that is, or rather was, according to our homely apprehension, I have rubb'd this pimple (Roderigo) almost to bleeding:—but, no; Mr. Becket has furnished us not only with the genuine words, but the meaning of Shakespeare—
I have fubb'd this young quat—Quat, or cat, appears to be a contraction of cater-cousin—and this reading will be greatly strengthened when it is remembered that Roderigo was really the intimate of Iago.—p. 204.
In a subsequent passage, "I am as melancholy as a gibb'd cat"—we are told that cat is not the domestic animal of that name, but a contraction of catin, a woman of the town. But, indeed, Mr. Becket possesses a most wonderful faculty for detecting these latent contractions and filling them up. Thus,
"Parolles. Sir, he will steal an egg out of a cloister." Read (as Shakespeare wrote), "Sir, he will steal an Ag (i.e., an Agnes) out of a cloister." Agnes is the name of a woman, and may easily stand for chastity.—p. 325.
No doubt.
"Carter. Prithee, Tom, put a few flocks in Cut's saddle; the poor beast is wrung in the withers out of all cess."
Out of all cess, we used to think meant, in vulgar phraseology, out of all measure, very much, &c.—but see how foolishly!
Cess is a mere contraction of cessibility, which signifies the quality of receding, and may very well stand for yielding, as spoken of a tumour.—p. 5.
"Hamlet. A cry of players."
This we once thought merely a sportive expression for a company of players, but Mr. Becket has undeceived us—"Cry (he tells us) is contracted from cryptic, and cryptic is precisely of the same import as mystery."—p. 53. How delightful it is when learning and judgment walk thus hand in hand! But enough—