance seems to promise, and also to the felicity resulting from good treatment. The true meaning of the word is so lost that we can speak of a "cheerful face," i.e., a face full of face.

[Page Heading: UNEXPLAINED DISTORTIONS]

But there are many words whose changes of form cannot be altogether explained by any of the influences that have been discussed in this and the preceding chapters. Why should cervelas, "a large kind of sausage, well season'd, and eaten cold in slices" (Kersey's Eng. Dict., 1720), now be saveloy? We might invoke the initial letters of sausage to account for part of the change, but the oy remains a mystery. Cervelas, earlier cervelat, comes through French from Ital. cervellato, "a kinde of dry sausage" (Florio), said to have been originally made from pig's brains. For hatchment we find in the 16th century achement, and even achievement. It is archaic Fr. hachement, the ornamental crest of a helmet, etc., probably derived from Old Fr. achemer, variant of acesmer, to adorn. Hence both the French and English forms have an unexplained h-, the earlier achement being nearer the original. French omelette has a bewildering history, but we can trace it almost to its present form. To begin with, an omelet, in spite of proverbs, is not necessarily associated with eggs. The origin is to be found in Lat. lamella, a thin plate,[101] which gave Old Fr. lamelle. Then la lamelle was taken as l'alamelle, and the new alamelle or alemelle became, with change of suffix, alemette. By metathesis (see p. 59) this gave amelette, still in dialect use, for which modern French has substituted omelette. The o then remains unexplained, unless we admit the influence of the old form [oe]uf-mollet, a product of folk-etymology.

Counterpane represents Old Fr. coute-pointe, now corruptly courte-pointe, from Lat. culcita puncta, lit. "stitched quilt"; cf. Ger. Steppdecke, counterpane, from steppen, to stitch. In Old French we also find the corrupt form contrepointe which gave Eng. counterpoint—

"In ivory coffers I have stuff'd my crowns; In cypress chests my arras, counterpoints, Costly apparel, tents and canopies." (Taming of the Shrew, ii. 1.)

in modern English replaced by counterpane. Mid. English has also the more correct form quilt-point, from the Old Norman cuilte (pur)pointe, which occurs in a 12th-century poem on St Thomas of Canterbury. The hooped petticoat called a farthingale was spelt by Shakespeare fardingale and by Cotgrave vardingall. This is Old Fr. verdugalle, of Spanish origin and derived from Span. verdugo, a (green) wand, because the circumference was stiffened with flexible switches before the application of whalebone or steel to this purpose. The crinoline, as its name implies, was originally strengthened with horse-hair, Lat. crinis, hair. To return to the farthingale, the insertion of an n before g is common in English (see p. 84, n. 2), but the change of the initial consonant is baffling. The modern Fr. vertugadin is also a corrupt form. Isinglass seems to be an arbitrary perversion of obsolete Du. huyzenblas (huisblad), sturgeon bladder; cf. the cognate Ger. Hausenblase.

Few words have suffered so many distortions as liquorice. The original is Greco-Lat. glycyrrhiza, lit. "sweet root," corrupted into late Lat. liquiritia, whence Fr. reglisse, Ital. legorizia, regolizia, and Ger. Lakritze. The Mid. English form licoris would appear to have been influenced by orris, a plant which also has a sweet root, while the modern spelling is perhaps due to liquor.

FOOTNOTES:

[89] Sack, earlier also seck, is Fr. sec, dry, which, with spurious t, has also given Ger. Sekt, now used for champagne.

[90] Fr. chaise, chair, for older chaire, now used only of a pulpit or professorial chair, Lat. cathedra, is due to an affected pronunciation that prevailed in Paris in the 16th century.

[91] The fact that in Old French the final consonant of the singular disappeared in the plural form helped to bring about such misunderstandings.

[92] For haggard see p. 108.

[93] In Old French confusion sometimes arose with regard to final consonants, because of their disappearance in the plural (see p. 118, n.). In gerfaut, gerfalcon, for Old Fr. gerfauc, the less familiar final -c was, as in boulevart, replaced by the more usual -t.

