Sweet summer buds. Part four from the Flowers of Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. While LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Fern and Honey-Suckle. The Fern, Pteris Aquilina, with its graceful and beautifully indented leaves, and its peculiar, accurate scent, delicious to many persons, would be admitted into the Shakespeare Garden because of its fantastic qualities, even if its beauty did not sue for recognition. The Fern is a fairy plant. According to folklore, it always blossomed at 12 o'clock on St. John's Eve, June 21st. Midsummer night. The flower is described as a wonderful globe of sapphire blue, according to other stories of ruby red. And in a few moments after its blossoming, the seed appeared. Oberon, the fairy king, was supposed to watch for the precious seed so that he might prevent mortals from obtaining it. But anyone fortunate enough to gather Fern's seed would be under the protection of spirits, and would be enabled to realize all his fondest desires. Furthermore, anyone who wore the Fern's seed about him would be invisible. Shakespeare was familiar with this superstition, for he makes gad's shill exclaim in King Henry IV.  An old account tells us, the Fern flowers on Midsummer night at 12 o'clock, and drives away all unclean spirits. First of all, it puts forth buds, which afterwards expand, then open, and finally change into flowers of a dark red hue. At midnight, the flower opens to its fullest extent, and illuminates everything around. But at that precise moment, a demon plucks it from its stalk. Whoever wishes to procure this flower must be in the forest before midnight, locate himself near the Fern, and trace a circle around it, when the devil approaches and calls, feigning the voice of a parent, sweetheart, etc. No attention must be paid, nor must the head be turned, for if it is, it will remain so. Whoever becomes the happy possessor of the flower has nothing to fear. By its means he can recover lost treasure, become invisible, rule on earth and underwater, and defy the devil. Because the Fern was so powerful against evil, and because it was sacred to Saint John the Baptist, witches detested it. Pliny stated that the Fern had neither flower nor seed, and some of the old English writers believed this. William Turner, however, went to work to investigate matters. In his famous Herbal, published in 1562, he says, not only the common people say that the Fern had seed, but that was also the opinion of a Christian physician named Hieronymus Tragas, who doth not only say that the Fern hath seed, but righteth that he found upon Midsummer even seed upon breaks, although all they that have written of herbs have affirmed and holden that the break doth neither seed nor fruit. Yet have I diversed times, prove the contrary, which thing I will testify here in this place for their sakes that be students of herbs. I have four years together, one after another upon the vigil of Saint John the Baptist, which we call in English Midsummer even, sought for this seed of breaks upon the night, and indeed I found it early in the morning before daybreak. The seed was small, black, and like unto poppy. I went about this business, all figures, conjurings, saunters, charms, witchcraft, sorceries, taking with me two or three honest men. When I sought this seed, all the village about did shine with bonfires that the people made there. And sometimes, when I sought the seed, I found it, and sometimes I found it not. Sometimes I found much, and sometimes I found little. But what should be the cause of this diversity of what nature meaneth in this? Surely I cannot tell. Honeysuckle, Lone Sera Perfolium. Delicious name, Honeysuckle, and truly this is one of the sweetest flowers for scent that blows. It takes its name because of the honey dew found on it, so old writers say. Romantic as its other name, woodbine, suggesting silvan spots and mossy beds were cool-rooted flowers grow, such as the nodding violet. Shakespeare knew what he was about when he enraithed and entwined Titania's canopy with luscious woodbine, in loving union with equally delicious eglantine. The honeysuckle is a flower that belongs particularly to moonlight and to fairy time. In much ado about nothing, hero gives the command, good Margaret, run into the parlor and whisper to Beatrice, and bid her steel into the bleached bower, where honeysuckles ripened by the sun, forbid the sun to enter. A bower covered with the intense yet subtle perfume of the honeysuckle, doubly sweet in the hot sun that had ripened the blossoms and drawn out their innermost sweetness, was just the place to send saucy Beatrice for the purpose of lighting the flame of love for Benedict, and just the place to send a little later, the cynical Benedict, for the purpose of awakening his interest in the lady disdain. Shakespeare evidently knew that the honeysuckle is the flower of ardent lovers, and so he framed his bleached bower with these sweet-scented blossoms. The French have a tender name for the flower, Cherfou, because it is given by lovers to one another. The other French name, Cherfoulu, is derived from the Latin caprifolium, goat leaf, which may have been given to it because the plant leaps over high rocks and precipices, where only goats and others of the cloven-footed tribe dare venture. The honeysuckle in Shakespeare's day was a favorite remedy for wounds in the head, which is also valued it for their sorcery. According to sorcerers and astrologers, this plant was under the rule of Mercury. It is hard to decide when the honeysuckle is at its best, whether it hot noon tide, when the clusters of pale buff and white horns of plenty tip with their long feathery threads pour their incense into the golden sunlight, or when the less pungent but equally intoxicating perfume floats upon the silvery blue air of a moonlit night. How sweetly smells the honeysuckle in the hushed night, as if the world were one of utter peace and love and gentleness. Landor has thus expressed what the delicious honeysuckle makes us feel. The monthly honeysuckle, writes Salvia Thaxter, is most divine. Such vigor of growth I have never seen in another plant. It climbs the trellis on my piazza and spreads its suburb clusters of flowers from time to time all summer. Each cluster is a triumph of beauty, flat in the center and curving out to the blossoming edge in joyous lines of loveliness, most like a wreath of heavenly trumpets breathing melodies of perfume to the air. Each trumpet of lustrous white deepens to a yellower tint in the center where the small ends meet. Each blossom where it opens at the lips is tipped with fresh pink. Each sends out a group of long stamens from its slender throat like rays of light, and the whole circle of radiant flowers has an effect of gladness and glory indescribable. The very sight of it lifts and refreshes the human heart. And for its odor it is like the spirit of romance, sweet as youth's tender dreams. It is summer's very soul. Enchanting season of fern and honeysuckle, perfume stars that shine through green leaves and bells that send forth peels of incense instead of sound. She showed me her ferns in woodbind sprays, foxglove and jasmine stars, a mist of blue in the beds, a blaze of red in the celadon jars, in velvety bees, in convoalusus bed, and roses of bountiful dune. Oh, who would think that the summer spells could die so soon? End of sweet summer buds, part four, fern and honeysuckle. Spring, part ten, from the flowers of Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Farah Iftikar. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Carnations and Ghillie Flowers Carnations, Dianthus Caryophilus. Perdita calls carnations and streaked ghillie flowers the fairest flowers of the season. Carnation was originally spelled coronation because the flower was used to make crowns, garlands and wreaths. In the days of Pliny it was called Dianthus, or flower of jove, and was also worn in wreaths and crowns. From Chaucer we know that it was cultivated as the clove ghillie flower in English gardens, and because it was used to add a spicy flavour to wine and ale, it acquired the popular name of sops in wine. Hence Spencer and his shepherd's calendar sings, bring hither the pink and purple Columbine with ghillie flowers, bring coronations and sops in wine worn of paramours, and again, youth's folk now flocking everywhere, to gather may baskets and smelling brewery, and home they hasten the posts to dite, and all the clerk pillars in daylight, with hawthorn, beautes and sweet eglentine, and garlands of roses and sops in wine. Its second specific name, writes Eleg Holm Caryophilus, i.e. nut-leaved, seems at first very inappropriate for a grassy-leaved plant, but the name was first given to the Indian clove tree, and from it transferred to the carnation on account of its fine clove scent. Its popularity as an English plant is shown by its many names, pink, carnation, ghillie flower, an easily traced and well ascertained corruption from Caryophilus, clove picotty and sops in wine, from the flowers being used to flavour wine and beer. There is an historical interest also in the flowers. All our carnations, picotty's and clove's came originally from the single Dianthes Caryophilus. This is not a true British plant, but it holds a place in the English flora, being naturalised on Rochester and other castles. It is abundant in Normandy, and I found it in 1874, covering the old castle of Falaise, in which William the Conqueror was born. I have found that it grows on the old castles of Dover, Diehl and Cardiff, all of them of Norman construction, as was Rochester, which was built by Gandalf, the special friend of William. Its occurrence on these several Norman castles makes it very possible that it was introduced by the Norman builders, perhaps as a pleasant memory of their Norman homes, though it may have been incidentally introduced with the Norman caen stone, of which parts of the castles are built. How soon it became a florist's flower we do not know, but it must have been early, for in Shakespeare's time the sorts of clove, carnations and pinks were so many that Gerard says, A great and large volume would not suffice to write of every one at large in particular, considering how infinite they are, and how every year, every climate and country bringeth forth new sorts and such, as have not here to fore been written of. Parkinson speaks of carnations, pinks and gillaflowers. The number of them is so, he says, that to give several descriptions to them were endless. He therefore mentions a few favourites. Among the carnations we find the great harwich or old English carnation, the red or clove gillaflower, the yellow or orange tawny gillaflower, the grey hulo, the red hulo, the blue hulo, the grimello or prince, the white carnation or delicate, the french carnation, the crystal, or crystalline, the fragrant, the striped savage, the oxford carnation, the king's carnation, the granado, the grand pier, and the great lambard. His