Kitabı oku: «Folk-lore of Shakespeare», sayfa 20

 
“Chief-Justice. You are as a candle, the better part burnt out.
 
 
Falstaff. A wassail candle, my lord; all tallow.”
 

A custom which formerly prevailed at Christmas, and has not yet died out, was for mummers to go from house to house, attired in grotesque attire, performing all kinds of odd antics.⁶⁹⁹ Their performances, however, were not confined to this season. Thus, in “Coriolanus” (ii. 1) Menenius speaks of making “faces like mummers.”

Cakes and Ale. It was formerly customary on holidays and saints’ days to make cakes in honor of the day. In “Twelfth Night” (ii. 3), Sir Toby says: “Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?” To which the Clown replies: “Yes, by Saint Anne; and ginger shall be hot i’ the mouth too.”

Wakes. In days gone by, the church wake was an important institution, and was made the occasion for a thorough holiday. Each church, when consecrated, was dedicated to a saint, and on the anniversary of that day was kept the wake. In many places there was a second wake on the birthday of the saint. At such seasons, the floor of the church was strewed with rushes and flowers, and in the churchyard tents were erected, to supply cakes and ale for the use of the merrymakers on the following day, which was kept as a holiday. They are still kept up in many parishes, but in a very different manner.⁷⁰⁰ In “King Lear” (iii. 6), Edgar says: “Come, march to wakes and fairs, and market towns.” We may also compare “Love’s Labour’s Lost” (v. 2) and “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 2). In “Hamlet” (i. 4) it is used in the sense of revel.

CHAPTER XII
BIRTH AND BAPTISM

As every period of human life has its peculiar rites and ceremonies, its customs and superstitions, so has that ever all-eventful hour which heralds the birth of a fresh actor upon the world’s great stage. From the cradle to the grave, through all the successive epochs of man’s existence, we find a series of traditional beliefs and popular notions, which have been handed down to us from the far-distant past. Although, indeed, these have lost much of their meaning in the lapse of years, yet in many cases they are survivals of primitive culture, and embody the conceptions of the ancestors of the human race. Many of these have been recorded by Shakespeare, who, acting upon the great principle of presenting his audience with matters familiar to them, has given numerous illustrations of the manners and superstitions of his own country, as they existed in his day. Thus, in “Richard III.” (iii. 1), when he represents the Duke of Gloster saying,

 
“So wise so young, they say, do never live long,”
 

he alludes to the old superstition, still deeply rooted in the minds of the lower orders, that a clever child never lives long. In Bright’s “Treatise of Melancholy” (1586, p. 52), we read: “I have knowne children languishing of the splene, obstructed and altered in temper, talke with gravity and wisdom surpassing those tender years, and their judgments carrying a marvellous imitation of the wisdome of the ancient, having after a sort attained that by disease, which others have by course of yeares; whereof I take it the proverb ariseth, that ‘they be of shorte life who are of wit so pregnant.’” There are sundry superstitious notions relating to the teething of children prevalent in our own and other countries. In “3 Henry VI.” (v. 6), the Duke of Gloster, alluding to the peculiarities connected with his, birth, relates how

 
“The midwife wonder’d; and the women cried
‘O, Jesus bless us, he is born with teeth!’
And so I was; which plainly signified
That I should snarl, and bite, and play the dog.”
 

It is still believed, for instance, in many places, that if a child’s first tooth appears in the upper jaw it is an omen of its dying in infancy; and when the teeth come early it is regarded as an indication that there will soon be another baby. In Sussex there is a dislike to throwing away the cast teeth of children, from a notion that, should they be found and gnawed by any animal, the child’s new tooth would be exactly like the animal’s that had bitten the old one. In Durham, when the first teeth come out the cavities must be filled with salt, and each tooth burned, while the following words are repeated:

 
“Fire, fire, burn bone,
God send me my tooth again.”
 

In the above passage, then, Shakespeare simply makes the Duke of Gloster refer to that extensive folk-lore associated with human birth, showing how careful an observer he was in noticing the whims and oddities of his countrymen.

