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—