[94] An unoriginal g occurs in many English words derived from French, e.g., foreign, sovereign, older sovran, sprightly for spritely, i.e., sprite-like, delight, from Old Fr. delit, which belongs to Lat. delectare.

[95] "Also, that no 'denizen' poulterer shall stand at the 'Carfax' of Leadenhall in a house or without, with rabbits, fowls, or other poultry to sell ... and that the 'foreign' poulterers, with their poultry, shall stand by themselves, and sell their poultry at the corner of Leadenhall, without any 'denizen' poulterer coming or meddling in sale or purchase with them, or among them."

The word carfax, once the usual name for a "cross-way," survives at Oxford and Exeter. It is a plural, from Fr. carrefour, Vulgar Lat. *quadrifurcum (for furca), four-fork.

[96] This word is getting overworked, e.g., "The Derbyshire Golf Club links were yesterday the venue of a 72-hole match" (Nottingham Guardian, 21st Nov. 1911).

[97] Cf. Ger. schenken, to pour, and the Tudor word skinker, a drawer, waiter (1 Henry IV., ii. 4).

[98] Perhaps it is the mere instinct to make an unfamiliar word "look like something." Thus Fr. beaupre, from Eng. bowsprit, cannot conceivably have been associated with a fair meadow; and accomplice, for complice, Lat. complex, complic-, can hardly have been confused with accomplish.

[99] Lat. praeposterus, from prae, before, and posterus, behind.

[100] This etymology is, however, now regarded as doubtful, and it seems likely that Old Fr. escurie is really derived from escuyer. If so, there is no question of contamination.

[101] We have a parallel in Fr. flan, Eng. flawn, Ger. Fladen, etc., a kind of omelet, ultimately related to Eng. flat—

"The feast was over, the board was clear'd, The flawns and the custards had all disappear'd." (INGOLDSBY, Jackdaw of Rheims.)

Cotgrave has flans, "flawnes, custards, eggepies; also, round planchets, or plates of metall."



CHAPTER X

DOUBLETS

The largest class of doublets is formed by those words of Latin origin which have been introduced into the language in two forms, the popular form through Anglo-Saxon or Old French, and the learned through modern French or directly from Latin. Obvious examples are caitiff, captive; chieftain, captain; frail, fragile. Lat. discus, a plate, quoit, gave Anglo-Sax. disc, whence Eng. dish. In Old French it became deis (dais), Eng. dais, and in Ital. desco, "a deske, a table, a boord, a counting boord" (Florio), whence our desk. We have also the learned disc or disk, so that the one Latin word has supplied us with four vocables, differentiated in meaning, but each having the fundamental sense of a flat surface.

Dainty, from Old Fr. deintie, is a doublet of dignity. Ague is properly an adjective equivalent to acute, as in Fr. fievre aigue. The paladins were the twelve peers of Charlemagne's palace, and a Count Palatine is a later name for something of the same kind. One of the most famous bearers of the title, Prince Rupert, is usually called in contemporary records the Palsgrave, from Ger. Pfalzgraf, lit. palace count, Ger. Pfalz being a very early loan from Lat. palatium. Trivet, Lat. tripes, triped-, dates back to Anglo-Saxon, its "rightness" being due to the fact that a three-legged stool stands firm on any surface. In the learned doublets tripod and tripos we have the Greek form. Spice, Old Fr. espice (epice), is a doublet of species. The medieval merchants recognised four "kinds" of spice, viz., saffron, cloves, cinnamon, nutmegs.

Coffin is the learned doublet of coffer, Fr. coffre, from Lat. cophinus. It was originally used of a basket or case of any kind, and even of a pie-crust—

"Why, thou say'st true; it is a paltry cap; A custard-coffin, a bauble, a silken pie." (Taming of the Shrew, iv. 3.)

Its present meaning is an attempt at avoiding the mention of the inevitable, a natural human weakness which has popularised in America the horrible word casket in this sense. The Greeks, fearing death less than do the moderns, called a coffin plainly {sarkophagos}, flesh-eater, whence indirectly Fr. cercueil and Ger. Sarg.