Again, one of the foremost dangers supposed to hover round the new-born infant was the propensity of witches and fairies to steal the most beautiful and well-favored children, and to leave in their places such as were ugly and stupid. These were usually called “changelings.” Shakespeare alludes to this notion in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1), where Puck says:

 
“Because that she, as her attendant, hath
A lovely boy, stol’n from an Indian king;
She never had so sweet a changeling.”
 

And further on, in the same scene, Oberon says:

 
“I do but beg a little changeling boy,
To be my henchman.”
 

As a fairy is, in each case, the speaker, the changeling in this case denotes the child taken by them. So, too, in the “Winter’s Tale” (iii. 3), in the passage where the Shepherd relates: “it was told me, I should be rich by the fairies; this is some changeling: – open’t.” As the child here found was a beautiful one, the changeling must naturally mean the child stolen by the fairies, especially as the gold left with it is conjectured to be fairy gold. The usual signification, however, of the term changeling is thus marked by Spenser (“Fairy Queen,” I. x. 65).

 
“From thence a faery thee unweeting reft,
There as thou slepst in tender swadling band,
And her base elfin brood there for thee left:
Such men do chaungelings call, so chaunged by faeries theft.”
 

Occasionally fairies played pranks with new-born children by exchanging them. To this notion King Henry refers (“1 Henry IV.” i. 1) when, speaking of Hotspur compared with his own profligate son, he exclaims:

 
“O that it could be prov’d
That some night-tripping fairy had exchang’d
In cradle-clothes our children where they lay,
And call’d mine Percy, his Plantagenet!”
 

To induce the fairies to restore the stolen child, it was customary in Ireland either to put the one supposed of being a changeling on a hot shovel, or to torment it in some other way. It seems that, in Denmark, the mother heats the oven, and places the changeling on the peel, pretending to put it in, or whips it severely with a rod, or throws it into the water. In the Western Isles of Scotland idiots are supposed to be the fairies’ changelings, and, in order to regain the lost child, parents have recourse to the following device. They place the changeling on the beach, below high-water mark, when the tide is out, and pay no heed to its screams, believing that the fairies, rather than suffer their offspring to be drowned by the rising water, will convey it away, and restore the child they had stolen. The sign that this has been done is the cessation of the child’s screaming. The most effectual preservative, however, against fairy influence, is supposed to be baptism; and hence, among the superstitious, this rite is performed as soon as possible.

A form of superstition very common in days gone by was the supposed influence of the “Evil eye,” being designated by the terms “o’erlooked,” “forelooked,” or “eye-bitten,” certain persons being thought to possess the power of inflicting injury by merely looking on those whom they wished to harm. Even the new-born child was not exempt from this danger, and various charms were practised to avert it. In the “Merry Wives of Windsor” (v. 5), Pistol says of Falstaff:

 
“Vile worm, thou wast o’erlook’d, even in thy birth.”
 

This piece of folk-lore may be traced back to the time of the Romans, and, in the late Professor Conington’s translation of the “Satires of Persius,” it is thus spoken of: “Look here! a grandmother or a superstitious aunt has taken baby from his cradle, and is charming his forehead against mischief by the joint action of her middle-finger and her purifying spittle; for she knows right well how to check the evil eye.”⁷⁰¹ Is is again alluded to in the “Merchant of Venice” (iii. 2), where Portia, expressing to Bassanio her feelings of regard, declares:

 
“Beshrew your eyes,
They have o’erlook’d me, and divided me;
One half of me is yours, the other half yours;”
 

and in “Titus Andronicus” (ii. 1), Aaron speaks of Tamora as:

 
“faster bound to Aaron’s charming eyes
Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.”
 

This superstition, however, is not yet obsolete, but lingers on in many country places.

