The Dogberry is the fruit either of the Cornus sanguinea or of the Euonymus Europæus. Parkinson limits the name to the Cornus, and says: "We for the most part call it the Dogge berry tree, because the berries are not fit to be eaten, or to be given to a dogge." The plant is only named by Shakespeare as a man's name, but it could scarcely be omitted, as I agree with Mr. Milner that it was "probable that our dramatist had the tree in his mind when he gave a name to that fine fellow for a 'sixth and lastly,' Constable, Dogberry of the Watch" ("Country Pleasures," p. 229).

EBONY.

(1)King.The Ebon-coloured ink.
Love's Labour's Lost, act i, sc. 1 (245).
(2)King.By heaven, thy love is black as Ebony.
Biron.Is Ebony like her? O wood divine!
A wife of such wood were felicity.
Ibid., act iv, sc. 3 (247).
(3)Clown.The clearstores towards the south north are aslustrous as Ebony.
Twelfth Night, act iv, sc. 2 (41).
(4)Pistol.Rouse up revenge from Ebon den.
2nd Henry IV, act v, sc. 5 (39).
(5) Death's Ebon dart, to strike him dead.
Venus and Adonis (948).

The Ebony as a tree was unknown in England in the time of Shakespeare. The wood was introduced, and was the typical emblem of darkness. The timber is the produce of more than one species, but comes chiefly from Diospyros Ebenum, Ebenaster, Melanoxylon, Mabola, &c. (Lindley), all natives of the East.

EGLANTINE.

(1)Oberon.I know a bank where the wild Thyme blows,
Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows;
Quite over-canopied with luscious Woodbine,
With sweet Musk-Roses and with Eglantine.
Midsummer Night's Dream, act ii, sc. 1 (249).
(2)Arviragus.Thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose, nor
The azured Harebell, like thy veins, no, nor
The leaf of Eglantine, whom not to slander,
Out-sweeten'd not thy breath.
Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2 (220).

If Shakespeare had only written these two passages they would sufficiently have told of his love for simple flowers. None but a dear lover of such flowers could have written these lines. There can be no doubt that the Eglantine in his time was the Sweet Brier—his notice of the sweet leaf makes this certain. Gerard so calls it, but makes some confusion—which it is not easy to explain—by saying that the flowers are white, whereas the flowers of the true Sweet Brier are pink. In the earlier poets the name seems to have been given to any wild Rose, and Milton certainly did not consider the Eglantine and the Sweet Brier to be identical. He says ("L'Allegro")—

"Through the Sweet Briar or the Vine,
Or the twisted Eglantine."