The homely mangle, which comes to us from Dutch, is a doublet of the warlike engine called a mangonel—

"You may win the wall in spite both of bow and mangonel." (Ivanhoe, Ch. 27.)

which is Old French. The source is Greco-Lat. manganum, apparatus, whence Ital. mangano, with both meanings. The verb mangle, to mutilate, is unrelated.

[Page Heading: SULLEN—MONEY]

Sullen, earlier soleyn, is a popular doublet of solemn, in its secondary meaning of glum or morose. In the early Latin-English dictionaries solemn, soleyn, and sullen are used indifferently to explain such words as acerbus, agelastus, vultuosus. Shakespeare speaks of "customary suits of solemn black" (Hamlet, i. 2), but makes Bolingbroke say—

"Come, mourn with me for that I do lament, And put on sullen black incontinent." (Richard II., v. 6.)

while the "solemn curfew" (Tempest, v. 1) is described by Milton as "swinging slow with sullen roar" (Penseroso, l. 76). The meaning of antic, a doublet of antique, has changed considerably, but the process is easy to follow. From meaning simply ancient it acquired the sense of quaint or odd, and was applied to grotesque[102] work in art or to a fantastic disguise. Then it came to mean buffoon, in which sense Shakespeare applies it to grim death—

"For within the hollow crown That rounds the mortal temples of a king, Keeps death his court; and there the antic sits, Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp." (Richard II., iii. 2.)

and lastly the meaning was transferred to the capers of the buffoon. From Old High Ger. faltan (falten), to fold, and stuol (Stuhl), chair, we get Fr. fauteuil. Medieval Latin constructed the compound faldestolium, whence our ecclesiastical faldstool, a litany desk. Revel is from Old Fr. reveler, Lat. rebellare, so that it is a doublet of rebel. Holyoak's Latin Dictionary (1612) has revells or routs, "concursus populi illegitimus." Its sense development, from a riotous concourse to a festive gathering, has perhaps been affected by Fr. reveiller, to wake, whence reveillon, a Christmas Eve supper, or "wake." Cf. Ital. vegghia, "a watch, a wake, a revelling a nights" (Florio).

The very important word money has acquired its meaning by one of those accidents which are so common in word-history. The Roman mint was attached to the temple of Juno Moneta, i.e., the admonisher, from monēre, and this name was transferred to the building. The Romans introduced moneta, in the course of their conquests, into French (monnaie), German (Muenze), and English (mint). The French and German words still have three meanings, viz., mint, coin, change. We have borrowed the French word and given it the general sense represented in French by argent, lit. silver. The Ger. Geld, money, has no connection with gold, but is cognate with Eng. yield, as in "the yield of an investment," of which we preserve the old form in wergild, payment for having killed a man (Anglo-Sax. wer). To return to moneta, we have a third form of the word in moidore—

"And fair rose-nobles and broad moidores The waiter pulls out of their pockets by scores." (INGOLDSBY, The Hand of Glory.)

from Port. moeda de ouro, money of gold.

Sometimes the same word reaches us through different languages. Thus charge is French and cargo is Spanish, both belonging to a Vulgar Lat. *carricare from carrus, vehicle. In old commercial records we often find the Anglo-Norman form cark, a load, burden, which survives now only in a metaphorical sense, e.g. carking, i.e. burdensome, care. Lat. domina has given us through French both dame and dam,[103] and through Spanish duenna; while Ital. donna occurs in the compound madonna and the donah of the East End costermonger. Lat. datum, given, becomes Fr. de and Eng. die (plural dice). Its Italian doublet is dado, originally cubical pedestal, hence part of wall representing continuous pedestal. Scrimmage and skirmish are variant spellings of Fr. escarmouche, from Ital. scaramuccia, of German origin (see p. 64, n.). But we have also, more immediately from Italian, the form scaramouch. Blount's Glossographia (1674) mentions Scaramoche, "a famous Italian Zani (see p. 45), or mimick, who acted here in England, 1673." Scaramouch was one of the stock characters of the old Italian comedy, which still exists as the harlequinade of the Christmas pantomime, and of which some traces survive in the Punch and Judy show. He was represented as a cowardly braggart dressed in black. The golfer's stance is a doublet of the poet's stanza, both of them belonging to Lat. stare, to stand. Stance is Old French and stanza is Italian, "a stance or staffe of verses or songs" (Florio). A stanza is then properly a pause or resting place, just as a verse, Lat. versus, is a "turning" to the beginning of the next line.

