II.—Mental and Moral Peculiarities.

(1) Nicknames from Peculiarities of Disposition—Complimentary.

Let us now turn to the varied characteristics of the human heart. If we wish to know how many good and excellent qualities there are in the world, and at the same time deceive ourselves into a belief that the evils are few, we must look into our directories. Scan their contents, and we might almost persuade ourselves that Utopia was a fact, and that we were consulting its muster-roll. At every turn we meet with virtue in the guise of a ‘Goode,’ or an ‘Upright,’ or a ‘Righteous,’[[509]] or a ‘Patient,’ or a ‘Best,’ or a ‘Faithful;’ or infallibility in a ‘Perfect’ or ‘Faultless.’ We are ever coming across philosophy in the shape of a ‘Wise’ or a ‘Sage.’ Conscience must surely trouble but little, where ‘Merry’ and ‘Gay,’ ‘Blythe’ and ‘Joyce,’ that is, joyous, are all but interminable; and companionship must be ever sweet with such people to converse with as ‘Makepeace’[[510]] and ‘Friend,’ ‘Goodhart’ and ‘Truman,’ ‘True’ and ‘Leal,’ ‘Kind’ and ‘Curtis’ or ‘Curteis.’ ‘Fulhardy’ and ‘Giddyhead,’ ‘Cruel’ and ‘Fierce,’ ‘Wilfulle’ and ‘Sullen,’ and ‘Envious’ did indeed find a habitation in its pages, but they have long since disappeared, being quite out of place in the presence of such better folk as ‘Hardy’[[511]] and ‘Grave,’ and ‘Gentle’ and ‘Sweet;’ or if the cloven foot of pride be still visible in ‘Proud’ and ‘Proudfoot,’ it is nevertheless under constant rebuke by our familiarity with such lowly characters as ‘Humble’ and ‘Meek.’[[512]] Nevertheless, this was anything but so in the old time. The evil roots of sin may still abide hale and strong and ineradicable in the heart of man, but he has carefully weeded the more apparent traces of this out of his nomenclature. I do not mean to say we are utterly without names of objectionable import, but we shall see that what I have stated once before is true in the main. We shall see that as a rule it is only when the sobriquet word has changed its meaning, or that meaning become obscure and doubtful, or when the name itself has lost the traces of its origin—easy enough in the lapse of so many days of unsettled orthography—that the surname has lingered on. This will make itself apparent as we advance.

Such names as ‘Walter Snel,’ ‘Richard Quicke’ (A.), including the immortal Quickly, ‘Richard le Smert’ (M.), now ‘Smart,’ ‘Thomas Scharp,’ now ‘Sharp,’[[513]] ‘Gilbert Poygnant’ (A.), ‘Thedric le Witte’ (A.), now ‘Witt’ and ‘Witty,’ ‘Nicholas le Cute’ (A.), and ‘Ralph le Delivre’[[514]] (M.M.), argue well for the keen perceptions and brisk habits of early days.[[515]] The slang sense of several of these, strangely enough, is but the original meaning restored. ‘Witty’ arose when the word implied keenness of intellect rather than of humour. Chaucer thus speaks of ‘witty clerkes,’ using the latter word too in a perfectly unofficial sense. Our numberless ‘Clarkes’ and ‘Clerkes,’ sprung from equally numberless ‘Beatrix le Clercs’ or ‘Milo le Clerks,’ may therefore belong either to the professional class or to the one we are considering. ‘William le Frek’ (M.) or ‘Ralph Frike’ (A.), now found as ‘Freak,’ ‘Frick,’ and ‘Freke,’ was a complimentary sobriquet implicative of bravery and daring even to rashness.[[516]] Minot in his political songs tells us in alliterative verse how the doughty men of Edward the Third’s army were—

Ful frek to fight.

