, act v, sc. 2 (904).

(2) _Cordelia._

He was met even now
As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;
Crown'd with rank Fumiter and Furrow-weeds,
With Burdocks, Hemlock, Nettles, Cuckoo-flowers,
Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow
In our sustaining Corn.

_King Lear_, act iv, sc. 4 (1).

There is a difficulty in deciding what flower Shakespeare meant by
Cuckoo-buds. We now always give the name to the Meadow Cress (_Cardamine
pratensis_), but it cannot be that in either of these passages, because
that flower is mentioned under its other name of Lady-smocks in the
previous line (No. 1), nor is it "of yellow hue;" nor does it grow among
Corn, as described in No. 2. Many plants have been suggested, and the
choice seems to me to lie between two. Mr. Swinfen Jervis[70:1] decides
without hesitation in favour of Cowslips, and the yellow hue painting
the meadows in spring time gives much force to the decision; Schmidt
gives the same interpretation; but I think the Buttercup, as suggested
by Dr. Prior, will still better meet the requirements.

FOOTNOTES:

[70:1] "Dictionary of the Language of Shakespeare," 1868.

CUPID'S FLOWER, _see_ PANSIES.

CURRANTS.

(1) _Clown._

What am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast? Three pound of
Sugar, five pound of Currants.

_Winter's Tale_, act iv, sc. 3 (39).

(2) _Theseus._

I stamp this kisse upon thy Currant lippe.

_Two Noble Kinsmen_, act i, sc. 1 (241).

The Currants of (1) are the Currants of commerce, the fruit of the Vitis
Corinthiaca, whence the fruit has derived its name of Corans, or
Currants.

The English Currants are of an entirely different family; and are
closely allied to the Gooseberry. The Currants--black, white, and
red--are natives of the northern parts of Europe, and are probably wild
in Britain. They do not seem to have been much grown as garden fruit
till the early part of the sixteenth century, and are not mentioned by
the earlier writers; but that they were known in Shakespeare's time we
have the authority of Gerard, who, speaking of Gooseberries, says: "We
have also in our London gardens another sort altogether without prickes,
whose fruit is very small, lesser by muche than the common kinde, but of
a perfect red colour." This "perfect red colour" explains th