[Page Heading: FROM FRENCH DIALECTS]

Different French dialects have supplied us with many doublets. Old Fr. chacier (chasser), Vulgar Lat. *captiare, for captare, a frequentative of capere, to take, was in Picard cachier. This has given Eng. catch, which is thus a doublet of chase. In cater (see p. 63) we have the Picard form of Fr. acheter, but the true French form survives in the family name Chater.[104] In late Latin the neuter adjective capitale, capital, was used of property. This has given, through Old Fr. chatel, our chattel, while the doublet catel has given cattle, now limited to what was once the most important form of property. Fr. cheptel is still used of cattle farmed out on a kind of profit-sharing system. This restriction of the meaning of cattle is paralleled by Scot. avers, farm beasts, from Old Fr. aver[105] (avoir), property, goods. The history of the word fee, Anglo-Sax. feoh, cattle, cognate with Lat. pecus, whence pecunia, money, also takes us back to the times when a man's wealth was estimated by his flocks and herds; but, in this case, the sense development is exactly reversed.

Fr. jumeau, twin, was earlier gemeau, still used by Corneille, and earlier still gemel, Lat. gemellus, diminutive of geminus, twin. From one form we have the gimbals, or twin pivots, which keep the compass horizontal. Shakespeare uses it of clockwork—

"I think, by some odd gimmals, or device, Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on." (1 Henry VI., i. 2.)

and also speaks of a gimmal bit (Henry V., iv. 2). In the 17th century we find numerous allusions to gimmal rings (variously spelt). The toothsome jumble, known to the Midlands as "brandy-snap," is the same word, this delicacy having apparently at one time been made in links. We may compare the obsolete Ital. stortelli, lit. "little twists," explained by Torriano as "winding simnels, wreathed jumbals."

An accident of spelling may disguise the origin and meaning of a word. Tret is Fr. trait, in Old French also tret, Lat. tractus, pull (of the scale). It was usually an allowance of four pounds in a hundred and four, which was supposed to be equal to the sum of the "turns of the scale" which would be in the purchaser's favour if the goods were weighed in small quantities. Trait is still so used in modern French.

[Page Heading: METTLE—GLAMOUR]

A difference in spelling, originally accidental, but perpetuated by an apparent difference of meaning, is seen in flour, flower; metal, mettle. Flour is the flower, i.e. the finest part, of meal, Fr. fleur de farine, "flower, or the finest meale" (Cotgrave). In the Nottingham Guardian (29th Aug. 1911) I read that—

"Mrs Kernahan is among the increasing number of persons who do not discriminate between metal and mettle, and writes 'Margaret was on her metal.'"

It might be added that this author is in the excellent company of Shakespeare—

"See whe'r their basest metal be not mov'd." (Julius Caesar, i. 1.)

There is no more etymological difference between metal and mettle than between the "temper" of a cook and that of a sword-blade.

Parson is a doublet of person, the priest perhaps being taken as "representing" the Church, for Lat. persona, an actor's mask, from per, through, and sonare, to sound,[106] was also used of a costumed character or dramatis persona. Mask, which ultimately belongs to an Arabic word meaning buffoon, has had a sense development exactly opposite to that of person, its modern meaning corresponding to the Lat. persona from which the latter started. Parson shows the popular pronunciation of er, now modified by the influence of traditional spelling. We still have it in Berkeley, clerk, Derby, sergeant, as we formerly did in merchant. Proper names, in which the orthography depends on the "taste and fancy of the speller," or the phonetic theories of the old parish clerk, are often more in accordance with the pronunciation, e.g., Barclay, Clark, Darby, Sargent, Marchant. Posy, in both its senses, is a contraction of poesy, the flowers of a nosegay expressing by their arrangement a sentiment like that engraved on a ring. The latter use is perhaps obsolete—

"A hoop of gold, a paltry ring That she did give me; whose posy was For all the world like cutler's poetry Upon a knife: 'Love me and leave me not.'" (Merchant of Venice, v. 1.)