gillaflowers include the lustigallant, or Westminster, the bristow blue, the bristow blush, the red dover, the fair maid of Kent, or ruffling robin, the queen's gillaflower, the dainty, the brusill gillaflower, the turkey gillaflower, the pale pageant, the sad pageant, master Bradshaw, his dainty lady, John Witt, his great tawny gillaflower, the striped tawny, the marbled tawny, master Tuggy's princess, the feathered tawny, and master Tuggy, his rose gillaflower. The Tuggies had a superb garden at Wettest Minister, in which they made a speciality of carnations, gillaflowers and pinks. The flower upon which Parkinson spends his most loving description is the Great Harwich. The enthusiasm of this old flower fancier, who writes so delightfully, makes us feel that the Great Harwich is an English institution, just as important as the roast beef of Old England, or the English plum pudding. I take this goodly great old English carnation, he writes, as a precedent for the description of all the rest, which for his beauty and stateliness is worthy of a prime place. It rises up with a great thick round stalk divided into several branches, somewhat thickly set with joints, and has every joint too long green, rather than whitish, leaves turning or winding two or three times round. The flowers stand at the top of the stalks in non-great and round green husks, which are divided into five points, out of which rise many long and broad pointed leaves, deeply jagged at the ends, set in order round and congly, making a gallant great double flower of a deep carnation colour, almost red, spotted with many blush spots and streaks, some greater and some lesser, of an excellent soft sweet scent, neither too quick, as many others of these kinds are, nor yet too dull, and with two whitish crooked threads like horns in the middle. This kind never beareth many flowers, but as it is slow in growing, so in bearing, not to be often handled, which showeth a kind of stateliness fit to preserve the opinion of magnificence. What a delightful idea Parkinson gives of the conscious dignity of the flower. How vividly he brings the great harvest before us, and makes us love its green husk, its mottled leaves, its rich scent, and its curling horns. Gillar flowers, Parkinson continues, grow like unto carnations, but not so thick set with joints and leaves. The stalks are more, the leaves are narrower and whiter, for the most part, and in some do as well a little turn. The flowers are smaller yet very thick and double in most, and the green husks in which they stand are smaller likewise. The ends of the leaves are dented and jagged, some also have two small white threads, crooked at the ends like horns in the middle of the flower, others have none. Most of our later writers do call them my one general name, karyophilus sativus and floss karyophilus, adding there to maximus when we mean carnations, and major when we would express gillar flowers, which name is taken from cloves in that the scent of the ordinary red gillar flower especially doth resemble them. Divers other several names have been formally given them as vitonica, or bitonia altera, or vitonica altibus, and coronaria, herbotunica, viola damicina, ocellus damicinas, and barbarius. Of some cantabrica pliny, some think they were unknown to the ancients, and some would have them be ifium of theophrastus, whereof he maketh mention in his sixth and seventh chapters of his sixth book, among garland and semiflowers, others to be his dios anthos or louis floss. We call them in English the greatest kinds, carnations, and the other gillar flowers, squasi july flowers. The red or clove gillar flower is most used in physics in our apothecary's shops, none of the others being accepted or used, and is accounted to be very cordial. Some writers say that the gillar flower was a cure for pestilential fevers. Gerard writes, Conserve made of the flowers, the clove gillar flower, and sugar is exceedingly cordial and wonderfully above measure, doth comfort the heart being eaten now and then. The Italian painter Benvenuto Tizio always painted a gillar flower in the corner of his pictures as his emblem, from which he is always called il garolfello. The word pink is derived from the Dutch word pinkster, witsundheid. The season, a certain witsundheid gillar flower was in bloom. The pink was regarded as an antidote for epilepsy, and a vinegar made of flowers was used as a valued remedy for the plague. The Elizabethans also thought, if a conserve be composed of it, it's the life and delight of the human race. Our old friend Parkinson describes pinks as wild or small gillar flowers, some bearing single and some double flowers, some smooth, almost without any deep dents on the edges, and some jagged, or as it were, feathered, some growing upright, like unto gillar flowers, others creeping or spreading, for one colour, some of another, and many of diver's colours. He gives double and single pinks, feathered or jagged pinks, starpinks, great gillar flower or great thrift, often used in gardens to impale a border or not, because it abideth green in winter and summer, and that by cutting it may grow thick and be kept in what form one lists.  These, he adds, are all generally called Armerias, or Armeria, yet some have called them Vitanica agrestis, and others Herbatunica charlatia and carophilus silvestris. We do in English, in most places, call the first or narrow-elived kinds, sweet John's and all the rest sweet William's, yet in some places they call the broader-elived kinds that are not spotted, tolmanus and london tusks, but the speckled kind is turned by our English gentle women, for the most part, London pride. We have not known of any of these used in physics. These spicy pinks and luscious july flowers and the simple sweet John's and sweet William's as well, recall the lovely lines of Matthew Arnold. Soon will the high mid-semmer-pump come on, soon will the musk carnations break and swell, soon shall we have gold-dusted snap-druggan, sweet William with his homely cottage smell. Stocks in fragrant blow, roses that down the alleys shine afar, and open jasmine in muffled lattices, and groups under the dreaming garden trees, and the pale moon and the white-dreaming star. End of Carnations and Gilly Flowers, recording by Farah Iftikar. Summer, part six from the Flowers of Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton, Marigold and Larkspur. Marigold, Calendula of the Canales. Shakespeare was devoted to the Marigold. He always speaks of it with poetic rapture. The Marigold that goes to bed with the sun, and with him rises weeping, his Perditor's idea of the shining flower, which in these few words she tells us closes its petals in the evening, and at dawn awakens wet with dew. Then in the beautiful dawn song in Cymbaline, winking merry buds remind us that the gold flower is consecrated to the Virgin Mary. This song, so full of the freshness of early morning and the sweet perfume of flowers, holding in their deep cups, sufficient dew to water the horses of the sun, just appearing above the horizon, is one of the loveliest of lyrics. Hark! Hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, and fever skins arise, his steeds to water at those springs on chalice flowers that lies, and winking merry buds begin to ope their golden eyes with everything that pretty is, my Lady, sweet arise, arise, arise. The Marigold says light, hath pleasant bright and shining yellow flowers, the witch do close at the setting down of the sun, and do spread and open again at the sun rising, and Lupton writes, some do call it spouser solace, the spouse of the sun, because it sleeps and is awakened with him. In the rape of Lucrice, Shakespeare also mentions the flower. Her eyes, like Marigolds, hath sheathed their light, and canopied in darkness, sweetly lay, till they might open to adorn the day. Very prettily, the flower is introduced in Middleton and Rowley's Spanish Gypsy, you the sun to her must play, she to you the Marigold, to none but you her leaves unfold. Another old English name for the Marigold was Rudds, and a prettier one was the Goldflower, often called simply the Gold or Gould. Shorcer talks of yellow gulls, the name was still used in Elizabeth's day. Colin Clout has, but if I her like ought on earth might read, I would her liken to a crown of lilies, upon a virgin bride's adorned head, with roses' diet and ghouls and daffodilies. In medieval times, the monks gave to the Goldflower the prefix Mary, with the legend that the Virgin Mary loved to wear the flower in her bosom, hence Shakespeare calls it Mary Buds. Of Shakespeare's Marigolds, Parkinson writes, they are called Calther of divers, and taken to be that Calther, whereof both Virgil and Colomela have written. Others do call them Calendula of the Callans, that is the first day of the months, wherein they are thought chiefly to flower, and thereupon the Italians call them Fiori di Onumesi, that is the flowers of every month. We call them in English generally girls, or Marigolds. The herb and flowers are of great use with us, among other pot herbs, and the flowers, either green or dyed, are often used in posits, broths and drinks, as a comforter of the heart and spirits, and to expel any malignant or pestilential quality gathered near their unto. The syrup and conserve, made of the fresh flowers, are used for the same purpose to good effect. Parkinson divides Marigolds unto two classes, single and double. The garden Marigold, he says, hath round green stalks, branching out from the ground into many parts, whereon are set long, flat green leaves, broader and rounder at the point than anywhere else. The flowers are sometimes very thick and double, breaking out of a scaly, clammy green head, composed of many rows of leaves, set so close together, one within another, that no middle thumb can be seen, and sometimes less double, having a small brown spot of a thumb in the middle, and sometimes but of two or three rows of leaves, with a large brown thumb in the middle. Everywhere more of is somewhat broader at the point, and nicked in two or three corners, of an excellent, fair, deep, gold-yellow color in some, and paler in others, and of a pretty strong and resinous sweet scent. There is no difference between this and the single Marigold, but that the flowers are single, consisting of one row of leaves of the same color, either paler or deeper yellow, standing about a great brown thumb in the middle. Our gardens are the chief places for the double flowers to grow in. Another description is contained in the famous gardener's labyrinth by Digidemus Mountain, Thomas Hill. The Marigold, named by the Herbarians Calendula, is so properly termed, for that in every calendar and in each month, this reneweth of the own accord, and is found to bear flowers as well in winter's summer, for which the Italians name the same the flower of every month, but some term it the sun's spouse, or the follower of the sun, and is of some name the husbandman's dial, in that the