We may also compare a similar phrase made use of by Cleopatra (“Antony and Cleopatra,” iii. 7), in answer to Enobarbus:

 
“Thou hast forspoke my being in these wars,”
 

the word forespeak having anciently had the meaning of charm or bewitch, like forbid in “Macbeth” (i. 3):

 
“He shall live a man forbid.”⁷⁰²
 

Among the numerous customs associated with the birth of a child may be mentioned the practice of giving presents at the announcement of this important event. In “Henry VIII.” (v. 1), on the old lady’s making known to the king the happy tidings of the birth of a princess, he says to Lovell:

 
“Give her an hundred marks. I’ll to the queen.”
 

The old lady, however, resents what she considers a paltry sum:

 
“An hundred marks! By this light, I’ll ha’ more.
An ordinary groom is for such payment.
I will have more, or scold it out of him.”
 

It was an ancient custom – one which is not quite out of use – for the sponsors at christenings to offer silver or gilt spoons as a present to the child. These were called “apostle spoons,” because the extremity of the handle was formed into the figure of one or other of the apostles. Such as were opulent and generous gave the whole twelve; those who were moderately rich or liberal escaped at the expense of the four evangelists, or even sometimes contented themselves with presenting one spoon only, which exhibited the figure of any saint, in honor of whom the child received its name. In “Henry VIII.” (v. 2) it is in allusion to this custom that, when Cranmer professes to be unworthy of being a sponsor to the young princess, Shakespeare makes the king reply:

 
“Come, come, my lord, you’d spare your spoons.”
 

A story is related of Shakespeare promising spoons to one of Ben Jonson’s children, in a collection of anecdotes entitled “Merry Passages and Jests,” compiled by Sir Nicholas L’Estrange (MSS. Harl. 6395): “Shakespeare was godfather to one of Ben Jonson’s children, and after the christ’ning, being in a deepe study, Jonson came to cheere him up, and ask’t him why he was so melancholy. ‘No faith, Ben (sayes he), not I; but I have been considering a great while what should be the fittest gift for me to bestow upon my godchild, and I have resolv’d at last.’ ‘I pr’y thee, what?’ sayes he. ‘I’ faith, Ben, I’le e’en give him a douzen good Latin spoones, and thou shalt translate them.’” “Shakespeare,” says Mr. Thoms,⁷⁰³ “willing to show his wit, if not his wealth, gave a dozen spoons, not of silver, but of latten, a name formerly used to signify a mixed metal resembling brass, as being the most appropriate gift to the child of a father so learned.” In Middleton’s “Chaste Maid of Cheapside,” 1620:

“2 Gossip. What has he given her? What is it, gossip?

3 Gossip. A fair, high-standing cup, and two great ’postle spoons, one of them gilt.”

And Beaumont and Fletcher, in the “Noble Gentleman” (v. 1):

 
“I’ll be a gossip, Beaufort,
I have an odd apostle spoon.”
 

The gossip’s feast, held in honor of those who were associated in the festivities of a christening, was a very ancient English custom, and is frequently mentioned by dramatists of the Elizabethan age. The term gossip or godsip, a Saxon word signifying cognata ex parte dei, or godmother, is well defined by Richard Verstegan, in his “Restitution of Decayed Intelligence.” He says: “Our Christian ancestors, understanding a spiritual affinity to grow between the parents and such as undertooke for the child at baptism, called each other by the name of godsib, which is as much as to say that they were sib together, that is, of kin together through God. And the childe, in like manner, called such his godfathers or godmothers.”

As might be expected, it is often alluded to by Shakespeare. Thus, in the “Comedy of Errors” (v. 1), we read:

 
“Abbess. Thirty-three years have I but gone in travail
Of you, my sons: and till this present hour
My heavy burthen ne’er delivered.
The duke, my husband, and my children both,
And you the calendars of their nativity,
Go to a gossip’s feast, and go with me;
After so long grief, such festivity!
 
 
Duke. With all my heart I’ll gossip at this feast.”
 

And again, in “A Midsummer-Night’s Dream” (ii. 1), the mischievous Puck says:

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

And, once more, we find Capulet, in “Romeo and Juliet” (iii. 5), saying to the Nurse:

 
“Peace, you mumbling fool!
Utter your gravity o’er a gossip’s bowl;
For here we need it not.”
 

