Shal be coverd wyth velvette reede
And clothes of fyne golde al about your heede,
With damaske whyte and azure blewe
Well dyaperd with lylles newe.[1]
Nay, the bow for arrows held by Sweet Looking is, in Chaucer's "Romaunt of the Rose," described as—
painted well, and thwitten
And over all diapred and written, &c.[2]
Even now, our fine table linen we call "diaper," because it is figured with flowers and fruits. Sometimes, with us, silks diapered were called "sygury:" una capa de sateyn sygury, cum ymagine B. M. V. in capucio.[3]
In their etymology of diaper, modern writers try to draw the word from Yprès, or d'Ypriès, because that town in Belgium was once celebrated, not for silken stuffs, but for linen. Between the city and the name of "diaper" a kinship even of the very furthest sort cannot be fairly set up. From the citations out of the Chronicle of Monte Cassino we learn, that at the beginning of the eleventh century, the term in use there for a certain silken textile, brought thither from the east, was "diasperon." We find, too, how that great monastery was in continual communication with Constantinople, whither she was in the habit of sending her monks to buy art-works of price, and bring back with them workmen, for the purpose of embellishing her Church and its altars. Getting from South Italy to England, and our own records, we discover this same Greece-born phrase, diaspron, diasper, given to precious silks used as vestments during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, in London and Exeter. By the latter end of the fourteenth century—Chaucer's time—the terms "diasper," and "diasperatus," among us, had slidden into "diaper," "diaperatus," Englished, "diapered." Now, in this same fourteenth century, do we, for the first time, meet a mention of Yprès; and not alone, but along with Ghent, as famous for linen, if by that word we understand cloth; and even then our own Bath seems to have stood above those Belgian cities in their textiles. Among Chaucer's pilgrims—
A good wif was ther of beside Bathe
Of cloth making she hadde swiche an haunt
She passed hem of Ipres and of Gaunt.[4]
Neither in this, nor any other subsequent notice of Yprès weaving, is there anything which can be twisted into a warrant for thinking the
