Plant－Lore ＆ Garden－Craft of Shakespeare， The
Part 2. The Garden-Craft Of Shakespeare Part 2. The Garden-Craft Of Shakespeare - Chapter 5. Garden Enemies
Henry Nicholson Ellacombe
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_ PART II. THE GARDEN-CRAFT OF SHAKESPEARE
CHAPTER V. GARDEN ENEMIES
A. WEEDS.
(1) Hamlet.
How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fye on it, ah fye! 'tis an unweeded garden
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely.
--- Hamlet, act i, sc. 2 (133).
(2) Titus.
Such withered herbs as these
Are meet for plucking up.
--- Titus Andronicus, act iii, sc. 1 (178).
(3) York.
Grandam, one night, as we did sit at supper,
My Uncle Rivers talk'd how I did grow
More than my brother. "Ay," quoth my Uncle Glo'ster,
"Small herbs have grace, great weeds do grow apace;"
And since, methinks, I would not grow so fast,
Because sweet flowers are slow and weeds make haste.
--- Richard III, act ii, sc. 4 (10).
(4) Queen.
Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted;
Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden,
And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.
--- 2nd Henry VI, act iii, sc. 1 (31).
(5)
Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring,
Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers.
--- Lucrece (869).
(6) K. Henry.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
--- 2nd Henry IV, act iv, sc. 4 (54).
The weeds of Shakespeare need no remark; they were the same as ours; and, in spite of our improved cultivation, our fields and gardens are probably as full of weeds as they were three centuries ago.
B. BLIGHTS, FROSTS, ETC.
(1) York.
Thus are my blossoms blasted in the bud,
And caterpillars eat my leaves away.
--- 2nd Henry VI, act iii, sc. 1 (89).
(2) Montague.
But he, his own affection's counsellor,
Is to himself--I will not say, how true--
But to himself so sweet and close,
So far from sounding and discovery,
As is the bud bit with an envious worm,
Ere he can spread his sweet leaves to the air,
Or dedicate his beauty to the sun.
--- Romeo and Juliet, act i, sc. 1 (153).
(3) Imogene.
Comes in my father,
And like the tyrannous breathing of the north
Shakes all our buds from growing.
--- Cymbeline, act i, sc. 3 (35).
(4) Bardolph.
A cause on foot
Lives so in hope as in an early spring
We see the appearing buds--which to prove fruit,
Hope gives not so much warrant as despair
That frost will bite them.
--- 2nd Henry IV, act i, sc. 3 (37).
(5) Violet.
She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek.
--- Twelfth Night, act ii, sc. 4 (113).
(6) Proteus.
Yet writers say, as in the sweetest bud
The eating canker dwells, so eating love
Inhabits in the finest wits of all.
Valentine.
And writers say as the most forward bud
Is eaten by the canker ere it blow,
Even so by love the young and tender wit
Is turn'd to folly, blasting in the bud,
Losing his verdure even in the prime
And all the fair effects of future hopes.
--- Two Gentlemen of Verona, act i, sc. 1 (42).
(7) Capulet.
Death lies on her like an untimely frost
Upon the sweetest flower of the field.
--- Romeo and Juliet, act iv, sc. 5 (28).
(8) Lysimachus.
O sir, a courtesy
Which if we should deny, the most just gods
For every graff would send a caterpillar,
And so afflict our province.
--- Pericles, act v, sc. 1 (58).
(9) Wolsey.
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon him:
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And, when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a-ripening, nips his root,
And then he falls, as I do.
--- Henry VIII, act iii, sc. 2 (352).
(10) Saturninus.
These tidings nip me, and I hang the head
As Flowers with frost, or Grass beat down with storms.
--- Titus Andronicus, act iv, sc. 4 (70).
(11)
No man inveigh against the withered flower,
But chide rough winter that the flower hath kill'd;
Not that devour'd, but that which doth devour,
Is worthy blame.
--- Lucrece (1254).
(12)
For never-resting time leads summer on
To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
Sap check'd with frost and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness everywhere;
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was;
But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.[357:1]
--- Sonnet v.
With this beautiful description of the winter-life of hardy perennial plants, I may well close the "Plant-lore and Garden-craft of Shakespeare." The subject has stretched to a much greater extent than I at all anticipated when I commenced it, but this only shows how large and interesting a task I undertook, for I can truly say that my difficulty has been in the necessity for condensing my matter, which I soon found might be made to cover a much larger space than I have given to it; for my object was in no case to give an exhaustive account of the flowers, but only to give such an account of each plant as might illustrate its special use by Shakespeare.
Having often quoted my favourite authority in gardening matters, old "John Parkinson, Apothecary, of London," I will again make use of him to help me to say my last words: "Herein I have spent my time, pains, and charge, which, if well accepted, I shall think well employed. And thus I have finished this work, and have furnished it with whatsoever could bring delight to those that take pleasure in those things, which how well or ill done I must abide every one's censure; the judicious and courteous I only respect; and so Farewell."
FOOTNOTES:
[357:1]
"Flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown;
Where they together,
All the hard weather
Dead to the world, keep house unknown."
---G. HERBERT,
The Flower. _