same showeth to them both the morning and evening tide. Others name it the sun's bright, and sun's herb, in that the flower of the same follow the sun, as from the rising by the south into the west, and by a notable turning obeying to the sun, in such manner that what part of heaven he possesseth, they unto the same turned behold, and that in a cloudy and thick air like directed, as if they should be revived, quickened and moved with the spirit of him, such as the love of it known to be toward that royal star, being in the night time for desire of him, as pensive and sad, they be shut or closed together, but at the noontime of the day, fully spread abroad, as if they with spread arms longed, or diligently attended, to embrace their bridegroom. This marigold is a singular kind of herb, sown in gardens, as well for the pot, as for the decking of garlands, beautifying of nosegays, and to be worn in the bosom. The marigold is supposed to be the chrysanthemum, or gold flower of the Greeks. The heliotrope, Salsacuium, and the story goes that the flower was originally the nymph Clity, who gazed all day upon the sun, with whom she had fallen in love. At length she was turned into the flower. All yellow flowers said St. Francis de Sal, and above all those that the Greeks call heliotrope, and we call sunflower, not only rejoice at the sight of the sun, but follow with loving fidelity the attraction of its rays, gazing at the sun, and turning towards it from its rising to its setting. Very charmingly does George Wither, a contemporary of Shakespeare, refer to this. When, with a serious musing, I behold, the grateful and obsequious marigold, how duly every morning she displays her open breast when fever spreads his rays, how she observes him in his daily walk, still bending towards him her small slender stork, how when he down-declines she droops and mourns, bedued as twer, with tears till he returns, and how she veils her flowers when he is gone. When this I meditate, me thinks the flowers have spirits far more generous than ours. Margaret of Allion, grandmother of Henry IV, knowing well the legend of the flower, chose for her device a marigold with a motto, genova svilva, curl we sell. In the reign of Henry VIII, the marigold was often called souvenir, and sentimental ladies wore wreaths of marigolds mixed with the hearties. To dream of marigolds denoted prosperity, riches, successes, and a happy and a wealthy marriage. As the marigold was a soul of flower, the astrologers placed it under the sign and care of Leo. In a holy Elizabethan spirit, Keatsang, open afresh your round of starry foals, ye ardent marigolds, dry up the moisture from your golden lids, for great Apollo bids, that in these days your praises should be sung on many harps, which he has lately strung, and when again your dewiness he kisses, tell him I have you in my world of blisses. So happily when I rove in some far veil, his mighty voice may come upon the gale. The Shakespearean marigold must not be confused with the French marigold, Floss Africanus, called also Indian ghillifla, flower of Africa and flower of Tunis. A long chapter on this marigold appears in Parkinson's book. This is the tightly rolled up little flower of irregular ragged petals, but of a rich deep golden hue. Parkinson also speaks of the great Peruvian sunflower which he admires greatly and describes with enthusiasm. We know it well as our common sunflower with its dark centre and yellow rays, a magnificent specimen of the floral world, worthy of the adoration of the Incas, and of more than we usually accord it, Laksper, Delphinium. Laks Hill's Trim, one of the flowers in the introductory song of the two noble kinsmen, is the Delphinium, also called Laksper, Laks claw, Laks toes and Nightsper. The generic name is derived from the Greek Delphinium, because the buds were thought to resemble the form of a dolphin. As with many other plants, there were two kinds, the wild and the tame, and it was the wild kind that was nourished up in gardens, according to Parkinson, who describes the plant as having small long green leaves finely cut, almost like fennel, and the branches ending in a long spike of hollow flowers with a long spare behind them. They are of several colours, bluish purple or white, or ash colour, or red, pale or deeper, and party-coloured of two colours in a flower. They are called diversely by diverse writers, as Consolider, Regulus, Calieris Flos, Flos Regius, Bucanum brominarum, and Cuminum Silvestre, Altrium, Dioscoridus. But the most usual name with us is Delphinium, but whether it be the true Delphinium of Dioscoridus, or the Poet's Hyacinth, or the Flower of Ajax, another place is fitter to discuss than this. We call them in English Larksheels, Larksspurs, Larkstoes or Claws and Monkshoods. There is no use of any of these in Physic in these days that I know, but are wholly spent for their flowers' sake. A modern botanist remarks, The gardener's ideal has been the full-flowered spike with a goodly range of colours on the cord of blue. We think of Larksspurs blue, some of these blues are pale as the sky, some pure cobalt, others indigo, and still others are a strange broken blue, gorgeous and intense, yet impure, glittering on the surface as if it was strewn with broken glass and sometimes darkened into red. The centre of a Larksspur is often grotesque. The hairy petals suggest a bee at the heart of a flower, and the flower itself looks like a little creature, poised for flight. In structure, the garden race has changed very little from the primitive type, though that type has wandered far from the simplicity of the Buttercup, which names the reynon kulakai. Whatever path of evolution the Larksspur has trod, it is very clear that the goal at which it has arrived is cross-fertilisation by means of the bee. At some time along the path, the calyx took on the duties of the corolla, became highly coloured, developed a spur, while at the same time the corolla lessened both in size and in importance. The stamens mature before the pistol, and are so placed that the bee cannot get at the honey without covering its head with pollen, which it then bears to another flower. The name of Monksford is also given to the blue helmet flower or Arcanite. Yellow Larksheels is a name our Elizabethan forefathers gave to the nasturtium indicum, a plant found in the West Indies, and taken by the early Spanish explorers to Spain, whence it travelled to all parts of Europe. It is now very familiar in most gardens of any curiosity, says Parkinson. The likeness of this flower, having spurs or heels, is of so great beauty and sweetness with all that my garden of delight cannot be unfurnished without it. The flowers are of an excellent gold-yellow colour, and grow all along the stalks. In the middle of each of the three lower leaves there is a little long spot or streak of an excellent crimson colour, with the long heel or spur behind hanging down. The whole flower hath a fine small scent, very pleasing, which being placed in the middle of some carnations or gillaflowers, for they are in flower at the same time, make a delicious tussimussie as they call it, or nosegay, both for sight and scent. Monardus and others call it floss sangranius, of the red spots in the flower, as also nastnerso de las indias, which is nasturtium indicum, and we there after in English, Indian cressus. Yet it may be called from the form of the flowers yellow larks heels. This flower is phosphorescent, and is said to admit sparks which are visible in the dark. End of Marigold and Larksborough, Recording by Florence. As she holds out the flower that the French called Hancy thought. And it is the pansy that is the little western flower upon which the bolt of Cupid fell, and made purple with love's wound, and which maidens call love and idleness. The flower that Oberon thus described to Puck when he sent him to gather it. The juice of it squeezed by Oberon upon Titania's eyelids, and by Puck upon the Athenian youths and maidens, who were also sleeping in the enchanted wood on that mid-summer night, occasioned so many fantastic happenings. The pansy in those days was the small Johnny jump-up, a variety of the violet according to the old writers. A little violet of three colors, blue, white, and yellow, Milton noted that it was freaked with jet. Michael Drayton showed its close relationship to the violet and the lines, the pansy and the violet here, as seeming to descend, both from one root and very fair, for sweetness yet contend. Gerard wrote in 1587, The stalks are weak and tender, whereupon grow flowers in form and figure like the violet, and for the most part of the same bigness of three sundry colors, whereof it took the name tricolor, that is to say purple, yellow, and white, or blue, by reason of the beauty and bravery of which colors they are very pleasing to the eye, for smell they have little or none at all. The pansy was beloved of Elizabethans. The great number of popular names it had proves this. In addition to pansy and Johnny jump-up, it was called herb trinity, because of the three distinct petals, which made it a flower of peculiar religious significance. Another name was three faces under a hood, because it had such a coquetish air. Another name was fancy flamey, because its amethystine colors are like those seen in the flames of burning wood.  There were no wine-dark pansies, in Shakespeare's time, to charm the lover of flowers, and none of the splendid deep purple velvets and mauves and pale amethysts and burnt orange and lemon and claret and sherry and canary hues that delight us today, and which are, to use the quaintol expression, nourished up in our gardens. The modern beauties began to be developed about 1875, chiefly by the French specialists, and as a modern writer remarks, such sizes, such combinations, such weirdness of expression and quaint faces painted upon the petals were never known before. The colors now run a marvelous range, pure white, pure yellow, deepening to orange and darkening to brown, as well as a bewildering variety of blues and purples and violets. The lowest note is a rich and velvety shade that we speak of as black, but there is no black in flowers. The pansy is the flower for all, it is cheap, it is hardy, it is beautiful, and its beauty is of an unusual and personal kind.  