The poetic word glamour is the same as grammar, which had in the Middle Ages the sense of mysterious learning. From the same source we have the French corruption grimoire, "a booke of conjuring" (Cotgrave). Glamour and gramarye were both revived by Scott—

"A moment then the volume spread, And one short spell therein he read; It had much of glamour might." (Lay of the Last Minstrel, iii. 9.)

"And how he sought her castle high, That morn, by help of gramarye." (Ibid., v. 27.)

For the change of r to l we have the parallel of flounce for older frounce (p. 60). Quire is the same word as quair, in the "King's Quair" i.e. book. Its Mid. English form is quayer, Old Fr. quaer, caer (cahier), Vulgar Lat. *quaternum, for quaternio, "a quier with foure sheetes" (Cooper).

[Page Heading: EASTERN DOUBLETS]

Oriental words have sometimes come into the language by very diverse routes. Sirup, or syrup, sherbet, and (rum)-shrub are of identical origin, ultimately Arabic. Sirup, which comes through Spanish and French, was once used, like treacle (p. 75), of medicinal compounds—

"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." (Othello, iii. 3.)

Sherbet and shrub are directly borrowed through the medium of travellers—

"'I smoke on srub and water, myself,' said Mr Omer." (David Copperfield, Ch. 30.)

Sepoy, used of Indian soldiers in the English service, is the same as spahi, the French name for the Algerian cavalry. Both come ultimately from a Persian adjective meaning "military," and the French form was at one time used also in English in speaking of Oriental soldiery—

"The Janizaries and Spahies came in a tumultuary manner to the Seraglio." (HOWELL, Familiar Letters, 1623.)

Tulip is from Fr. tulipe, formerly tulipan, "the delicate flower called a tulipa, tulipie, or Dalmatian cap" (Cotgrave). It is a doublet of turban. The German Tulpe was also earlier Tulipan.

The humblest of medieval coins was the maravedi, which came from Spain at an early date, though not early enough for Robin Hood to have said to Isaac of York—

"I will strip thee of every maravedi thou hast in the world." (Ivanhoe, Ch. 33.)

The name is due to the Moorish dynasty of the Almaravides or Marabouts. This Arabic name, which means hermit, was given also to a kind of stork, the marabout, on account of the solitary and sober habits which have earned in India for a somewhat similar bird the name adjutant (p. 34).

Cipher and zero do not look like doublets, but both of them come from the same Arabic word. The medieval Lat. zephyrum connects the two forms. Crimson and carmine, both of them ultimately from Old Spanish, are not quite doublets, but both belong to kermes, the cochineal insect, of Arabic origin.

The relationship between cipher and zero is perhaps better disguised than that between furnish and veneer, though this is by no means obvious. Veneer, spelt fineer by Smollett, is Ger. fournieren, borrowed from Fr. fournir[107] and specialised in meaning. Ebers' German Dict. (1796) has furnieren, "to inlay with several sorts of wood, to veneer."

The doublets selected for discussion among the hundreds which exist in the language reveal many etymological relationships which would hardly be suspected at first sight. Many other words might be quoted which are almost doublets. Thus sergeant, Fr. sergent, Lat. serviens, servient-, is almost a doublet of servant, the present participle of Fr. servir. The fabric called drill or drilling is from Ger. Drillich, "tick, linnen-cloth woven of three threads" (Ludwig). This is an adaptation of Lat. trilix, trilic-, which, through Fr. treillis, has given Eng. trellis. We may compare the older twill, of Anglo-Saxon origin, cognate with Ger. Zwilch or Zwillich, "linnen woven with a double thread" (Ludwig). Robe, from French, is cognate with rob, and with Ger. Raub, booty, the conqueror decking himself in the spoils of the conquered. Musk is a doublet of meg in nutmeg, Fr. noix muscade. In Mid. English we find note-mugge, and Cotgrave has the diminutive muguette, "a nutmeg"; cf. modern Fr. muguet, the lily of the valley. Fr. diner and dejeuner both represent Vulgar Lat. *dis-junare, to break fast, from jejunus, fasting. The difference of form is due to the shifting of the accent in the Latin conjugation, e.g., dis-junare gives Old Fr. disner (diner), while dis-junat gives Old Fr. desjune (dejeune).

