that is, she was wont to make a fool of him. The sobriquet is found in such an entry as ‘John le Ape,’ registered in the Hundred Rolls, or ‘John Jackanapes,’ in the Parliamentary Writs.
(b) Birds.—The surname that represents the genus is ‘Bird,’ the name being met with as ‘John le Bryd’ or ‘David le Brid,’ a pronunciation still in vogue in many parts of England. Falconry has given us many sobriquets of this class. Accustomed as our fathers were to seeing the fierce and eager instincts of the bird, to nickname a man of rapacious and grasping habits by such a term as ‘John le Kyte,’ or ‘William le Hawk,’ or ‘Richard le Falcon,’ would be the most natural thing in the world. And just as the difference in breed and disposition in these birds themselves gave rise to separate definitions, so an imagined resemblance to these distinct qualities must have originated such different names as ‘Muskett,’ ‘Buzzard,’ ‘Puttock,’[[582]] ‘Goshawk,’ ‘Tassell,’ ‘Gleed,’ or ‘Glide,’[[583]] and ‘Sparrowhawk,’ or ‘Spark,’ or ‘Sparke,’ as it is now more generally spelt. So early as Chaucer, however, this last was written ‘Spar-hawk,’[[584]] and that once gained the further contraction in our nomenclature became inevitable. Thus was it with other birds. Did a man develop such propensities as showiness, then he was nicknamed ‘Jay;’ if pride, ‘Peacock’ or ‘Pocock,’ as it was once pronounced; if guile, ‘Rook;’ if pertness, ‘Pye,’ with its diminutive ‘Pyet’ or ‘Pyett;’ if garrulity, ‘Parrott’ or ‘Parratt;’ if he was a votary of song he was styled ‘Nightingale’ or ‘Lark,’ or in its more antique dress ‘Laverock’ or ‘Woodlark,’ or ‘Finch,’ or ‘Bulfinch,’ or ‘Goldfinch,’ or ‘Chaffinch,’ or ‘Spink,’ or ‘Goldspink,’ or ‘Thrush,’ or ‘Thrussel,’ or ‘Cuckoo.’ If jauntiness displayed itself in his actions he was nicknamed ‘Cock’ or ‘Cockerell’ or ‘Chauntecler;’ if homeliness, ‘Sparrow;’ if tenderness, ‘Pigeon’ or ‘Dove,’ and so on with our ‘Swans,’ ‘Herons,’ ‘Cootes,’ ‘Gulls,’ ‘Storks,’ ‘Ravens,’ ‘Crows,’ ‘Speights,’ ‘Cranes,’ ‘Capons,’ ‘Henns,’ ‘Chickens,’[[585]] ‘Ducks,’ ‘Duckerells,’ ‘Drakes,’ ‘Sheldrakes’ or ‘Sheldricks,’ ‘Wildgooses,’ ‘Mallards’ (i.e. wild duck), ‘Gooses’ or ‘Goss’s,’[[586]] ‘Greygooses,’ ‘Goslings,’[[587]] ‘Ganders,’ ‘Woodcocks,’ ‘Partridges,’ ‘Partricks,’ ‘Pheasants,’ or ‘Fesants,’ as once spelt, and ‘Blackbirds.’[[588]] These are names ornithologically familiar to us. Many a pretty name, however, once on the common tongue but now obsolete, or well-nigh so, still abides in our surnames. Thus our ‘Popjays’ still preserve the remembrance of the once common popinjay or parrot, ‘the popinjay, full of delicasy,’ as Chaucer styles her.[[589]] In ‘Culver’ or ringdove we are reminded of the pathetic story of Philomine, where the same writer likens her to
the lamb that of the wolf is bitten,
Or as the culver, that of the eagle is smitten.[[590]]
Our ‘Ruddocks’ or ‘Ruddicks’ (‘Ralph Ruddoc,’ A.), again, are but the old ruddock or robin-redbreast, ‘the tame ruddock,’ as he is termed in the ‘Assembly of Fowls.’ The hedge-sparrow still lives represented by our ‘Pinnocks’ or ‘Pinnicks’ ‘John Pynnock’ (G.), ‘Richard Pinnoc’ (A.)—
Thus in the pinnick’s nest the cuckoo lays,
Then, easy as a Frenchman, takes her flight.
So an old writer says. Our ‘Turtles’ (‘Roger Turtle’ D.) are but pleasant memorials of the bird that has been so long emblematic of constancy, the dove; our ‘Challenders,’ if not a corruption of ‘Callender,’ are representatives of the chelaunder or goldfinch, so often mentioned by early poets; and in our ‘Woodalls,’ ‘Woodales,’ and ‘Woodwalls,’ not to say some of our ‘Woodwells,’ we are but reminded of the woodwale, the early woodpecker. Our ‘Rains’ are but the old ‘Robert or William le Rain,’ another term for the same;[[591]] while our ‘Stars’ and ‘Stares’ (‘Robert Stare,’ A.) carry us back to the day when the starling was so familiarly styled. In the ‘Assembly of Fowls’ the author speaks of—
The false lapwing, full of trecherie,
The stare, that the counsaile can beurie.