Whether the modern pansies should be included in a Shakespeare garden is a question for each owner of a garden to decide, but there should certainly be a goodly number of the little Johnny jump-ups. Poppy, papeveur somniferum. Shakespeare introduces the poppy only indirectly when he speaks of the drowsy syrup in Othello. The white poppy is the flower from which the sleeping potion was made. Of poppies, says Parkinson, there are a great many sorts both wild and tame, but our garden doth entertain none but those of beauty and respect. The general known name to all is papeveur, poppy. Yet our English gentle women, in some places call it by name Jones Silverpin. It is not unknown, I suppose, to any that poppies procure at sleep. Other old names for the poppy were cornrows and cheeseball. Scarlet poppies in the wreath of Ceres among the wheat ears. Scarlet poppies mingled with large white petal daisies and ragged robins belong to everybody's mental picture of mid-summer days. We usually think of the poppy as a coarse flower, says Ruskin, but it is the most transparent and delicate of all the blossoms of the field. The rest, nearly all of them, depend on the texture of their surface for color. But the poppy is painted glass, it never glows so brightly as when the sun shines through it. Whenever it is seen against the light or with the light, always it is a flame and warms in the wind like a blown ruby. Gather a green poppy bud, just when it shows the scarlet line at its side. Break it open and unpack the poppy. The whole flower is there compact in size and color, its stamens full grown, but all packed so closely that the fine silk of the petals is crushed into a million of wrinkles. When the flower opens it seems a relief from torture. The two imprisoning green leaves are shaken to the ground, the aggrieved corolla smooths itself in the sun and comforts itself as best it can, but remains crushed and hurt to the end of its days. Delicate and fine as is the above description, the sympathetic tribute to the poppy by Cecilia Thakster does not suffer in proximity. She says, I know of no flower that has so many charming tricks and manners, none with a method of growth more picturesque and fascinating. The stalks often take a curve, a twist from some current of air or some impediment, and the fine stems will turn and bend in all sorts of graceful ways, but the bud is always held erect when the time comes for it to blossom. Ruskin quotes Lindley's definition of what constitutes a poppy, which he thinks might stand. This is it. A poppy is a flower which has either four or six petals and two or more treasuries united in one, containing a milky, stupefying liquid in its stalks and leaves and always throwing away its calyx when it blossoms. I muse over their seed pods, those supremely graceful urns that are wrought with such matchless elegance of shape and think what strange power they hold within. Sleep is there and death, his brother, imprisoned in those mystic sealed cups. There is a hint of their mystery in their shape of sombre beauty, but never a suggestion in the fluttering blossom. It is the gayest flower that blows. In the more delicate varieties, the stalks are so slender yet so strong, like fine grass stems. When you examine them, you wonder how they hold even the lightweight of the flower so firmly and proudly erect, and they are clothed with the finest of fine hairs up and down the stalks and over the green calyx. It is plain to see, as one gazes over the poppy beds on some sweet evening at sunset, what buds will bloom in the joy of next morning's first sunbeams. For these will be lifting themselves heavenward, slowly and silently, but surely. To stand by the beds at sunrise and see the flowers awake is a heavenly delight. As the first long, low rays of the sun strikes the buds, you know they feel the signal. A light air stirs among them. You lift your eyes, perhaps to look at a rosy cloud or follow the flight of a caroling bird, and when you look back again, low, the calyx has fallen from the largest bud and lies on the ground, two half-transparent, light green shells, leaving the flower petal wrinked in a thousand folds, just released from their close pressure. A moment more and they are unclosing before your eyes. They flutter out of the gentle breeze like silken banners to the sun. It would be tempting in a Shakespeare garden to include many kinds of this joyous yet solemn flower, and certainly, as many were common in Elizabethan gardens, it would not be an anachronism to have them. However, if the space be restricted, and the garden lover a purist, then the white poppy only should be planted. End of pansies for thoughts and poppies for dreams. Sweet summer buds, part two from the Flowers of Shakespeare. This is a labor box recording. All labor box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit laborbox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Grow Flowers and Long Purples. Grow Flowers, Silla, Newtons. These are among the flowers Ophelia wove into a wreath. The queen tells the court. There is a willow grove, a scant the brook, that shows his whorlives in the glassy stream. There, with fantastic garlands, did she come of crow flowers, nettles, daisies and long purples.  Footnote, Hamlet, Act 4, Scene 7. End Footnote. Shakespeare did not select Ophelia's flowers at random. They typified the sorrows of the gentle victim of disappointed love, whose end was first madness. Then suicide, the crow flowers signified fair maiden. The nettles, stung to the quick, the daisies, her virgin bloom, and the long purples, under the cold hand of death. Thus what Shakespeare intended to convey by this code of flowers was, a fair maiden, stung to the quick, her virgin bloom, and the cold hand of death. It is generally supposed that the wild-blue hyacinth, or hair-bell, silla, newtons, a flower associated with pure and faithful love, is the crow flower. And authority is given to this theory in the old ballad, which, of course, Shakespeare knew, called the Deceased Maiden Lover. Then round the meadows did she walk, catching each flower by the stalk. Such as within the meadows grew, as dead men's thumb and hair-bell blew, and as she plucked them still, cried she, Alas, there's none air-loved like me. Some critics have objected to the blue hair-bell because it is a spring flower, and it is mid-summer when Ophelia drowns herself. These authorities suggest the ragged robin for Ophelia's crow flower, and others again the buttercup, also called creeping crow foot. Renuculus repins. Bloom writes, It is generally assumed that the flowers are those of the meadow and that a moist one. Why? It is equally probable they are those of the shady hedge bank, and that the crow flowers are the poisonous rank. Renuculus reptons and its allies, that the nettles are the ordinary, or tikka, dioeca, not necessarily in flower. Or if this be objected to on account of the stinging qualities which the distrodophilia might not be insensible to, its place could be taken by the white dead nettle, Lamium album L. The daisies may be moon daisies, and the long purples, Arum masculitum, another plant of baleful influence, with its mysterious dead white spatex sparing no very far-fetched resemblance to a dead man's finger wrapped in its green winding sheet, and whose grosser name, cacopeint, is ready at hand. With this selection we have plants of the same situation flowering at the same time, and all more or less baneful in their influence. The crow is given its name to many flowers. There are, indeed, more plants named for the crow than for any other bird, crow foot, crow toes, crow bells, for daffodil and voombels, crow berry, crow garlic, crow leeks, crow needles, and many others. Long purple, Arum masculitum, or orcus, masculine, is very closely related to our woodland jack in the pulpit.  As the plant is said to have been growing at the cross and to have received some drops of the saviour's blood, this flower is mentioned in Tennyson's dirge. Round the blow, self-pleached, deep, bramble roses, faint and pale, and long purples of the dale. Dr. Forbes Watson writes, I use the old name, wake robin, because it is so full of poetry, to think of the bird aroused from sleep by the soundless ringing of the bell. Arum, or lords and ladies, is the more usual name. The plant is under the dominion of Mars, so the astrologer said, end of crow flowers and long purples. Sweet summer buds, part two of the Flowers of Shakespeare. This is a Librabox recording. All Librabox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librabox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Saffron Crocus and Cuckoo Flowers Saffron Crocus, Crocus Versus Sativus Atamelis Shakespeare speaks of Saffron as a color, the Saffron wings of Iris, and Saffron to color the warden, pair pies. He never mentions the crocus from which the Saffron was obtained, yet a Shakespeare garden should have this plant represented. Saffron had long been known in England, for in the time of Edward III, a pilgrim from the east had brought, concealed in his staff, a root of the precious Arabic El Zahar Faran. In Shakespeare's time Saffron was used for soups and sauces and to color and flavor pies, cakes, and pastry confection. Saffron was also important medicinally and for dyeing silks and other materials. The beautiful orange-red stigmas, the croci odors of Virgil, were dried and the powder pressed into cakes and sold in the shops. The true Saffron writes Parkinson that is used in meats and medicines. Shooteth out his narrow long green leaves first. And, after a while, the flowers, in the middle of them, appear about the end of August, in September and October, according to the soil and climate where they grow. These flowers are composed of six leaves apiece of Murray or reddish-purple color, having a show of blue in them. In the middle of these flowers there are some small yellow chives standing upright, which are unprofitable. But, besides these, each flower hath two, three, or four greater and longer chives hanging down, upon, or between, the leaves, which are of a fiery red color and are the two blades of Saffron which are used physically, or otherwise, and no other. The raising of Saffron was a great industry. Old Tusser gave the good advice, too. Pair Saffron plot. Forget it not. His dwelling made trim. Look shortly for him. When harvest is gone, then Saffron comes on. A little of ground brings Saffron a pound. Saffron Walden in Essex and Saffron Hill in London receive their names because of the quantity of Saffron Crocus grown in those places. The Saffron Crocus is a handsome flower, but somewhat capricious. Dr. Forbes Watson writes, We look at the few well-selected flowers in our hand and let our mind wonder in the depths of those fair striped cups. They're color so fresh, so cool, so delicate, and yet not too cool. With that central yellow stamen column and the stigma emerging from it, like a fiery orange lump, the purple crocus partly from the full materials for color contrast afforded by its interior, partly from the exceeding delicacy of tint, the lilac stripes and markings, the transparent veins, and the pale watery lake which lies at the bottom of the cup seem to bear us away to some enchanted spot, a fairyland of color where no shadow ever falls, a land of damn eternal twilight and never fading flowers. Note, too, the differences between the crocuses with regard to the stigma in the purple crocus where it is needed to complete the harmony of the flower. It rises long and flame-tipped out of the tall bundle of yellow stamens. Notice also the curve of the outside of the purple crocus cup in a well-selected flower, and observe how quiet and solemnly beautiful