[Page Heading: BANJO—SAMITE]

Admiral, earlier amiral, comes through French from the Arab. amir, an emir. Its Old French forms are numerous, and the one which has survived in English may be taken as an abbreviation of Arab. amir al bahr emir on the sea. Greco-Lat. pandura, a stringed instrument, has produced an extraordinary number of corruptions, among which some philologists rank mandoline. Eng. bandore, now obsolete, was once a fairly common word, and from it, or from some cognate Romance form, comes the negro corruption banjo—

"'What is this, mamma? it is not a guitar, is it?' 'No, my dear, it is called a banjore; it is an African instrument, of which the negroes are particularly fond.'" (MISS EDGEWORTH, Belinda, Ch. 18.)

Florio has pandora, pandura, "a musical instrument with three strings, a kit, a croude,[108] a rebecke." Kit, used by Dickens—

"He had a little fiddle, which at school we used to call a kit, under his left arm." (Bleak House, Ch. 14.)

seems to be a clipped form from Old French dialect quiterne, for guiterne, Greco-Lat. cithara. Cotgrave explains mandore as a "kitt, small gitterne." The doublet guitar is from Spanish.

The two pretty words dimity and samite—

"An arm Rose up from out the bosom of the lake, Clothed in white samite, mystic, wonderful, Holding the sword." (TENNYSON, Morte d'Arthur, l. 29.)

are both connected with Gk. {mitos}, thread. Dimity is the plural, dimiti, of Ital. dimito, "a kind of course cotton or flanell" (Florio), from Greco-Lat. dimitus, double thread (cf. twill, p. 148). Samite, Old Fr. samit, whence Ger. Samt, velvet, is in medieval Latin hexamitus, six-thread; this is Byzantine Gk. {hexamiton}, whence also Old Slavonic aksamitu. The Italian form is sciamito, "a kind of sleave, feret, or filosello silke" (Florio). The word feret used here by Florio is from Ital. fioretto, little flower. It was also called floret silk. Florio explains the plural fioretti as "a kind of course silke called f[l]oret or ferret silke," and Cotgrave has fleuret, "course silke, floret silke." This doublet of floweret is not obsolete in the sense of tape—

"'Twas so fram'd and express'd no tribunal could shake it, And firm as red wax and black ferret could make it." (INGOLDSBY, The Housewarming.)

Parish and diocese are closely related, parish, Fr. paroisse, representing Greco-Lat. par-oikia ({oikos}, a house), and diocese coming through Old French from Greco-Lat. di-oikesis. Skirt is the Scandinavian doublet of shirt from Vulgar Lat. ex-curtus, which has also given us short. The form without the prefix appears in Fr. court, Ger. kurz, and the English diminutive kirtle—

"What stuff wilt have a kirtle of?" (2 Henry IV., ii. 4.)

These are all very early loan words.

[Page Heading: BROKER—WALNUT]

A new drawing-room game for amateur philologists would be to trace relationships between words which have no apparent connection. In discussing, a few years ago, a lurid book on the "Mysteries of Modern London," Punch remarked that the existence of a villa seemed to be proof presumptive of that of a villain. This is etymologically true. An Old French vilain, "a villaine, slave, bondman, servile tenant" (Cotgrave), was a peasant attached to his lord's ville or domain, Lat. villa. For the degeneration in meaning we may compare Eng. boor and churl (p. 84), and Fr. manant, a clodhopper, lit. a dweller (see manor, p. 9). A butcher, Fr. boucher, must originally have dealt in goat's flesh, Fr. bouc, goat; cf. Ital. beccaio, butcher, and becco, goat. Hence butcher and buck are related. The extension of meaning of broker, an Anglo-Norman form of brocheur, shows the importance of the wine trade in the Middle Ages. A broker was at first[109] one who "broached" casks with a broche, which means in modern French both brooch and spit. The essential part of a brooch is the pin or spike.