The old ‘William le Orpede,’ or ‘Stephen le Horpede,’ or ‘Peter Orpedeman’ denotes a disposition equally stout-hearted.[[517]] It is a term found in well-nigh all our mediæval writers, and was evidently in common and familiar use. Trevisa, in his account of the Norman invasion, represents ‘Gurth’ as saying to Harold, ‘Why wilt thou unwary fight with so many orped men?’ The monk of Glastonbury also, speaking of Edward the Third’s expedition to Calais in 1350, relates that he ‘towke with him the nobleis, and the gentelles, and other worthi and orpedde menne of armes.’ Our ‘Keats’ and ‘Ketts’ are the old ‘Walter le Ket’ (G.) or ‘Osbert le Ket’ (J.), that is, the fierce, the bold. Thus the cowherd in ‘William of Pelerne’ directs the child how to conduct himself—

When thou komest to kourt

Among the kete lordes.

With these therefore we may associate ‘William le Prew,’ now ‘Prew,’[[518]] ‘Nicholas Vigerous,’ now found also as ‘Vigors,’ ‘Helen Gallant,’ ‘John le Stallworth,’[[519]] ‘Thomas Doughtye,’ and ‘Robert le Bolde,’ all still well-known names. ‘Prest,’ ‘Peter le Prest’ (M.), when not the archaic form of ‘Priest,’ is of kin to the mountebank’s ‘presto,’ and means—quick, ready. It was thus used till the seventeenth century. ‘Kean,’ found as ‘Hugh le Kene’ or ‘Joan le Kene,’ implies impetuosity. All these names speak well for the pluck of our forefathers. They are found with tolerable frequency, and naturally have not been suffered to die out for lack of pride. The Norman element, as we see, is strong in these chivalrous sobriquets. Nor is it less so with many other terms of no unpleasant meaning. Our ‘Purefoys’ or ‘Purfeys’ represent the pure faith of their countrymen.[[520]] Our ‘Parfitts’ are but the quainter form of ‘Perfect.’[[521]] Our ‘Bones,’ ‘Boons,’ and ‘Bunns’ are but variously corrupted forms of ‘Duran le Bon,’ or ‘Richard le Bone,’ or ‘Alice le Bonne,’ or ‘William le Boon,’ equivalent therefore to the earlier ‘Goods.’ ‘Bunker’ is similarly but ‘Bon-cœur’ (‘William Bonquer,’ O.),[[522]] our Saxon ‘Goodhart,’ and ‘Bonner,’ and the longer ‘Debonaire’ (‘Philip le Debeneyre,’ A.),[[523]] our more naturalized ‘Gentle’ (‘William le Gentil,’ M.), ‘Gentilman’ (‘Robert Gentilman,’ V. 1.),[[524]] and ‘Curteis’ or ‘Curtis’ (‘Walter le Curteys’ J., ‘Richard le Curteis,’ C.), Chaucer says—

All men holde thee for musarde,

That debonaire have founden thee.

‘Amiable’ (‘Edward Amiable,’ Z., ‘Joan Amiable,’ Z.) once existed, but in our registers, at least, that sweet grace is now wanting. Equivalent to these latter, but more Saxon in character, come our ‘Hendys’ or ‘Hentys’ (‘Thomas le Hendy,’ F.F., ‘John le Hendy,’ F.F.), a term found in all our early writers, and prettily expressive of that which was gentle and courteous combined. In the ‘Canterbury Tales’ the host reproves the friar for lack of civility to one of the company by saying—

Sire, ye should be hende,

And curteis as a man of your estate,

In company we will have no debate.

In the Hundred Rolls we find a ‘William Hendiman’ occurring, and a ‘John Hende’ was Lord Mayor of London in 1391. We have just mentioned the word ‘musarde.’ This reminds us of our ‘Musards’ (‘Malcolm le Musard,’ M.), who were originally of a dreamy temperament.[[525]] With our Saxon ‘Moodys’[[526]] (‘Richard Mody,’ G.), however, their title has fallen in general estimation, the one now denoting, when used at all, a trifling, the other a morose and gloomy disposition. Our ‘Sadds’ (‘Robert Sad,’ H.), too, from being merely serious, sedate folk, have become sorrowful of heart. Our great early poet speaks in the negative sense of—

People unsad and eke untrue,

that is, unstable and fickle. In a short poem, ascribed to Lydgate, pointing out to children their course of behaviour in company, we are told—

Who spekithe to thee in any maner place,

Rudely cast not thyn eye adowne,

But with a sad cheer look hym in the face.[[527]]

Here of course sobriety of demeanour, rather than sorrowfulness, is intended.[[528]] That ‘Henry le Wepere’ (A.), and ‘Peter le Walur’ (A.), and ‘William le Blubere’ (A.), however, must have been of rueful countenance we need not doubt.