it is in perfect harmony with the general expression. According to legend, the flower derived its name from a beautiful youth, Crocus, who was transformed into the flower, his love, Smilax, was changed at the same time into the delicate vine of that name. Another legend says that the flower sprang from the blood of the infant Crocus, who was accidentally killed by a disc thrown by the god Mercury. The Egyptians encircled their wine cups with the Saffron Crocus. The Greeks and Romans adorned the nuptial couch with the Saffron Crocus. The robes of Hymen, God of Marriage, were Saffron Hewed, and poets called the Don Saffron, or Crocus, colored. Shakespeare, therefore, had authority for the Saffron Wings of Iris. Saffron is an herb of the sun and is under the rule of Leo. Cuckoo Flower, Leichness, Floss, Cuckoo Lye. Shakespeare mentions Cuckoo Flowers in King Lear. Footnote, Act 4, Scene 4, and Footnote. In Company with Troublesome Weeds, Cordelia remarks, Crowned with rank, Fumitor, and Furrow Weeds, with Burdocks, Hemlocks, Nettles, Cuckoo Flowers, Darnell, and all the idle weeds that grow on our sustaining corn. Shakespeare's Cuckoo Flower is identified as the ragged robin, also called from its finely cut blue petals which have a ragged appearance. It is also known as the Meadow Campion or Meadow Pink. Parkinson says, Feathered Campions are called Armoraria Protensis and Floss Cuckoo Lye. Some call them in English Crow Flowers and Cuckrow Flowers, and some call the double here of the Fair Maid of France. From the above we see why it is that the ragged robin has been identified by some authorities as Ophelia's Crow Flower, for even Parkinson seems to consider the Crow Flower and Cuckoo Flower as identical. Some of the old herbalists give the name Cuckoo Flower to the Lady Smock, which is called Cuckoo Buds. The Cuckoo's name is given to many flowers. We have the Cuckoo Flower, Cuckoo Buds, Cuckoo's Bread, Wood Sorrel, Cuckoo's Meat, Cuckoo Pint, Arum Maculatum, Cuckoo Grass, Cuckoo Hood, Blue Corn Flower, etc. The Cuckoo Flower, ragged robin, is dedicated to Saint Barnabas, end of Saffron Crocus and Cuckoo Flowers. Sweet Summer Buds, Part 2 From the Flowers of Shakespeare This is a LibraBox recording. All LibraBox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraBox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Pomegranate and Myrtle The pomegranate, Punica, is a regal flower. Its burning beauty appeals to everyone who loves color. For the scarlet of the pomegranate has a depth and a quality that is all its own. The crinkled silken petals, rising from a thick, red calyx and set off by bright green leaves of wondrous glossy luster and prickly thorns, delight those who love beauty. Moreover, there is something luscious and strange about the pomegranate that makes us think of oriental queens and the splendors of Babylon and Persia, ancient Egypt and Carthage. It is a flower that Dido might have worn in her hair, or Samiramis, in garlands around her neck. Shakespeare knew perfectly well what he was doing when he placed a pomegranate beneath Juliet's window amid those leaves and flowers the nightingale sang so beautifully. The pomegranate was exactly the flower to typify the glowing passion of the youthful lovers. There are two kinds of pomegranate trees, writes Parkinson, the one tame or manured, bearing fruit, the other wild, which beareth no fruit, because it beareth double flowers, like as the cherry, apple and peach tree with double blossoms. The wild pomegranate, balustium, mayus, sieve, malus punica, is like unto the tame in the number of purplish branches, having thorns and shining fair green leaves, somewhat larger than the former. From the branches likewise shoot forth flowers far more beautiful than those of the tame or manured, sort, because they are double, and as large as a double province rose, or rather more double, of an excellent bright crimson color, tending to a silken carnation, standing in brownish cups or husks, divided at the brims, usually into four or five, several points like unto the former. But that in this kind, there never followeth any fruit. No, not in the country where it is naturally wild. The wild, I think, was never seen in England before John, traits can't. My very loving good friend brought it from the parts beyond the seas and planted it in his Lord's garden at Canterbury. The rind of the pomegranate is used to make the best sort of writing ink, which is durable to the world's end. The pomegranate was from the dawn of history a favorite with Eastern peoples. It is represented in ancient Assyrian and Egyptian sculpture, and had a religious significance in connection with several Oriental cults. The tree was abundant in ancient Egypt, and the fruit was such a favorite of the Israelites that one complaint against the desert into which Moses led them was the charge that it was no place of pomegranates. And Moses had to sue the male contents by promising that the pomegranate would be among the delights of Canaan. A land of wheat and barley, vines and fig trees in pomegranates, a land of olive oil and honey. The pomegranate was one of the commonest fruits of Canaan, and several places were named after it, Riman. The Jews employed the pomegranate in their religious ceremonies. On the hem of Aaron's sacred robe, pomegranates were embroidered in blue and purple and scarlet alternating with golden bells. An adornment that was copied from the ancient kings of Persia. The pomegranate was also carved on the capitals of the pillars of the temple of Jerusalem. Solomon said to his bride, I will cause thee to drink of spiced wine of the juice of my pomegranates. There is a tradition that the pomegranate was the fruit of the tree of life, and that it was the pomegranate that Eve gave to Adam. The Romans called it the Carthaginian apple. The pomegranate abounded in Carthage and derives its botanical name Punica from this place. Pliny says that the pomegranate came to Rome from Carthage, but its original home was probably Persia or Babylon. It was early introduced into southern Europe and was taken to Spain from Africa. Granada took its name from the fruits and the arms of the province display a split pomegranate. Around Genoa Nice there are whole hedges of it, rising to the height sometimes of twenty feet. It was introduced into England in Henry VIII's time, carried there among others by Catherine of Aragon, who used it for her device. Gerard grew pomegranates in his garden. Many legends are connected with the pomegranate, not the least being that of Persiopein. When the distracted Cerys found her daughter had been carried off by Pluto, she begged Jupiter to restore her. Jupiter replied that he would do so if she had eaten nothing in the realms of the underworld. Unfortunately, Pluto had given her a pomegranate and Persiopein had eaten some of those seeds. She could not return. The sorrow of Cerys was so great that a compromise was made and the beautiful maiden thereafter spent six months in the underworld with her husband, and six months with her mother above ground. A beautiful story of the life of the seed. In nearly all the legends of the east in which the word apple is mentioned it is the pomegranate that is intended. It is said to have been the fruit presented by Paris to Venus, and it is always associated with love and marriage. In Christian art, the pomegranate is depicted as bursting open and showing the seeds. This is interpreted as both a promise and an emblem of hope and immortality. Saint Catherine, the mystical bride of Christ, is sometimes represented with a pomegranate in her hand. The infant savior is also often represented as holding the fruit and offering it to the Virgin. Botticelli's Madonna of the Melagrana is a famous example. There is also a legend that because the pomegranate was planted on the grave of King Etiocles, the fruit has exuded blood ever since. The number of seeds has caused it to become the symbol of fecundity, generation, and wealth. Myrtle, myrtus letifolia, was looked upon in Shakespeare's time as a delicate and refined rarity, emblem of charming beauty and denoting peacefulness, plenty, repose, and love. Shakespeare makes Venus an Adonis meat under a myrtle shade. He speaks of the soft myrtle in measure for measure, and he alludes to the moon dew on the myrtle leaf, which is as delicate a suggestion of the evening perfume as the morning roses newly washed with dew is of the scents at dawn. We nourish myrtles with great care, says Parkinson. For the beautiful aspect, sweet scent and rarity, as delights and ornaments for a garden of pleasure wherein nothing should be wanting that art care and cost my produce and preserve. The broad-leafed myrtle riseth up to the height of four or five foot at the most with us, full of branches and leaves growing like a small bush, the stem and elder branches whereof are covered with a dark colored bark, but the young with a green and some with a red, especially upon the first shooting forth, whereon are set many fresh green leaves very sweet in smell and very pleasant to behold, so near resembling the leaves of the pomegranate tree that grow with us, that they soon deceive many that they are not expert therein, being somewhat broad and long and pointed at the ends, abiding always green. At the joints of the branches where the leaves stand come forth the flowers upon small footstocks, every one by itself, consisting of five small white leaves with white threads in the middle, smelling also very sweet. According to the Greeks, myrtle was a priestess of Venus and a special favorite of the goddess, who, wishing to preserve her from a too ardent suitor, turned her into this plant, which continues odorous and green throughout the year, having the virtue of creating and preserving love and being consecrated to Venus. The myrtle was symbolic of love. Consequently it was used for the wreaths of brides, as the orange blossom is today. Venus wore a wreath of myrtle when Paris awarded her the golden apple for beauty, perhaps in memory of the day when she sprang from the foam of the sea and, wafed it ashore by Zephyrus, was crowned with myrtle by the morning hours. Myrtle was always planted around the temples dedicated to Venus. Rappen writes, when once, as fame reports, the queen of love in Ita's valley raised a myrtle grove. Young wanton cupids danced summer's night around the sweet place by Cynthia's silver light. Venus this charming green alone prefers. And this, of all the verdant kind, is hers. Hence the brides' brow with myrtle wreath is graced. Hence in Elysian fields are myrtles said, to favor lovers with their friendly shade, their fedra, procrus, ancient poets, vein, and erophile, still of love complain whose unextinguished flames in, after death, remain. The Romans always displayed myrtle lavishly at weddings, feasts, and on all days celebrating victories. With the Hebrews the myrtle was the symbol of peace. And among many oriental races there is a tradition that Adam brought, a slip of myrtle