When Kent says that Cornwall and Regan—

"Summon'd up their meiny, straight took horse." (Lear, ii. 4.)

he is using a common Mid. English and Tudor word which comes, through Old Fr. maisniee, from Vulgar Lat. *mansionata, a houseful. A menial is a member of such a body. An Italian cognate is masnadiere, "a ruffler, a swashbuckler, a swaggerer, a high way theefe, a hackster" (Florio). Those inclined to moralise may see in these words a proof that the arrogance of the great man's flunkey was curbed in England earlier than in Italy. Old Fr. maisniee is now replaced by menage, Vulgar Lat. *mansionaticum. A derivative of this word is menagerie, first applied to the collection of household animals, but now to a "wild beast show."

A bonfire was formerly a bone-fire. We find bane-fire, "ignis ossium," in a Latin dictionary of 1483, and Cooper explains pyra by "bone-fire, wherein men's bodyes were burned." Apparently the word is due to the practice of burning the dead after a victory. Hexham has bone-fire, "een been-vier, dat is, als men victorie brandt." Walnut is related to Wales, Cornwall, the Walloons, Wallachia and Sir William Wallace. It means "foreign" nut. This very wide spread wal is supposed to represent the Celtic tribal name Volcae. It was applied by the English to the Celts, and by the Germans to the French and Italians, especially the latter, whence the earlier Ger. welsche Nuss, for Walnuss. The German Swiss use it of the French Swiss, hence the canton Wallis or Valais. The Old French name for the walnut is noix gauge, Lat. Gallica. The relation of umbrella to umber is pretty obvious. The former is Italian—

"A little shadow, a little round thing that women bare in their hands to shadow them. Also a broad brimd hat to keepe off heate and rayne. Also a kinde of round thing like a round skreene that gentlemen use in Italie in time of sommer or when it is very hote, to keepe the sunne from them when they are riding by the way." (Florio.)

Umber is Fr. terre d'ombre, shadow earth—

"I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, And with a kind of umber smirch my face." (As You Like It, i. 3.)

Ballad, originally a dancing song, Prov. ballada, is a doublet of ballet, and thus related to ball. We find a late Lat. ballare, to dance, in Saint Augustine, but the history of this group of words is obscure. The sense development of carol is very like that of ballad. It is from Old Fr. carolle, "a kinde of dance wherein many may dance together; also, a carroll, or Christmas song" (Cotgrave). The form corolla is found in Provencal, and carolle in Old French is commonly used, like Ger. Kranz, garland, and Lat. corona, of a social or festive ring of people. Hence it seems a reasonable conjecture that the origin of the word is Lat. corolla, a little garland.

[Page Heading: TOCSIN—MERINO]

Many "chapel" people would be shocked to know that chapel means properly the sanctuary in which a saint's relics are deposited. The name was first applied to the chapel in which was preserved the cape or cloak of St Martin of Tours. The doublet capel survives in Capel Court, near the Exchange. Ger. Kapelle also means orchestra or military band. Tocsin is literally "touch sign." Fr. toquer, to tap, beat, cognate with touch, survives in "tuck of drum" and tucket—

"Then let the trumpets sound The tucket sonance and the note to mount." (Henry V., iv. 2.)

while sinet, the diminutive of Old Fr. sin, sign, has given sennet, common in the stage directions of Elizabethan plays in a sense very similar to that of tucket.

Junket is from Old Fr. joncade, "a certaine spoone-meat, made of creame, rose-water, and sugar" (Cotgrave), Ital. giuncata, "a kinde of fresh cheese and creame, so called bicause it is brought to market upon rushes; also a junket" (Florio). It is thus related to jonquil, which comes, through French, from Span. junquillo, a diminutive from Lat. juncus, rush. The plant is named from its rush-like leaves. Ditto, Italian, lit. "said," and ditty, Old Fr. dite, are both past participles,[110] from the Latin verbs dico and dicto respectively. The nave of a church is from Fr. nef, still occasionally used in poetry in its original sense of ship, Lat. navis. It is thus related to navy, Old Fr. navie, a derivative of navis. Similarly Ger. Schiff is used in the sense of nave, though the metaphor is variously explained.