Many changes too have passed over the names as well doubtless as over the lives of another section of our nomenclatural community. Our ‘Cunnings,’ we will hope, dated from the time when he who kenned his work well was so entitled without any suspicion of duplicity.[[529]] Very likely too our ‘Slys’ (‘John Slye,’ H.), and ‘Sleighs’ (‘Simon le Slegh,’ M.), ‘Slees’ (‘Isabella Slee,’ W.G.), and ‘Slemmans’ and Slymans’ were simply remarkable for being honestly dexterous in their several avocations.[[530]] The ‘mighty hand and outstretched arm’ of modern psalters was once translated ‘a hand that was slegh.’ But as slyness got by degrees but more and more associated with the juggler’s sleight-of-hand tricks, the word fell into disrepute. Such is the invariable effect of keeping bad company. So late, however, as the seventeenth century, one of our commonwealth poets was not misunderstood when he spoke of one whom—

Graver age had made wise and sly.

But the same predisposition to give ‘crafty’ and ‘sly’ and ‘cunning’ and ‘artful’ a dishonest sense has not been therewith content, but must needs throw ridicule upon the unsophisticated and artless natures of our ‘Simples’ (‘Jordan le Simple,’ A.), who would scarcely feel complimented if their surname were to originate in the present day.[[531]] It is the same with our ‘Seeleys’ (‘Benedict Sely,’ D.) and ‘Selymans’ (‘George Selyman,’ D.), the older forms of ‘Silly’ and ‘Sillyman.’ Perhaps the phrase ‘silly lamb’ is the only one in which we colloquially preserve the former idea of ‘silly,’ that of utter guilelessness. A ‘silly virgin’ with Spenser was no foolish maiden, but one helpless in her innocence, and the ‘silly women’ Shakespeare hints at in his ‘Two Gentlemen of Verona’ were but inoffensive and unprotected females.[[532]] ‘Sealey,’ ‘Silly,’ ‘Sillyman,’ and ‘Selyman,’[[533]] are all pleasant memorials of the earlier sense of this word. Our ‘Quaints’ and ‘Cants’ have gone through a changeful career. They are but the descendants of the old ‘Margaret le Coynte’ or ‘Richard le Queynte,’ from the early French ‘coint,’ neat, elegant. A shadow fell over it, however, and a notion of artfulness becoming attached to the word, to be quaint was to be crafty. Thus Wicklyffe, in his translation of St. Mark’s account of Christ’s betrayal, makes Judas say to the servants of the high priest, ‘Whomever I shall touch, he it is, hold ye him, and lead him warily, or queintly.’ Thus, too, Lawrence Minot, in his ‘Political Songs,’ tells us how—

The King of Berne was cant and kene,

But there he lost both play and pride.

Strange to say, the word has well-nigh recovered its original sense, betokening as it does a whimsical and antique prettiness, if not the bare quality itself. Our original ‘Careless’ (‘Antony Careless,’ Z.) was of that happy disposition which the petty worries and anxieties of life do not easily disturb, and, to judge from our nomenclature, he forms but one of a large band of cheery and easy-minded mortals. ‘Joyce,’ that is, ‘Jocose,’ when not a Christian name,[[534]] and ‘Jolly’ must be set here, not forgetting the older and prettier ‘Jolyffe’ (‘Henry Jolyffe,’ M.). In the ‘Miller’s Tale’ we are told of ‘Absolon,’ how that when at eventide he had taken up his ‘giterne’—

