Folk-lore of Shakespeare. Dyer Thomas Firminger Thiselton

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is made use of in Decker’s “Match me in London” (i.):

      “My lord, doe you see this change i’ the moone?

      Sharp hornes doe threaten windy weather.”

      When the horns of the moon appear to point upwards the moon is said to be like a boat, and various weather prognostications are drawn from this phenomenon.119 According to sailors, it is an omen of fine weather, whereas others affirm it is a sign of rain – resembling a basin full of water about to fall.

      Among other items of folk-lore connected with the moon we may mention the moon-calf, a false conception, or fœtus imperfectly formed, in consequence, as was supposed, of the influence of the moon. The best account of this fabulous substance may be found in Drayton’s poem with that title. Trinculo, in “The Tempest” (ii. 2), supposes Caliban to be a moon-calf: “I hid me under the dead moon-calf’s gaberdine.” It has been suggested that in calling Caliban a moon-calf Shakespeare alluded to a superstitious belief formerly current, in the intercourse of demons and other non-human beings with mankind. In the days of witchcraft, it was supposed that a class of devils called Incubi and Succubi roamed the earth with the express purpose of tempting people to abandon their purity of life. Hence, all badly deformed children were suspected of having had such an undesirable parentage.120

      A curious expression, “a sop o’ the moonshine,” occurs in “King Lear” (ii. 2), which probably alludes to some dish so called. Kent says to the steward, “Draw, you rogue; for, though it be night, yet the moon shines; I’ll make a sop o’ the moonshine of you.”

      There was a way of dressing eggs, called “eggs in moonshine,” of which Douce121 gives the following description: “Eggs were broken and boiled in salad oil till the yolks became hard. They were eaten with slices of onion fried in oil, butter, verjuice, nutmeg, and salt.” “A sop in the moonshine” must have been a sippet in this dish.122

      Planets. The irregular motion of the planets was supposed to portend some disaster to mankind. Ulysses, in “Troilus and Cressida” (i. 3), declares how:

      “when the planets

      In evil mixture, to disorder wander,

      What plagues and what portents! what mutiny!

      What raging of the sea! shaking of earth!

      Commotion in the winds! frights, changes, horrors,

      Divert and crack, rend and deracinate

      The unity and married calm of states

      Quite from their fixture.”

      Indeed, the planets themselves were not thought, in days gone by, to be confined in any fixed orbit of their own, but ceaselessly to wander about, as the etymology of their name demonstrates. A popular name for the planets was “wandering stars,” of which Cotgrave says, “they bee also called wandering starres, because they never keep one certain place or station in the firmament.” Thus Hamlet (v. 1), approaching the grave of Ophelia, addresses Laertes:

      “What is he, whose grief

      Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow

      Conjures the wandering stars, and makes them stand

      Like wonder-wounded hearers?”

      In Tomkis’s “Albumazar” (i. 1) they are called “wanderers:”

      “Your patron Mercury, in his mysterious character

      Holds all the marks of the other wanderers.”

      According to vulgar astrology, the planets, like the stars, were supposed to affect, more or less, the affairs of this world, a notion frequently referred to by old writers. In “Winter’s Tale” (ii. 1), Hermione consoles herself in the thought —

      “There’s some ill planet reigns:

      I must be patient till the heavens look

      With an aspect more favourable.”

      In “1 Henry VI.” (i. 1), the Duke of Exeter asks:

      “What! shall we curse the planets of mishap

      That plotted thus our glory’s overthrow?”

      Again, King Richard (“Richard III.,” iv. 4):

      “Be opposite all planets of good luck

      To my proceeding.”

      And once more, in “Hamlet” (i. 1), Marcellus, speaking of the season of our Saviour’s birth, says, “then no planets strike.”

      That diseases, too, are dependent upon planetary influence is referred to in “Timon of Athens” (iv. 3):

      “Be as a planetary plague, when Jove

      Will o’er some high-viced city hang his poison

      In the sick air: let not thy sword skip one.”

      “Fiery Trigon” was a term in the old judicial astrology, when the three upper planets met in a fiery sign – a phenomenon which was supposed to indicate rage and contention. It is mentioned in “2 Henry IV.” (ii. 4):

      “P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what says the almanac to that?

      Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lisping to his master’s old tables.”

      Dr. Nash, in his notes to Butler’s “Hudibras,” says: “The twelve signs in astrology are divided into four trigons or triplicities, each denominated from the connatural element; so they are three fiery [signs], three airy, three watery, and three earthy:”

      Fiery – Aries, Leo, Sagittarius.

      Airy – Gemini, Libra, Aquarius.

      Watery – Cancer, Scorpio, Pisces.

      Earthly – Taurus, Virgo, Capricornus.

      Thus, when the three superior planets met in Aries, Leo, or Sagittarius, they formed a fiery trigon; when in Cancer, Scorpio, and Pisces, a watery one.

      Charles’s Wain was the old name for the seven bright stars of the constellation Ursa Major. The constellation was so named in honor of Charlemagne; or, according to some, it is a corruption of chorles or churl’s, i. e., rustic’s, wain. Chorl is frequently used for a countryman, in old books, from the Saxon ceorl. In “1 Henry IV.” (ii. 1), the Carrier says, “Charles’ wain is over the new chimney.”

      Music of the spheres. Pythagoras was the first who suggested this notion, so beautifully expressed by Shakespeare in the “Merchant of Venice” (v. 1):

      “There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st,

      But in his motion like an angel sings,

      Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins.”

      Plato says that a siren sits on each planet, who carols a most sweet song, agreeing to the motion of her own particular planet, but harmonizing with the other seven. Hence Milton, in his “Arcades,” speaks of the “celestial Sirens’ harmony, that sit upon the nine enfolded spheres.”

       Stars. An astrological doctrine, which has kept its place in modern popular philosophy, asserts that mundane events are more or less influenced by the stars. That astronomers should have divided the sun’s course into imaginary signs of the Zodiac, was enough, says Mr. Tylor,123 to originate astrological rules “that these celestial signs have an actual effect on real earthly rams, bulls, crabs, lions, virgins.” Hence we are told that a child born under the sign of the Lion will be courageous; but one born under the Crab

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