week after week for the last three Centuries, we have lost but few words since the time of these worthies; the most remarkable of our losses are bolled, daysman, to ear, silverling, and meteyard, found in parts of Scripture not much read. Hearne, writing 170 years later, mourned over the substitution of modern words for rede (consilium) and behight (promisit), both used by Sternhold in his version of the Psalms, made in the days of Edward VI. ‘Strange alterations,’ says the Antiquary, ‘all for the worse.’ On the other hand, we could have gladly spared out of the Bible such needless foreign words as affinity, artificer, champaign, choler,[1] concupiscence, immutable, intelligence, magnifical, mollify, prognosticate, secondarily, similitude, terrestrial, though they happily come but seldom.[2] They stand in striking contrast to words like thank-worthy, stiff-necked, ringstraked, loving-kindness, yoke-fellow, undersetters, waterflood, well-spring, good-man, slaughter-weapon. We even find the old sith (quoniam), and steads (loca). The Old English grin (laqueus) was a word still common enough to be used in the Version of 1611, but already the Norse gin (first used in the Ormulum) was encroaching on it; and the French engyne conveyed a kindred meaning. Shamefastness was printed in the right way; and this our writers and printers of
- ↑ We English abound in terms for this passion. Wrath and ire came over with Hengist; the Danes brought anger; the French gave us rage and fury; the Latin supplied indignation; the Greek choler. We further conferred this sense on passion.
- ↑ Habergeon and brigandine are relics of Sixteenth Century warfare. By the bye, what would the old bowmen, who decided so many fields between Hastings and Pinkie, have said to our monstrous word toxophilite?