Referring to entertainments at christenings, we find the following in the “Batchelor’s Banquet,” 1603 (attributed to Dekker): “What cost and trouble it will be to have all things fine against the Christening Day; what store of sugar, biskets, comphets, and caraways, marmalet, and marchpane, with all kinds of sweet-suckers and superfluous banqueting stuff, with a hundred other odd and needless trifles, which at that time must fill the pockets of dainty dames,” by which it appears the ladies not only ate what they pleased, but pocketed likewise. Upon this and the falling-off of the custom of giving “apostle spoons” at the christening, we read in “Shipman’s Gossip,” 1666:

 
“Especially since gossips now
Eat more at christenings than bestow.
Formerly when they us’d to troul
Gilt bowls of sack, they gave the bowl;
Two spoons at least; an use ill kept;
’Tis well now if our own be left.”
 

Strype tells us that, in 1559, the son of Sir Thomas Chamberlayne was baptized at St. Benet’s Church, Paul’s Wharf, when “the Church was hung with cloth of arras, and after the christening were brought wafers, comfits, and divers banqueting dishes, and hypocras and Muscadine wine, to entertain the guests.”

In “Henry VIII.” (v. 4), the Porter says: “Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals?”

A term formerly in use for the name given at baptism was “Christendom,” an allusion to which we find in “All’s Well that Ends Well” (i. 1), where Helena says:

 
“with a world
Of pretty, fond, adoptious christendoms
That blinking Cupid gossips,”
 

the meaning evidently being, a number of pretty, fond, adopted appellations or Christian names to which blind Cupid stands godfather. The expression is often used for baptism by old writers; and Singer⁷⁰⁴ quotes from “King John” (iv. 1):

 
“By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long.”
 

Steevens observes that, in the Puritanical times, it was usual to christen children with the names of moral and religious virtues – a practice to which allusion seems to be made in “The Tempest” (ii. 1) by Antonio:

 
“Temperance was a delicate wench.”
 

So Taylor, the Water-Poet, in his description of a strumpet, says:

 
“Though bad they be, they will not bate an ace,
To be call’d Prudence, Temperance, Faith, or Grace.”
 

In days gone by a “chrisom” or “christom child” was one who had recently been baptized, and died within the month of birth, the term having originated in the “face-cloth, or piece of linen, put upon the head of a child newly baptized.” The word was formed from the chrism, that is, the anointing, which formed a part of baptism before the Reformation. Thus, in “Henry V.” (ii. 3), the hostess, Mrs. Quickly, means “chrisom child” in the following passage, where she speaks of Falstaff’s death: “’A made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child.” In a beautiful passage of Bishop Taylor’s “Holy Dying” (chap. i. sec. 2), this custom is thus spoken of: “Every morning creeps out of a dark cloud, leaving behind it an ignorance and silence deep as midnight, and undiscerned as are the phantoms that made a chrisom child to smile.” Referring to the use of the chrisom-cloth in connection with baptism, it appears that, after the usual immersion in water, the priest made a cross on the child’s head with oil, after which the chrisom was put on, the priest asking at the same time the infant’s name, and saying, “Receive this white, pure, and holy vestment, which thou shalt wear before the tribunal of our Lord Jesus Christ, that thou mayest inherit eternal life. Amen.” It was to be worn seven days; but after the Reformation, however, the use of oil was omitted, and the chrisom was worn by the child till the mother’s churching, when it was returned to the church. If the child died before the churching, it was buried in the chrisom, and hence it may be that the child itself was called a chrisom or chrisomer.⁷⁰⁵ Thus, it will be seen that Dame Quickly simply compares the manner of Falstaff’s death to that of a young infant. In registers and bills of mortality we find infants alluded to under the term “Chrisoms.” Burn, in his “History of Parish Registers” (1862, p. 127), gives the subjoined entry from a register of Westminster Abbey: “The Princess Ann’s child a chrissome bu. in y^e vault, Oct. 22, 1687.”