from the Garden of Eden, because he considered it the choicest of fragrant flowers. The myrtle was early loved in England. In one of the old Roxburgh ballads of the 15th century a lover presses his suit by promising, and I will make the beds of roses and a thousand fragrant posies, a cap of flowers and a curtain embroidered with leaves of myrtle. In those days and long afterward there was a saying that if you want to be sure of your myrtle taking root then you must spread out your dress grandly and look proud when you are planting your slip. We can imagine one of the 15th century ladies spreading her voluminous and flowing robes with majestic rays and holding her head adorned with the tall pointed cap, or henan, with veil fluttering from its peak as she planted the little flower in her tiny walled Garden of Delight. There is a saying, too, that one must never pass a sweet myrtle bush without picking a spray. The flowering myrtle is considered the luckiest of all plants to have in the window, but it must be watered every day. End of Pomegranate and Myrtle. Autumn Part 2 From the Flowers of Shakespeare This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton Herbs of Grace and Drams of Poison Rosemary and Rue Rosemary Rosmarinas Oficianalis Rosemary Delights in Seaspray Wins its name The Cheerful Rosemary, as Spencer calls it, was in high favor in Shakespeare's day. The plant was not only allowed a corner in the kitchen garden, but it was trained over arbors and allowed to run over the mounds and banks, pretty much at its own sweet will. As for Rosemary, said Sir Thomas More, I let it run all over my garden walls, not only because my bees love it, but because it is the herb sacred to remembrance, and, therefore, to friendship, wince a spray of it hath a dumb language that marketh it, the chosen emblem, at our funeral wakes and in our burial grounds. Ophelia handed a sprig of Rosemary to her brother with the words, There's Rosemary, that's for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. Probably she knew the old song in the handful of pleasant delights. Footnote C page 127 End of footnote, where occurs the verse. Rosemary is for remembrance between us day and night, wishing that I might always have you present in my sight. Rosemary was used profusely at weddings among the decorations and the strings on the floor. A sprig of it was always placed in the wine to ensure the bride's happiness. The herb was also conspicuous at funerals. Naturally enough, as the herb was emblematic of remembrance, the fryer in Romeo and Juliet exclaims, Dry up your tears and stick your Rosemary on this fair course. Footnote Act 4, scene 5. End of footnote Sometimes the plant was associated with Rue as when in the winter's tale. Footnote Act 4, scene 3. End of footnote. Perdita says, Give me those flowers, Dorcas, Reverend Serres. For you there's Rosemary and Rue. These keep seeming and savor the whole winter through. Most important was Rosemary at Christmas Tide. It had a place among the holly, bay, ivy, and mistletoe, to which it added its peculiar and delicious perfume. Moreover, it was said that Rosemary brought happiness to those who used it among the Christmas decorations. Rosemary also garland that most important dish of ceremony. The boar's head, which the butler, or sower, bore into the hall of great houses and famous institutions. Like the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge and the city companies, on a silver dish preceded by a flourish of trumpets. The carol he sung began.  Light said, Rosemary comforteth the brain and restoreth speech, especially the conserve made of the flowers thereof with sugar. Worn on the person it was thought to strengthen the memory and to make the wearer successful in everything. The famous Hungary water, so favorite of perfume in the days of Elizabeth and after, was distilled from Rosemary. The leaves were used as a flavor in cooking, just as the Italians use it today. Placed in chests and wardrobes, Rosemary preserved clothing from insidious moth. According to astrologers, Rosemary was an herb of the sun. The common Rosemary, libanatus coronaria, sieve brosmarinum vulgar, is so well known, says Parkinson. Through all our land, being in every woman's garden, that it were sufficient to name it as an ornament, among other sweet herbs and flowers in our gardens, seeing everyone can describe it. But that I may say something of it. It is well observed, as well as in this our land, where it hath been planted in noble men's and great men's gardens against brick walls, as beyond the seas in the natural places where it groweth. That it rises up onto a very great height, with a great and woody stem of that compass that, being cloven out into thin boards, it hath served to make lutes, or such like instruments. And here with carpenter's rules, and to diver's other purposes, branching out into diver's and sundry arms that extend a great way, and from them again into many other smaller branches where on, are set at several distances at the joints, many very narrow long leaves, green above and whitish underneath, among which come forth toward the tops of the stalks, diver's sweet gaping flowers of a pale or bleak blueish color, many set together, standing in whitish husks, the whole plant, as well, leaves as flowers, smelleth exceeding sweet, rosemary is called by the ancient writers, libanotus, but with this difference, Stefanomatica, that is, coronaria, because there were other plants called libanotus that were for other uses, as this for garlands, where flowers and sweet herbs were put together, the latins called it rosmarinum. Some make it to be currum nigrum of theoprostus, as they would make lavender to be his currum album, but Matthewolus heth sufficiently confuted that error. Rosemary is almost of as great use as bays or any other herb, both for inward and outward remedies, and as well for civil as physical purposes, inwardly for the head and heart, outwardly for the sinews and joints, for civil uses, as all do know, at weddings, funerals, et cetera, to bestow among friends, and the physical are so many that you might be as well tired in the reading as I in the writing, if I should set down all that might be said of it. Rue, ruta graviolas. Rue was a much valued plant in Shakespeare's time. There were many superstitions about it which seemed to have been survivals from ancient days, for Rue is supposed to have been the moly which Homer says Mercury gave to Ulysses to withstand the enchantments of Cers. Miraculous powers were attributed to Rue.  It was also an excellent antidote against poison and the very smell of it ensured preservation against the plague. Rue was, therefore, very popular and was much used as a disinfectant. Parkinson tells us garden rue, ruta, or herb, grace, growth up with hard whiteish woody stalks whereon are set diverse branches of leaves being divided into many small ones, which are somewhat thick and round pointed of a bluish green color. The flowers stand at the tops of the stalks, consisting of four small yellow leaves, with a green button in the middle, and diverse small yellow threads about it, which growing ripe contain within them small black seeds. The many good properties were on to Rue Servith Hath, I think, in former times caused the English name of herb grace to be given on to it, for without doubt it is a most wholesome herb, although bitter and strong. Some do wrap up a bead roll of the virtues of Rue, as Macer, the poet, and others, in whom you shall find them set down to be good for the head, eyes, breast, liver, heart, spleen, etc. Gerard quaintly said, It is reported that if a man be anointed with the juice of Rue, the bitings of serpents, scorpions, wasps, etc., will not hurt him. When the weasel is to fight with the serpent, she armeth herself by eating Rue against the might of the serpent. Another quaint idea was that Rue, through best if a clipping from the plant was stolen from a neighbor's garden. Like Rosemary, Rue was considered by the astrologers as an herb of the sun, and was placed under the sign of Leo. Rue was also called the herb of grace and the serving man's joy. Shakespeare frequently refers to the herb O Grace, once in connection with salad in, all's well that ends well. Footnote, C page 237, end of footnote. Ophelia has Rue among her flowers when she distributes appropriate blossoms to the courtiers, she says. There's Rue for you, and some for me. We may call it herb of grace, O Sundays. O, you must wear your Rue with a difference. Again we find Rue in the Duke of York's garden in King Richard II, after the sad queen and her ladies have departed, bewailing the news of the king's deposition. The gardener, looking after them, exclaims, poor queen, so that thy state might be no worse. I would my skill were subject to thy curse. Here did she fall a tear. Here, in this place, I'll set a bank of Rue, sour herb of grace. Rue, even for Rue, here shortly shall be seen in the remembrance of a weeping queen. Footnote, act three, scene four, end of footnote, end of Rosemary and Rue. Slips of grace and drams of poison. Part 18 from the Flowers of Shakespeare. This is a libydox recording. All libydox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit libydox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Lavender, Mintz and Fennell. Lavender, Lavendula Spicer. Hot Lavender, Perdita calls it. Why is this? Turning to Gerard for an explanation, we find he says Lavender is hot and dry in the third degree and of a substance consisting of many airy and spiritual parts. Gerald had Lavender in his garden and so did Parkinson who says it is called a sum, Nardus Italia and Lavendula. The greater is called Femina and the lesser mass. We do call them generally Lavender or Lavender Spike and the Lesser Spike. Lavender is little used in physics but outwardly the oil for cold and benund parts and is almost wholly spent with us for the perfume linen, apparel, gloves, leather etc and the dried flowers to comfort and dry up the moisture of a cold brain. Our ordinary garden Lavender rises up with a hard woody stem about the ground parted into many small branches whereon are sat whitish long and narrow leaves by couples from among which rise up naked square stalks with two leaves at a joint. At the top diverse small husks standing round about them formed in long or round heads or spikes with purple gaping flowers springing out of each of them. The heads of the flowers are used to be put among linen and apparel. Because of its scent Lavender was often included in the nosegay. Lavender was much loved by sweethearts in the handful of pleasant delights. 