Forth he goth, jolif and amorous,

to the window of his lady-love. ‘Gay’ (‘William le Gay,’ R.), and ‘Blythe’ (‘Richard Blythe,’ Z.),[[535]] and ‘Merry’ (‘William Merrye,’ Z.), or ‘Merriman’ (‘John Meryman,’ X.), and ‘Gaillard,’ or ‘Gallard,’ or ‘Gayliard,’ or ‘Gaylord’ (‘Nicholas Gaylard,’ T., ‘William Gallard,’ A., ‘Sabina Gaylard,’ H.), must all be placed also in this category.[[536]] I am not quite sure, however, that the last are without a suspicion of that conviviality which the buxom alewife was but too ready to bestow. Our merry, versatile friend Absolon, whom I have just referred to, among other his unclerkly arts, could play on the ‘giterne’ as well as any ‘galliard tapstere.’ It seems to have been a common epithet, and would readily find a place in our nomenclature, where it is now firmly fixed. Our ‘Merryweathers’ (‘Andrew Meriweder,’ A.) and ‘Fairweathers’ (‘John Fayrweder,’ A.)[[537]] may seem somewhat difficult of explanation to those who are unaware of the colloquial use of these expressions in former times, ‘Mery-weder’ especially being of the most familiar import. In the ‘Coventry Mysteries’ mention is made of—

Bontyng the Brewster, and Sybyly Slynge,

Megge Mery-wedyr, and Sabyn Sprynge.

A happy sunshiny fellow would easily acquire the sobriquet, and indeed both are found at a very early day as such.[[538]]

Not a few of those expressive terms of endearment, some of which still flourish in our nurseries, have made their mark upon our directories. We have already alluded to our ‘Chittys.’ Our ‘Leafs’ represent the old ‘Alice le Lef’ or ‘Matilda la Lef,’ beloved or dear. We still use it in the well-nigh solitary expression ‘lief as loth,’ but once it was in familiar request. Robert of Brunne, in one of his stories, says—

Blessed be alle poor men,

For God Almyghty loveth them:

And weyl is them that poor are here,

They are with God bothe lefe and dere.

Akin to this latter is ‘Love,’ which, when not the old ‘Robert le Love’ or wolf, is found in composition in not a few instances. ‘Lovekin’ and ‘Lovecock,’ after the remarks made in our first chapter on these terminations, will be readily explainable; and ‘Truelove,’ ‘Derelove,’ ‘Honeylove,’ and ‘Sweetlove’[[539]] supply us with expletives of so amorous a nature, we can but conjecture them to have arisen through the too publicly proclaimed feelings of their early possessors. ‘Newlove’ sounds somewhat inconstant, ‘Winlove’ attractive.[[540]] ‘Goodlove,’ ‘Spendlove,’ and ‘Likelove,’ I believe, are now obsolete—a lot, too, which has befallen the hardened ‘Lacklove,’ while our ‘Fulliloves’[[541]] still declare the brimming affection which belongs to their nature—or at least did to that of their progenitor. But even they are commonplace beside our ‘Waddeloves’ or ‘Waddelows,’ the early form of which, ‘Wade-in-love,’ would seem to tell of some lovesick ancestor so helplessly involved in the meshes cast about him as to have become the object of the unkind sarcasms of his neighbours. A longer and equally curious sobriquet abides in our ‘Wellbeloveds’ and ‘Wellbiloves.’ It is this latter form in which it is found in the ‘Issues of the Exchequer.’[[542]] The French form of this was ‘Bienayme’ (‘William Bienayme,’ A.), and to some settler of that name upon our shores I suspect it is we owe our ‘Bonamys’ (‘William Bonamy,’ A.). I have just mentioned ‘Sweetlove.’ Associated with this are our simpler ‘Sweets,’ the nursery ‘Sweetcock,’ and ‘Sweetman,’[[543]] variously corrupted into ‘Sweatman,’ ‘Swetman,’ and ‘Swatman.’ ‘Bawcock’ and ‘Baucock,’ if not from ‘Baldwin,’ will be the endearing ‘beau-coq,’ once in familiar use. Our ‘Follets,’ ‘Follits,’ and ‘Foliots,’ the last the original form, meant nothing more than ‘my foolish one’ or ‘fond one,’ and were very common. They are but varied in the longer ‘Hugh Folenfaunt,’ but I am afraid ‘Walter Fulhardy’ at the same period is less complimentary. ‘Poppet,’ or puppet, once the doll of English infancy, only remains in the gilded and waxen manikins of the showman. The surname, however, abides with us, as does also ‘Poplett.’ The old ‘fere,’ a companion, has left its mark in our ‘Fairs.’ We all remember Byron’s resuscitation of the word. In ‘Troilus and Cressida,’ mention is made of—

Orpheus and Euridice his fere.