In Graunt’s “Bills of Mortality,” cited in Johnson’s Dictionary, we read: “When the convulsions were but were but few, the number of chrisoms and infants was greater.” The “bearing-cloth” was the mantle which generally covered the child when it was carried to the font. It is noticed in the “Winter’s Tale” (iii. 3), by the Shepherd, who, on the discovery of Perdita, says to the Clown: “Here’s a sight for thee: look thee, a bearing-cloth for a squire’s child! Look thee here; take up, take up, boy: open’t.” In Stow’s “Chronicle” (1631, p. 1039), we are told that about this time it was not customary “for godfathers and godmothers generally to give plate at the baptisme of children, but only to give ‘christening shirts,’ with little bands and cuffs, wrought either with silk or blue thread. The best of them, for chief persons, were edged with a small lace of black silk and gold, the highest price of which, for great men’s children, was seldom above a noble, and the common sort, two, three, or four, and six shillings a piece.”

CHAPTER XIII
MARRIAGE

The style of courtship which prevailed in Shakespeare’s time, and the numerous customs associated with the marriage ceremony, may be accurately drawn from the many allusions interspersed through his plays. From these, it would seem that the mode of love-making was much the same among all classes, often lacking that polish and refined expression which are distinguishing characteristics nowadays. As Mr. Drake remarks,⁷⁰⁶ the amatory dialogues of Hamlet, Hotspur, and Henry V. are not more refined than those which occur between Master Fenton and Anne Page, in the “Merry Wives of Windsor,” between Lorenzo and Jessica, in the “Merchant of Venice,” and between Orlando and Rosalind, in “As You Like It.” These last, which may be considered as instances taken from the middle class of life, together with a few drawn from the lower rank of rural manners, such as the courtship of Touchstone and Audrey, and of Silvius and Phœbe, in “As You Like It,” are good illustrations of this subject, although it must be added that, in point of fancy, sentiment, and simplicity, the most pleasing love-scenes in Shakespeare are those of Romeo and Juliet and of Florizel and Perdita.

The ancient ceremony of betrothing seems still to have been in full use in Shakespeare’s day. Indeed, he gives us several interesting passages upon the subject of troth-plight. Thus, in “Measure for Measure” (iii. 1), we learn that the unhappiness of the poor, dejected Mariana was caused by a violation of the troth-plight:

“Duke. She should this Angelo have married; was affianced to her by oath, and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wrecked at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befell to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him, the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage-dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

Isabella. Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?

Duke. Left her in her tears, and dried not one of them with his comfort; swallowed his vows whole, pretending in her discoveries of dishonour; in few, bestowed her on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, is washed with them, but relents not.”

It is evident that Angelo and Mariana were bound by oath; the nuptial was appointed; there was a prescribed time between the contract and the performance of the solemnity of the Church. The lady, however, having lost her dowry, the contract was violated by her “combinate” or affianced husband – the oath, no doubt, having been tendered by a minister of the Church, in the presence of witnesses. In “Twelfth Night” (iv. 3) we have a minute description of such a ceremonial; for, when Olivia is hastily espoused to Sebastian, she says:

 
“Now go with me and with this holy man
Into the chantry by: there, before him,
And underneath that consecrated roof,
Plight me the full assurance of your faith;
That my most jealous and too doubtful soul
May live at peace. He shall conceal it,
Whiles you are willing it shall come to note:
What time we will our celebration keep
According to my birth.”
 

This, then, was a private ceremony before a single witness, who would conceal it till the proper period of the public ceremonial. Olivia, fancying that she has thus espoused the page, repeatedly calls him “husband;” and, being rejected, she summons the priest to declare (v. 1):

 
“what thou dost know
Hath newly pass’d between this youth and me.”
 

