Face. O, fear not him. While there dies one a week O' the plague, he's safe, from thinking toward London: Beside, he's busy at his hop-yards now; I had a letter from him. If he do, He'll send such word, for airing of the house, Re-enter DOL. Sub. Who is it, Dol? Dol. A fine young quodling." 2 Dol. A fine young quodling.] "A quodling, or codling; metaphorically, a too soon ripe-headed young boy. By the same metaphor below he is called a puffin, i. e. malum pulmoneum." This strange note Whalley found in Upton, and continued, as it stands here, in his corrected copy. That Upton knew his own meaning is highly probable, (though I will not affirm it,) but that he knew his author's I cannot possibly believe. A "quodling" is not a whitlow, neither is a "puffin," a shortness of breath. In Twelfth Night, Malvolio says “as a squash before 'tis a peascod, or a codling when 'tis almost an apple." On which Steevens observes, that a codling anciently meant an immature apple ; and produces this passage of Jonson to confirm it. An apple, though immature, is still, I presume, an apple, which the codling of Shakspeare is not, unless almost have the same meaning as altogether. The fact is, that Steevens spoke by guess, and was not lucky. Codling (a mere diminutive of cod,) is not necessarily restricted to this or that it means an involucrum or kell, and was used by our old writers for that early state of vegetation, when the fruit, after shaking off the blossom, began to assume a globular and determinate form. This is what Shakspeare means. "I have seen Summer go up and down with hot codlings," says a character in the Sun's Darling. "This," exclaims the editor of Ford, "plainly proves the assertion of Steevens that codlings are immature apples, as none but such could be had in summer.' Mr. Weber is always positive in proportion to his want of knowledge. The "codling' of Shakspeare is perfectly distinct from the "hot codlings" of Ford, which, as any one but his editor would have discovered, are not apples but young peas; which under this name were cried, ready dressed, about the streets of London. With respect to the quodling of the text, to which it is more than time to return, and which has been so often and so ridiculously quoted to confirm what Shak Face. O, My lawyer's clerk, I lighted on last night, (I 3 told you of him) He would have To rifle with at horses, and win cups. Dol. O, let him in. Sub. Stay. Who shall do't? Face. Get you Your robes on: I will meet him, as going out. Dol. And what shall I do? Face. Not be seen; away! Seem you very reserv'd. [Exit DOL. [Exit. Face. [aloud and retiring.] God be wi' you, sir, I pray you let him know that I was here: His name is Dapper. I would gladly have staid, but Dap. [within.] Captain, I am here. Face. Who's that?-He's come, I think, doctor. speare never meant, it is neither an apple nor a pea, but a sportive appellation for a young quill-driver, derived from the quods and quids of legal phraseology, which have given so many other cant terms to the language. Dapper was dressed as youths of his grave profession usually were in Jonson's time, in a band and gown. Hence Dorothy's knowledge of his occupation, and Face's instant recognition of her description. 3 In Holborn, at the Dagger.] Jonson is attentive to the decorum of his scene in the minutest point. The Dagger is not mentioned at random: it was an ordinary or gambling-house of the lowest and most disreputable kind; and sufficiently points out the views and connections of Dapper. It occurs again in the last act. A familiar,] i. e. an attendant spirit or demon; such as witches always carried about them. Dap. Ay, I am very glad. I had a scurvy writ or two to make, 5 And I had lent my watch last night to one That dines to day at the sheriff's, and so was robb'd Of my pass-time. Re-enter SUBTLE in his velvet cap and gown. Is this the cunning-man? Face. This is his worship. Dap. Is he a doctor? Face. Yes. Dap. And have you broke with him, captain? Dap. And how? Face. Faith, he does make the matter, sir, so dainty, I know not what to say. Dap. Not so, good captain. Face. Would I were fairly rid of it, believe me. Dap. Nay, now you grieve me, sir. Why should you wish so? I dare assure you, I'll not be ungrateful. 