“I open,” says Puff, “with a clock striking, to beget an awful attention in the audience; it also marks the time, which is four o’clock in the morning, and saves a description of the rising sun, and a great deal about gilding the eastern hemisphere.”—Sheridan, The Critic, i. 1 (1779).
“God forbid,” says Mr. Puff, “that in a free country, all the fine words in the language should be engrossed by the highest characters of the piece.”—Sir W. Scott, The Drama.
Puff, publisher. He says:
“Panegyric and praise! and what will that do with the public? Why, who will give money to be told that Mr. Such-a-one is a wiser and better man than himself? No, no! ’tis quite, and clean out of nature. A good, sousing satire, now, well powdered with personal pepper, and seasoned with the spirit of party, that demolishes a conspicuous character, and sinks him below our own level—there, there, we are pleased; there we chuckle and grin, and toss the half-crowns on the counter.”—Foote, The Patron (1764).
Pug, a mischievous little goblin, called “Puck” by Shakespeare.—B. Jonson, The Devil is an Ass (1616).
Puggie-Orrock, a sheriff’s officer at Fairport.—Sir W. Scott, The Antiquary (time, George III.).
Pul´ci (L.), poet of Florence (1432-1487), author of the heroï-comic poem called Morgantê Maggiorê, a mixture of the bizarre, the serious, and the comic, in ridicule of the romances of chivalry. This Don Juan class of poetry has since been called Bernesque, from Francesco Berni, of Tuscany, who greatly excelled in it.
Pulci was sire of the half-serious rhyme,
Who sang when chivalry was more quixotic,
And revelled in the fancies of the time,
True knights, chaste dames, huge giants, kings despotic.
Byron, Don Juan, iv. 6 (1820).
Pulia´no, leader of the Nasamo´ni. He was slain by Rinaldo.—Ariosto, Orlando Furioso (1516).
Pumblechook, uncle to Joe Gargery, the blacksmith. He was a well-to-do corn-chandler, and drove his own chaise-cart. A hard-breathing, middle-aged, slow man was uncle Pumblechook, with fishy eyes and sandy hair, inquisitively on end. He called Pip, in his facetious way, “six-pen’orth of h’pence;” but when Pip came into his fortune, Mr. Pumblechook was the most servile of the servile, and ended every sentence with, “May I, Mr. Pip?” i.e, have the honor of shaking hands with you again.—C. Dickens, Great Expectations (1860).