The priest answers:

 
“A contract of eternal bond of love,
Confirm’d by mutual joinder of your hands,
Attested by the holy close of lips,
Strengthen’d by interchangement of your rings;
And all the ceremony of this compact
Seal’d in my function, by my testimony:
Since when, my watch hath told me, toward my grave
I have travell’d but two hours.”
 

Again, in the “Winter’s Tale” (iv. 4), which contains many a perfect picture of real rustic life, it appears that, occasionally, the troth-plight was exchanged without the presence of a priest; but that witnesses were essential to the ceremony:

 
“Florizel. … O, hear me breathe my life
Before this ancient sir, who, it should seem,
Hath sometime lov’d: I take thy hand, this hand,
As soft as dove’s down and as white as it,
Or Ethiopian’s tooth, or the fann’d snow, that’s bolted
By the northern blasts twice o’er.
 
 
Polixenes. What follows this? —
How prettily the young swain seems to wash
The hand, was fair before! – I have put you out: —
But, to your protestation; let me hear
What you profess.
 
 
Florizel. Do, and be witness to’t.
 
 
Polixenes. And this my neighbour too?
 
 
Florizel. And he, and more
Than he, and men; the earth, the heavens, and all;
That, were I crown’d the most imperial monarch,
Thereof most worthy; were I the fairest youth
That ever made eye swerve; had force and knowledge
More than was ever man’s, I would not prize them
Without her love; for her employ them all;
Commend them, and condemn them, to her service,
Or to their own perdition.
 
 
Polixenes. Fairly offer’d.
 
 
Camillo. This shows a sound affection.
 
 
Shepherd. But, my daughter,
Say you the like to him?
 
 
Perdita. I cannot speak
So well, nothing so well; no, nor mean better:
By the pattern of mine own thoughts I cut out
The purity of his.
 
 
Shepherd. Take hands, a bargain!
And, friends unknown, you shall bear witness to’t:
I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.⁷⁰⁷
 
 
Florizel. O, that must be
I’ the virtue of your daughter: one being dead,
I shall have more than you can dream of yet;
Enough then for your wonder. But, come on,
Contract us ’fore these witnesses.
 
 
Shepherd. Come, your hand;
And, daughter, yours.”
 

To the argument of Polixenes, that the father of Florizel ought to know of his proceeding, the young man answers:

 
“Come, come, he must not.
Mark our contract.”
 

And then the father, discovering himself, exclaims:

 
“Mark your divorce, young sir.”
 

Here, then, as Mr. Knight remarks,⁷⁰⁸ in the publicity of a village festival, the hand of the loved one is solemnly taken by her lover, who breathes his love before the ancient stranger who is accidentally present. The stranger is called to be a witness to the protestation, and so is the neighbor who has come with him. The maiden is called upon by her father to speak, and then the old man adds:

 
“Take hands, a bargain!”
 

The friends are to bear witness to it:

 
“I give my daughter to him, and will make
Her portion equal his.”
 

The impatient lover then again exclaims:

 
“Contract us ’fore these witnesses.”
 

The shepherd takes the hands of the youth and the maiden. Again the lover exclaims:

 
“Mark our contract.”
 

The ceremony is left incomplete, for the princely father discovers himself with:

 
“Mark your divorce, young sir.”
 

It appears, therefore, that espousals before witnesses were considered as constituting a valid marriage, if followed up within a limited time by the marriage of the Church. However much the Reformed Church might have endeavored to abrogate this practice, it was unquestionably the ancient habit of the people.⁷⁰⁹ It was derived from the Roman law, and still prevails in the Lutheran Church.

Besides exchanging kisses,⁷¹⁰ accompanied with vows of everlasting affection, and whispering lovers’ reassurances of fidelity, it was customary to interchange rings. In Shakespeare’s plays, however, espousals are made with and without the use of the ring. Thus, in the case of Ferdinand and Miranda, we read of their joining hands only (“Tempest,” iii. 1):

 
“Ferdinand. Ay, with a heart as willing
As bondage e’er of freedom; here’s my hand.
 
 
Miranda. An mine, with my heart in’t; and now farewell,
Till half an hour hence.”
 