1584 it is described verse Lavender is for lovers true whichever more be sane desiring always for to have some pleasure for their pain and when that they obtain it have the love that they require then have they all their perfect joy and quenched is the fire. Lavender belongs to the Crowfoot family and therefore is related to the Columbine Buttercup and Monkshood Aconite. The ancients used it in their baths went the name from the Latin Lavar to wash. The Elizabethans loved as we do today to place bags of dried Lavender among the household linen. Mints. Mentha. Mints occur in Perdita's list with hot Lavender time and savory. Although many kinds of mint were cultivated in gardens Parkinson mentions only free. The red mint or brown mint with dark green nicked leaves, reddish flowers and of a reasonable good scent. Spearmint, greener and paler leaves with flowers growing in long ears or swikes of a pale red or blush colour. And patry coloured or white mint with leaves more nicked half white and half green and flowers in long heads clothes set together of a bluish colour. Mints are often time used in baths with balm and other herbs as a help to comfort and strengthen the nerves and sinews either outwardly applied or inwardly drunk. Applied with salt it is a good help for the biting of a mad dog. It is used to be boiled with mackerel and other fish. Being dried it is often a much used with penny royal to put into puddings as also among peas that are boiled for potage. In Elizabethan days it was the custom to strew churches with mint. In an Elizabethan play Apius and Virginia these lines occur. Thou knave but for thee ear this time of day my lady's fair pew had been strewed full gay with primrose's cow slips and violet sweet with mints with marigold and marjoram meek.  This carries mint sauce back into antiquity. Medieval writers believed that the smell of mint refreshed the head and memory. And in medieval days the herb was dedicated to the virgin and called Herba Sancta Maria and Mentford and Notre Dame. The ancients dedicated to Venus hence it was used as a garland for brides corona venerus. The old myth has it that menth was a nymph beloved of Pluto and transformed into an herb by Prosper Pina who had now become sufficiently interested in the husband who had carried her off against her will to be jealous. Fennell, fenneculum vulgar. Thou star speaks of Fennell as a relish for conga in King Henry IV and Ophelia presents Fennell to the king to clear his sight just as she gave rosemary to la Ratus to refresh his memory. For according to a belief held by Pliny Fennell have a wonderful property to mundify our sight and take away the film or web that overcast up and dimmeth our eyes. There are three sorts of Fennell says Parkinson where of two are sweet. The one of them is the ordinary sweet Fennell whose seeds are larger and yellower than the common. The other sweet Fennell is not much known and called Cardus Fennell by those that sent it out of Italy. Fennell is of great use to trim up and strew upon fish as also to boil or put among fish of diverse sorts. Cow cumbas, pickled and other fruits etc. The roots are used with pasty roots to be boiled in broths and drinks. The seed is much used to be put into pip in pies and diverse other such baked fruits as also into bread to give it the better relish. The sweet Cardus Fennell being sent by Sir Henry Wotten to John Trouser-Cant had likewise a large direction with it how to dress it for they used to white it after it have been transplanted for their uses which by reason of the sweetness by nature and the tenderness of art cause of it to be much delightful to the taste especially with then that are accustomed to feed on green herbs. Another ancient belief preserved by Pilny was that serpents eat Fennell because it restored their youth by causing them to cast their old skins and they recovered their sight by eating the plant. The flowers of the Fennell are yellow. The Greek name for Fennell is Marathon. The Battle of Marathon took its name from the plant. The story goes that the youth named Phippoditus ran to Spartus Seagate for Athens when the Persian fleet appeared and he was told that the Spartans could not come till after the full moon. Very disheartened he was returning to Athens when Pan appeared to him and promised victory giving the youth a piece of Fennell as a token of his prophecy. The battle took place in a field full of Fennell was known henceforth as the Battle of Marathon 490 BC. Statues of the youth always represented him as holding a sprig of Fennell. Browning has told the story in his Phepodipis. End of Lavender Mints and Fennell. Autumn Part 3 from the Flowers of Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sarah Michelle from Michigan 2019. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Sweet Marjoram, Time, and Savory. Marjoram, Organum Volgare, was a favorite plant in Tudor and Stewart Times. An old writer informs us that sweet marjoram is not only much used to please the outward sense in nosegays and in the windows of houses as also in sweet powders, sweet bays, and sweet washing waters, but is also of much use in physics. Perdita classes it with hot lavender and savory. Shakespeare, appreciating its delicate and delightful scent, brings this out most beautifully in his Sonnet 99. The forward violet thus did I chide, sweet thief, whence dits thou steel thy sweet that smells, if not from my love's breath. The purple pride which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells, in my love's veins thou hast to grossly died. The lily I condemned it for thy hand, and buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair. This comparison is even more lovely than Milton's description of Sabrina with her loose braid of amber-dropping hair. In Shakespeare's time several species were grown, the common, the winter, and the sweet. They were favorite pot herbs and were used in salads if we may believe the clown in all's well that ends well. Lafayne, twas a good lady, twas a good lady, we may pick a thousand salads ere we light on such another herb. Clown, indeed, sir, she was the sweet marjoram of the salad, or rather the herb of grace. Lafayne, they are not salad herbs, you knave, they are nose herbs. Clown, I am no great Nebuchadnezzar, sir, I have not much skill in grass.  At the tops of the branches stand diver's small, scaly heads, like unto knots, of a whitish-green color, out of which come here and there small white flowers, and afterwards small reddish seed. Called marjorama in Latin, it is taken of most writers to be the Americas, or Samsicom, of diascorides, theophistus, and plenty. According to the Greek myth, a young man named Amerikos was employed in the household of the king of Cyprus. One day, when he was carrying a vase of perfumes, he dropped it, and he was so much humiliated by his carelessness that he fell and lost consciousness. The gods then changed him into the sweet herb Amerikos, or Amerikos, which is the Greek name for this plant. Rapunth thought it owed its existence to Venus.  On Samois's shore Fair Venus raised the plant, which from the goddess Touch derived her scent. Time! Time is her pillum. Time has always been appreciated by those who delight in aromatic perfume. It was one of those plants that Lord Bacon said were so delicious when trodden upon and crushed. Time was the symbol for sweetness in Elizabethan days. And sweet time true was a favorite expression. Sweet time true occurs in connection with roses, maiden pinks, and daisies, in the song in The Two Noble Kinsmen. Fairies were thought to be particularly fond of time, and that is one reason why Shakespeare covered the bank where Titania was want to sleep with wild time. The other reason was that he chose the sweetest flowers for perfume for the canopy and couch of the fairy queen. Musk roses, egglentine, honeysuckle, violets, and wild time, mingling the most delicious of scents. The word comes from the Greek and Latin, thymum. Time covered Mount Hymitus and gave the honey produced there a particularly delicious aromatic flavor. The honey of Mount Hymitus became a proverb. Hybla in Sicily was no less famed for its time and consequently its honey.  Ladies used to embroider a bee hovering over a sprig of time on the scarves they gave to their lovers, a symbol of action and honor. Time, too, was supposed to renew the spirits of man and beast, and it was deemed a powerful antidote against melancholy. Turning to our old friend Parkinson we find that the ordinary garden time, thymus vulgatius civedurius, is a small low woody plant with brittle branches and small hard green leaves as everyone knoweth having small white purplish flowers standing round about the tops of the stalks. The seed is small and brown, darker than marjoram, the root is woody and abideth well diverse winters. To set down all the particular uses wherein too time is applied were to weary both the writer and the reader. I will but only note out a few, for besides the physical uses to many purposes for the head, stomach, spleen, etc., there is no herb almost of more use in the houses of both high and low, rich and poor, both for inward and outward occasions, outwardly for bathings among other hot herbs and among other sweet herbs for strewings. Inwardly in most sorts of broths with rosemary, as also with other facetings or rather farsing herbs, and to make sauce for diverse sorts, both fish and flesh, as to stuff the belly of a goose to be roasted, and after put into the sauce, and the powder with bread to strew on meat when it is roasted, and so likewise on roasted or fried fish. It is held by divers to be a speedy remedy against the sting of a bee being bruised and laid thereon. The wild thyme, sirpillum hortent civimaeus, growth upright but yet is low, with diverse slender branches and small round green leaves somewhat like unto small fine marjoram, and smelling somewhat like unto it. The flowers grow in roundels at the top of the branches of a purplish color, and in another of this kind they are of a pure white color. There is another also that smelleth somewhat like unto musk, and therefore called musktime, whose green leaves are not so small as the former, but larger and longer. Savory, Satoria This herb is mentioned by Perdida. It was a great favorite in the old herb garden, and was probably introduced into England by the Romans. It is mentioned in Anglo-Saxon recipes as savory. Both the winter and summer savory were used as seasonings for dressings and sauces. The winter savory is used as a condiment and sauce to meet, to put into puddings, sausages, and such like kinds of meat. So says an old writer, who continues, Some do use the powder of the herb dried to mix with grated bread to bread their meat, be it fish or flesh, to give it the quicker relish. Parkinson writes, The winter savory, Satoria civitimbra, is a small low bushy herb very like unto hissep, but not above a foot high, with divers small hard branches, and hard dark green leaves thereon, thicker set together than the former by so much, and as thick as common hissep, sometimes with four leaves or more at a joint, of a reasonable strong scent yet not so strong or quick as the former. The flowers are of a pale purplish color, set at several distances at the tops of the stalks, with leaves at the joints also with them like the former. The root is woody with divers small strings