Thus ‘Playfair,’ once written ‘Playfere,’ is simply ‘playfellow,’ while the obsolete ‘Makefere’ (‘Hugh Makefare,’ A.) would seem to be but intensive, ‘make’ being the invariable dress with olden writers of our more familiar ‘mate.’[[544]]

There is something in obtrusive virtue that instinctively repels us. We always like a man’s face to be the index to the book of his heart, but when he would seem to have carefully turned down each leaf for our inspection, we get a revulsion of feeling—we like to look out the page for ourselves. An elevated sense of self-esteem was decidedly approved of by our forefathers, but its too demonstrative exhibition soon showed itself condemned in our ‘Prouds,’ ‘Prouts,’ ‘Proudmans,’ ‘Proudloves,’ and ‘Proudfoots’ (‘Hugh le Proud,’ A., ‘John le Prute,’ H., ‘George Proudelove,’ Z.Z., ‘Robert Prudefot,’ A.). A very interesting name which has escaped the notice of surname hunters is that of ‘Gerish’ or ‘Gerrish,’ both forms being found in our modern directories. They are but the truer representatives of the word ‘garish’ as used by our later poets. Shakespeare’s Juliet, we may remember, apostrophizes Night, and bids her, when Romeo be dead, cut him into stars, and thus—

All the world will be in love with night,

And pay no worship to the garish sun.

This splendidly describes the term, expressing as it does that which glares ostentatiously and showily upon the eye. Lydgate, far earlier, had used it thus, in the form of ‘gerysshe;’ and such names as ‘Umfrey le Gerische’ or ‘John le Gerisse,’ found yet more remotely, testify to its once familiar and frequent use. We now talk of a prude as one who exaggerates woman’s innate modesty of demeanour. Formerly it denoted the virtue pure and untravestied. The root, the Latin ‘probus,’ excellent, still remains in our ‘Prudhommes’ (‘William Prodhomme,’ R., ‘Peter Prodhomme,’ A.), with their more commonly corrupted ‘Pridhams’ and ‘Prudames’ and ‘Prudens,’[[545]] a sobriquet which once referred simply to the honest and guileless uprightness of their owners. How truly do such words as these remind us of the poor estimate man, after all, forms of himself. Man often rebels at the declaration of Revelation that he is a fallen being, and yet how strongly does he assert this fact in the changes he himself has made in the meaning of words. Our ‘Bauds’ (‘William le Baud,’ B., ‘Wauter le Baud,’ M.) were once but the Norman equivalent of our ‘Merrys’ already mentioned.[[546]] Must lightness of heart inevitably end in wanton levity? There was a day when our ‘Parramores’ (‘Roger Paramour,’ M.; ‘Henry Parramore,’ Z.)[[547]] were but the simple honest lover of either sex, when our ‘Lemons,’ ‘Lemans,’ and ‘Lemmans’ (‘Eldred Leman,’ A., ‘John Leman,’ M.) meant but the beloved one from ‘lief,’ ‘dear.’ Both Chaucer and Piers Plowman employ the term ‘lef-man’ or ‘leef-man’ as an expression of endearment, with no thought of obloquy. Thus, too, in the ‘Townley Mysteries,’ God is represented as bidding Gabriel to go to Nazareth—

And hail that madyn, my lemman,

As heyndly (courteously) as thou can.

Still, so early as the days of Gower, its corrupted leman had become a sobriquet for one of loose, disorderly habits.[[548]]

(2) Nicknames from Peculiarities of Disposition—Objectionable.