In the passage already quoted from “Twelfth Night” (v. 1) there seems to have been a mutual interchange of rings.

Some, indeed, considered that a betrothal was not complete unless each spouse gave the other a circlet. Lady Anne, in “Richard III.” (i. 2), is made to share in this misconception:

 
“Gloster. Vouchsafe to wear this ring.
 
 
Anne. To take, is not to give.
 
 
Gloster. Look, how my ring encompasseth thy finger,
Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart:
Wear both of them, for both of them are thine.”
 

In “Two Gentlemen of Verona” (ii. 2) we read:

 
“Julia. Keep this remembrance for thy Julia’s sake (giving a ring).
 
 
Proteus. Why, then, we’ll make exchange: here, take you this.
 
 
Julia. And seal the bargain with a holy kiss.”
 

A joint, or gimmal, ring was anciently a common token among lovers, an allusion to which is made by Emilia, in “Othello” (iv. 3): “I would not do such a thing for a joint-ring.” Their nature will be best understood by a passage in Dryden’s “Don Sebastian” (1690, act v.):

 
“A curious artist wrought them,
With joints so close, as not to be perceiv’d;
Yet are they both each other’s counterpart,
… and in the midst,
A heart, divided in two halves, was plac’d.”
 

They were generally made of two or three hoops, so chased and engraved that, when fastened together by a single rivet, the whole three formed one design, the usual device being a hand. When an engagement was contracted, the ring was taken apart, each spouse taking a division, and the third one being presented to the principal witness of the contract.⁷¹¹ Hence such a ring was known as a “Sponsalium Annulis,” to which Herrick thus refers:

 
“Thou sent’st me a true-love knot, but I
Returned a ring of jimmals, to imply
Thy love hath one knot, mine a triple tye.”
 

The term is used by the Duke of Anjou, in “1 Henry VI.” (i. 2):

 
“I think, by some odd gimmors or device,
Their arms are set like clocks, still to strike on;
Else ne’er could they hold out so as they do.”
 

Again, in “Henry V.” (iv. 2), Grandpré tells how,

 
“in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
Lies foul with chew’d grass, still and motionless.”
 

Most readers of the “Merchant of Venice” remember the mirthful use which Shakespeare makes of lovers’ rings. Portia says (iii. 2), when giving her wealth and self to Bassanio:

 
“I give them with this ring;
Which when you part from, lose, or give away,
Let it presage the ruin of your love.”
 

The last act, too, gives several particulars about lovers’ rings, which, in Elizabethan England,⁷¹² often had posies engraved on them, and were worn by men on the left hand. Gratiano, for example, says:

 
“About a hoop of gold, a paltry ring
That she did give me; whose posy was
For all the world like cutlers’ poetry
Upon a knife, ‘Love me and leave me not.’”
 

Again Bassanio exclaims:

 
“Why, I were best to cut my left hand off,
And swear I lost the ring defending it.”
 

In “Taming of the Shrew” Shakespeare gives numerous allusions to the customs of his day connected with courtship and marriage. Indeed, in the second act (sc. 2) we have a perfect betrothal scene:

 
“Petruchio. Give me thy hand, Kate: I will unto Venice,
To buy apparel ’gainst the wedding-day. —
Provide the feast, father, and bid the guests;
I will be sure my Katharine shall be fine.
 
 
Baptista. I know not what to say: but give me your hands;
God send you joy, Petruchio! ’tis a match.
 
 
Gremio. Tranio. Amen, say we; we will be witnesses.
 
 
Petruchio. Father, and wife, and gentlemen, adieu;
I will to Venice; Sunday comes apace.
We will have rings, and things, and fine array;
And, kiss me, Kate, we will be married o’ Sunday.”
 

Although Katharina is only his spouse, and Baptista not yet his father-in-law, Petruchio, in accordance with fashion, calls her “wife” and him “father.” The spouses of old times used to term one another “husband” and “wife,” for, as they argued, they were as good as husband and wife.