5 And I had lent my watch last night, &c.] This little burst of vanity is pleasant and characteristic. Watches, at this time, were scarce and dear, and seem to have conferred some kind of distinction on their possessors; they were, of course, much coveted by those who aspired to be thought fashionable, or to frequent good company. Our old dramatists are full of allusions to this circumstance. Thus Brome, who probably had his master, Jonson, in his thoughts, "when every puisne clerk can carry The time o' the day in his breeches." And Marmion: Antipodes. Pet. Ne'er a watch! 'tis the greatest solecism in society that ever I heard of: ne'er a watch! Lion. How deeply you conceive of it! Pet. You have not a gentleman, that's a true gentleman, without one." The Antiquary. Face. I cannot think you will, sir. But the law Is such a thing--and then he says, Read's matter Falling so lately." Dap. Read! he was an ass, And dealt, sir, with a fool. Face. It was a clerk, sir. Dap. A clerk ! Face. Nay, hear me, sir, you know the law Better, I think Dap. I should, sir, and the danger : You know, I shew'd the statute to you. Face. You did so. Dap. And will I tell then! By this hand of flesh, Would it might never write good court-hand more, If I discover. What do you think of me, Falling so lately.] In Rymer's Fœdera, vol. xvi. p. 666, we meet with a pardon from James I. to the person here meant, for practising the black art: "Simon Read of St. George's Southwark, professor of physic, who was indicted for the invocation of wicked spirits, in order to find out the name of the person who had stole 37%. 10s. from Tobias Matthews of St. Mary Steynings in London." This was in 1608. This Simon Read and one Roger Jenkins stood suit with the college of physicians in 1602, for practising without a license, in which they were both cast. WHAL. 7 That I am a chiaus?— What's that?—The Turk was here.] A chiaus was an envoy sent from the Port on special occasions; for the Turk, at that time, kept no leiger ambassadors in any part of Europe. Dapper uses the term for a cheat or swindler, in consequence of a circumstance which took place a short time before this comedy appeared. In 1609, Sir Robert Shirley sent a messenger or chiaus, (as our old writers call him,) to this country, as his agent, from the Grand Signior, and the Sophy, to transact some preparatory business. Sir Robert followed him, at his leisure, as ambassador from both those princes; but before he reached England, his agent had chiaused the Turkish and Persian merchants here of 4000/. and taken his flight, unconscious, perhaps, that he had enriched the language with a word of which the etymology would mislead Upton and puzzle Dr. Johnson. This is "the Turk was Dap. The Turk was here. As one would say, do you think I am a Turk? Dap. Do, good sweet captain. Face. Come, noble doctor, pray thee let's prevail; This is the gentleman, and he is no chiaus. Sub. Captain, I have return'd you all my answer. I would do much, sir, for your love--But this I neither may, nor can. Face. Tut, do not say so. You deal now with a noble fellow, doctor, One that will thank you richly; and he is no chiaus : Let that, sir, move you. Sub. Pray you, forbear Face. He has Four angels here. Sub. You do me wrong, good sir. Face. Doctor, wherein ? to tempt you with these spirits? Sub. To tempt my art and love, sir, to my peril. Fore heaven, I scarce can think you are my friend, That so would draw me to apparent danger. Face. I draw you! a horse draw you, and a halter, You, and your flies together Dap. Nay, good captain. Face. That know no difference of men. Sub. Good words, sir. here" in Dapper's time. Two other chiauses are mentioned by our annalists, as visiting us in 1618 and 1625; these, however, were more respectable characters, and are only noticed for the degree of pomp with which James and Charles I. respectively, received them. After all, chouse is not so remote from cozen (an old word, from the Dan. kosa,) but that we may easily believe something very like it had long been familiar to us. The frequent use of the word, however, at this period, is undoubtedly owing to the celebrity conferred upon it by the knavery of Sir Robert's chians. The word occurs in Shirley, spelt as here—" We are in a fair way to be ridiculous. What think you, madam, chiaus'd by a scholar!" Honoria and Mammon. |