The mention of such names as ‘Baud,’ ‘Parramore,’ ‘Leman’ or ‘Lemon,’ ‘Proud,’ ‘Proudman,’ and ‘Proudfoot,’ which we have charitably set in the list of complimentary nicknames, as having, perchance, risen at a time when the meaning of the words conveyed a totally different idea from that which they now convey, brings us to the category of those which can scarcely seek any shelter of such a kind. ‘Lorel,’ ‘Lurdan,’ and ‘Lordan,’ together with the once familiar ‘losel’ and ‘losard,’ denoted a waif, or stray, one who preyed upon society, exactly identical, in fact, with the Latin ‘perditus.’ Thus we find Herod, in the ‘Townley Mysteries,’ saying to his officers—

Fie, losels and lyars, lurdans each one,

Tratours and well worse, knaves, but knyghts none.

‘Cocke Lorelle,’ too, speaks of—

Lollers, lordaynes, and fagot berers,

Luskes, slovens, and kechen knaves.

Cotgrave explains a ‘loricard’ to mean a luske, lowt, or lorell. This luske, from the old French lasque, or lache—slothful—though now wholly obsolete, did much duty formerly. The adjective luskish and the substantive luskishness are often found. In law lache still survives as a term for culpable remissness. Our ‘Laches,’ ‘Lashes,’ ‘Laskies,’ and ‘Lusks,’ I am afraid, therefore, come of but an indifferent ancestry. Nor can anything better be said of our ‘Paillards’ or ‘Pallards.’ We still talk of a ‘pallet,’ the old ‘paillet,’ or straw bed, from ‘paille,’ chaff. A paillard was a cant term for a lie-a-bed.

By ‘ribaldry’ we always mean that which is foul-mouthed in expression. This was ever its implication. A ‘ribaud,’ or ‘ribaut’ belonged to the very scum of society. He was a man who hung on to the skirts of the nobility by doing all their more infamous work for them. Chaucer, wishing to comprise in one sentence the highest and the lowest grades of society, speaks in his ‘Romance’ of ‘king, knighte, or ribaude.’ ‘William le Ribote,’ therefore, mentioned in the ‘Chapter House Records of Westminster,’ or ‘William Ribaud’ (W. 15), could not have borne the best of characters, I am afraid. Although not quite so degraded in the world’s esteem as some of these last, we may here include our ‘Gedlings,’ reminiscences of the old ‘Gadling’ or ‘Gedling,’ one who gadded about from door to door to talk the gossip and scandal—the modern tattler, in fact. Our former ‘Gerard le Gaburs’ and ‘Stephen le Gabbers’ were equally talkative, if not such ramblers. As overmuch talking and jesting always beget a suspicion of overstretching the truth, so was it here. Wicklyffe uses ‘gabbing’ in the sense of lying, and an old poem says:—

Alle those false chapmen

The fiend them will habbe,

Bakeres and breowares

For alle men they gabbe.[[549]]

(A litel soth Sermun.)

In the North of England, I need scarcely add, this is the ordinary and colloquial sense of the term to the present day. The name of ‘John Totiller’ might well-nigh induce us to believe that teetotalism was not unknown by that name at this period, but it is not so. A ‘totiller’ was a ‘whisperer’ of secrets. In the ‘Legend of Good Women,’ one says to the God of Love—

In ye court is many a losengeour

And many a queinte totoler accusour.

The name of ‘Dera Gibelot’ or ‘John Gibbelote’[[550]] reminds us of a term now obsolete, but once familiar as denoting a giddy, flighty girl.[[551]] It is found in various forms, the commonest being that of ‘giglot.’[[552]] Mr. Halliwell quotes an old proverb by way of adding a further variation—

The smaller pesun (peas), the more to pott,

The fayrer woman the more gylott.