there at, and abideth all the winter with his green leaves. It is more usually increased by slipping or dividing the root and new setting it severally again in the spring, than by sowing the seed. End of Sweet Marjoram Time and Savory, recording by Sarah Michelle from Michigan 2019. Herbs of Grace and Drams of Poison, part four from The Flowers of Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording, while LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Sweet Bomb and Camelmile. Sweet Bomb. Melissa Oficinalis. Sweet Ann Page commanded the elves to bestow good luck throughout Windsor Castle. The several chairs of order look you scour with juice of bomb and every precious flower. The Greek and Latin names, Melissa, Melissa Phylum and Appiestrum, show that this was a bee plant, which was still the case in Shakespeare's time. It is an herb, said Parkinson, wherein bees do much delight. And he also tells us that if bomb is rubbed on the inside of the hive, it draws others to resort thither. He goes on to describe it as follows. The garden bomb hath divers square blackish green stalks in round hard dark green pointed leaves, growing thereon by couples, a little notched above the edges of a pleasant sweet scent drawing near to the scent of a lemon or citrone. And therefore of some called citrago, the flowers grow about the tops of the stalks at certain distances, being small and gaping of a pale carnation color, almost white. The roots fasten themselves strongly on the ground and endure many years. It is increased by dividing the roots, for the leaves die down to the ground every year, leaving no show of leaf or stalk in the winter. Bomb is often used among other hot and sweet herbs to make baths and washings for men's bodies in the summertime. The herb without all question is an excellent help to comfort the heart, as the very smell may induce any so to believe. It is also good to heal green wounds being made into salve. I verily think that our forefathers hearing of the healing and comfortable properties of the true natural bomb and finding this herb to be so effectual gave it the name of bomb in imitation of its properties and virtues. Arabian physicians recommend it bomb for affections of the heart and hypochondria. Camomile. Anthemus nobelis. Fullstaff paints a moral in the lowly camomile. Though camomile, the more it is trodent on, the faster it grows. Yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. A similar idea occurs in lilies, you few us. 1588. Though the camomile, the more it is trodden and pressed down the more it spreadeth, yet the violet, the oftener it is handled and touched, the sooner it withereth and decayeth. Emblem of patience, the camomile was often used to point a moral and to teach patience. In the more the merrier, 1608, a character observes, the camomile shall teach the patience, which rises best when trodden most upon. Because its scent was brought out when trodden upon, camomile was planted in and along walks and on the edges of flower beds. Its low growth and delicious perfume made it a very attractive border plant. In Lawson's New Orchard, about 1616, there are instructions for large walks broad and long, close and open like the tempi-groves in Thessaly, raised with gravel and sand, having seats and banks of camomile. All this delights the mind and brings health to the body. In Shakespeare's Day, camomile grew in the wild field by Richmond Green. Our ordinary camomile, says Parkinson, is well known to all to have many small trailing branches set with very fine small leaves and spreading thick over the ground, taking root as it spreadeth. The tops of the branches have white flowers with yellow thrums in the middle, very like unto the feather-few, but somewhat greater, not so hard, but more soft and gentle and handling, and the whole herb is to be of a very sweet scent. Camomile is called anthamus lucanthenus and lucanthenum of the whiteness of the flowers, and camomileum of the corrupted Italian name camomila. Some call the naked camomile chrysanthemum adoratum. The double camomile is called by some camomileum romanum fiorimotablisi. Camomile is put to divers and sundry uses both for pleasure and profit, both for inward and outward diseases, both for the sick and the sound, imbavings to comfort and strengthen the sound and to ease pains to the diseased. The flowers boiled and poset drinks, provoke a sweat and helpeth to expel colds, aches, and other griefs. A syrup made of the juice of the double camomile with the flowers and white wine is used by some against jaundice and dropsy, and a sweet balm and camomile. Herbs of Grace and Drams of Poison Part Five From the Flowers of Shakespeare. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Flowers of Shakespeare by Esther Singleton. Diane's Bud and Monks Hood Blue. Diane's Bud. Artemisia. This plant is nothing more nor less than absinthe or wormwood. It is mentioned under its poetic name by Shakespeare in A Midsummer Night's Dream, when Oberon, Bidspuck, find him, the little purple flower called Love in Idleness. The juice of which placed on sleeping eyelids would make man or woman madly doped on the first object beheld on awakening, and with which he intended to anoint the eyelids of the sleeping titania. He also told the mischievous sprite that the charm could be removed with another herb, Diane's Bud, the flower sacred to the goddess Diana. Later, in the play, touching the eyes of the spellbound fairy with this second herb, Oberon pronounces the following incantation. Be as thou was want to be, see as thou was want to see, Diane's Bud on cupid's flower hath such force and blessed power. From the earliest times absinthe was associated with sorcery and was used for incantations. Pliny says the traveller who carried it about him would never grow weary and then it would drive away any lurking devils and counteract the evil eye. Ovid calls it Absintheum and speaks of its bitterness. The Greeks also called it Artemisia after the goddess Artemis or Diana and made it a moon plant. Very poetically, therefore, Shakespeare alludes to it as Diane's Bud, and most appropriately does it appear in the moonlit forest. Gerard, however, quaintly says that it was named for Queen Artemisia, wife of Moselus, king of Caria, who built the Moselium, which was one of the seven wonders of the world. The ancients liked its flavour in their wine as many people still like Vermouth, one of its infusions. In Shakespeare's time people hung up sprays of wormwood to drive away moths and fleas, and there was a homely verse, whose chamber is swept and wormwood is thrown, no flea for his life dare abide to be known. Wormwood was also kept in drawers and closets. To dream of the plant was of good augury. Happiness and domestic enjoyment were supposed to result. Mugwort is another old name for the plant. Monkshood, Aconitum, Napelles. This plant has three names, Monkshood, Wolfsbane, and Aconite. Aconite is the dram of poison which Romeo calls for, and Shakespeare alludes to Aconitum in King Henry IV, where the king, addressing Thomas of Clarence, compares its strength in that of gunpowder, though it do work as strong as Aconitum or rash gunpowder. Aconite was supposed in Elizabethan days to be an antidote against the most deadly poison. Ben Johnson in Sejanus makes one of his characters remark, I have heard that Aconite being timely taken hath a healing might against the scorpion sting. Lord Bacon and Silva calls Napelles the most powerful poison of all vegetables. Yet despite its poisonous qualities, an English garden lover writes, The plant has always held and deservedly a place among the ornamental plants of our gardens. Its stately habit and its handsome leaves and flowers make it a favorite. The ancients who were unacquainted with mineral poisons regarded Aconite as the most deadly of all poisons and believed that hecket had caused the plant to spring from the venomous foam frothing from the mouth of the three-headed dog Cerberus. When Hercules took him from Pluto's dark realm on one of his twelve labours. Ovid describes the Aconite as, A weed by sorcerers renowned the strongest constitution to compound, called Aconites because it can unlock albars and force its passage through a rock. In Greece it was also known as wolf's bane, like coctanum, and it was thought that arrowheads rubbed with it would kill wolves. Turner quaintly writes in his herbal, 1568, This of all poisons is the most hasty poison, how be it pliny sayeth this herb will kill a man if he take it, except it find in a man something to kill. Let our Londoners, which have of late received this blue wolf's bane, otherwise called monk's cane, take heed that the poison of the root of this herb do not more harm than the freshness of the flower hath done pleasure. Let them not say, but they are warned. Parkinson's name for it is Nepolis virus flore cerulio, blue helmet flower, or monk's hood. The helmet flower, he writes, hath diverse leaves of a fresh green colour on the upper side and grayish underneath, much spread abroad and cut up into many slits and notches. The stalk rises up, two or three foot high, beset to the top with the like leaves but smaller. The top is sometimes divided into two or three branches, but more usually without, whereon stand many large flowers, one above another, inform very like a hood, or open helmet. Being composed of five leaves, the uppermost of which and the greatest is hollow, like unto a helmet or headpiece, two other small leaves are at the sides of the helmet, closing it like cheeks, and come somewhat under, and two other which are the smallest, hang down like labels, or as if a closed helmet were opened in some pieces hung by, of a perfect or fair blue colour, but grow darker having stood long, which causes it to be so nourished up in gardens that their flowers, as was usual in former times, and yet is in many country places, may be laid among green herbs in windows and rooms for the summer time. But although their beauty may be entertained for the uses of foresad, yet beware they come not near your tongue or lips, lest they tell you to your cost, they are not so good as they seem to be. In the midst of the flower, when it is open and gapeth wide, are seen certain small threads like beards, standing about a middle head, which when the flower is passed, groweth into three or four or more small blackish pots containing in them black seeds. The roots are brownish on the outside and white within, somewhat big and round about and small downwards, somewhat like unto a small short carrot root, sometimes two being joined at the head together. It is the true nepelis of the ancient writers, which they so termed from the form of a turnip called napis in Latin. Generally speaking, the leaf and flower of the monkshood resembled a lark spur, and like the lark spur and the columbine, the plant has wandered away from its original family, the buttercup tribe. The upper sepul has developed from a spur into a hood. End of Dianne's Bud in Monkshood Blue