I would, however, suggest this as but the pet form of ‘Gill,’ mentioned in my chapter on Christian names. In either case the meaning is the same. An often met with sobriquet in the fourteenth century is that of ‘Robert le Burgulion,’ or ‘Geoffrey le Burgillon,’ the old term for a braggart. It is now, however, wholly obsolete. ‘Robert le Lewed,’ or ‘William le Lewed,’ is also lost to our directories, and certainly would be an unpleasant appellation in the nineteenth century. Its general meaning four hundred years ago, however, was its more literal one, that of simplicity or ignorance. It is connected with our word ‘lay’ as opposed to ‘cleric,’ and arose at a time when knowledge was all but entirely in the hands of the clergy. Thus in the ‘Pardoner’s Tale’ it is said—

Lewed people loven tales olde,

Such things can they wel report and holde.

Such a name then, we may trust, implied nothing beyond a lack of knowledge in respect of its possessor. ‘William Milksop,’ or ‘Thomas Milkesop,’ or ‘Maurice Ducedame’ were but types of a class of dandified and effeminate beings who have ever existed, but even their names would be more acceptable than those which fell to ‘Robert le Sot,’ or ‘Maurice Druncard,’ or ‘Jakes Drynk-ale,’[[553]] or ‘Geoffrey Dringkedregges,’[[554]] or ‘Thomas Sourale.’[[555]] It is evident that there were those who were disposed to follow the dictate of at least one portion of the old rhyme—

Walke groundly, talke profoundly,

Drinke roundly, sleape soundly.

‘Ralph Sparewater,’ I fear, was a man of dirty habits, while ‘John Klenewater’ was a model of cleanliness.

But we have not yet done with sobriquets of an unpleasant nature. Men of miserly and penurious habits seem to have flourished in plentiful force in olden days as well as the present. ‘Irenpurse’ figures several times in early rolls, and would be a strong, if somewhat rough, sarcasm against the besetting weakness of its first possessor. ‘Lovegold’ is equally explicable. ‘Pennifather,’ however, was the favourite title of such. An old couplet says—

The liberall doth spend his pelfe,

The pennyfather wastes himself.

It is found in the various forms of ‘Penifader,’ ‘Panyfader,’ and ‘Penifadir,’ in the fourteenth century. ‘Pennypurse,’[[556]] ‘Halfpeny,’ and ‘Turnpeny’[[557]] are met with at the same time, and somewhat later on ‘Thickpeny.’ ‘Broadpeny,’ ‘Manypenny,’ now corrupted into ‘Moneypeny,’ ‘Winpeny,’ now also found as ‘Wimpenny,’ ‘Pinchpenny,’ with its more directly Norman ‘Pinsemaille,’ and ‘Kachepeny,’ with its equally foreign ‘Cache-maille,’ are all also of the same early date, and with one or two exceptions are to be met with to this very day.[[558]] It is a true criticism which, as is noticed by Archbishop Trench, has marked the miserly as indeed the emphatically miserable soul. ‘Whirlepeny’ is now extinct, but alone, so far as my researches go, existed formerly to remind men that the spendthrift character is equally subversive of the true basis of human happiness.[[559]] Several names combined with ‘peck’ and ‘pick,’ as ‘Peckcheese,’ ‘Peckbean,’ ‘Peckweather,’ and ‘Pickbone,’ seem to be expressive of the gluttonous habits of the possessors, but it is possible they may be but the moral antecedents of our modern ‘Pecksniffs’![[560]]

Our ‘Starks’ and ‘Starkies,’ if not ‘Starkmans,’ represent a word which can hardly be said to exist in our vocabulary, since it now but survives in certain phrases, such as ‘stark-mad,’ or ‘stark-naked.’ We should never say a man was ‘stark’ simply. A forcible word, it once expressed the rude untutored nature of anything. Thus, on account of his unbridled passion, the Bastard King is termed in the Saxon chronicle ‘a stark man, and very savage,’ while just before he is asserted to be ‘stark beyond all bounds to them who withsaid his will.’ Thus it will be akin to such names as ‘Walter le Wyld,’[[561]] or ‘Warin Cruel,’ or ‘Ralph le Ferce,’ or ‘John le Savage,’ or ‘William le Salvage,’ or ‘Adelmya le Sauvage,’ or ‘William Ramage.’ Chaucer speaks somewhere of a ‘ramage goat.’