The owl shriek’d at thy birth—an evil sign:
The night-crow cried, aboding luckless time.[110]

Among its mysterious relationships, the owl was believed to be connected with some of the machinations of witchcraft. It will be remembered that the miscellaneous ingredients which went to the making of the hell-broth of Macbeth’s “midnight hags” included “a lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing.”[111]

Shakespeare’s introduction of the owl into his fairy-land was a dexterous artistic stroke, for it connected a well-known but somewhat mysterious bird with his world of sprites, and gave to that world a further touch of realism. Alike in the Tempest and the Merry Wives this conjunction may be seen. The “dainty Ariel,” Prospero’s “tricksy spirit,” sings:

Where the bee sucks, there suck I,
In a cowslip’s bell I lie;
There I couch when owls do cry.[112]

Titania, the Queen of the fairies, when she disperses her train on their several quests, bids

Some keep back
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits.[113]

The popular association of owls with supernatural beings is again noted in the Comedy of Errors, where poor Dromio of Syracuse, utterly bamboozled by the confusion of Dromios and Antonios, exclaims:

This is the fairy-land: O land of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls and sprites;
If we obey them not, this will ensue,
They’ll suck our breath, or pinch us black and blue.[114]

The Cuckoo

The Cuckoo

The Cuckoo

The CUCKOO receives nearly as much notice from Shakespeare as the Owl. In the bright song at the end of Love’s Labour’s Lost both birds appear as symbolical, the one of spring, the other of winter.

When daisies pied and violets blue,
And lady-smocks all silver-white,
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue
Do paint the meadows with delight:
The cuckoo then, on every tree,
Mocks married men; for thus sings he

In Bottom’s song in Midsummer Night’s Dream the bird is styled “the plain-song cuckoo gray,” as if its music were as dull as the colour of its coat. When Portia comes back from her memorable trip to Venice and re-enters her home, Lorenzo, who is eagerly expecting her return, says to Jessica:

That is the voice,
Or I am much deceived, of Portia.

Whereupon Portia, overhearing him, remarks to Nerissa:

He knows me, as the blind man knows the cuckoo,
By the bad voice.[116]

As summer advances, the cuckoo’s note, having grown familiar, no longer attracts the notice of the country-folk, as it did when the bird first appeared in April. King Henry IV. avails himself of this common observation when he lectures his son on his misdoings, and compares the Prince’s career to that of “the skipping king” of the previous reign, who lost the respect of the people, and

Was but as the cuckoo is in June,
Heard not regarded.[117]

The habit of this bird to lay its egg in another’s nest is naturally made much of in the Plays. We are told that “the cuckoo builds not for himself,”[118] and the poet puts questions which still await an answer:

Why should the worm intrude the maiden bud?
Or hateful cuckoos hatch in sparrows’ nests?[119]

The very name of the bird could be used as a term of reproach, as where Falstaff, in retort to the repeated gibes of the Prince of Wales, calls him, “Ye cuckoo.”[120]


The Quail

The Quail

The Woodcock

As might be anticipated, the birds which are treated as game take their place in the Shakespearian dramas, as well as the birds of prey that hunted them. The WOODCOCK, for example, is referred to by name nine times, generally in connection with the gin or springe with which in those days it was taken, and in reference to some trick or contrivance by which somebody is caught or deceived. When, for instance, the Duke of York, seized by Queen Margaret and her lords, struggles to free himself from their hands, he is taunted by two of the lords, who both make use of the language of sport. Clifford tells him:

Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin;

to which Northumberland, with equal sarcasm, adds:

Ophelia, when cross-questioned by her father as to the attentions paid to her by Hamlet, answers how the Prince

Hath given countenance to his speech
With almost all the holy vows of heaven;

whereupon Polonius abruptly breaks in with the unfeeling comment:

Ay, springes to catch woodcocks; I do know.[122]

Again, in the tricking of Malvolio, as the steward picks up the letter, Fabian, from the lurking-place where Sir Toby and he are watching every movement, exclaims

Now is the woodcock near the gin.[123]

The Lapwing

The Lapwing

The Pheasant and Partridge

The PHEASANT is only once mentioned by Shakespeare, and in a ludicrous way. When the Shepherd and the Clown in The Winter’s Tale are accosted by Autolycus on their errand to the king, the following conversation ensues:

Aut.   I command thee to open thy affair.

Shep. My business, sir, is to the king.

Aut.   What advocate hast thou to him?

Shep. I know not, an’t like you.

Clown [aside] Advocate’s the court-word for a pheasant: say you have none—

Shep. None, sir; I have no pheasant, cock nor hen.

Aut.   How blessed are we that are not simple men!
Yet nature might have made me as these are;
Therefore I will not disdain.
[124]

We find the PARTRIDGE referred to twice in the dramas, once as part of the game in a puttock’s nest, in the passage already cited, and the second time in the encounter of wit between Beatrice and Benedick at the masked ball when she, pretending not to recognise him, heaps all manner of ridicule upon him, ending with the taunt that if he should hear what she has been saying about him,

He’ll but break a comparison or two on me; which peradventure not marked or not laughed at, strikes him into melancholy; and there’s a partridge wing saved, for the fool will eat no supper that night.[125]

The SNIPE is only once mentioned and the name is used as a contemptuous epithet. Iago, as he soliloquises after an interview with the “gulled gentleman” Rodrigo, affirms

I mine own gain’d knowledge should profane
If I would time expend with such a snipe,
But for my sport and profit.[126]
The Quail and Lapwing

The QUAIL is likewise referred to in two of the Plays dealing with Greek and Roman history. Antony, comparing his chances in life with Octavius Caesar’s, confesses to himself

The very dice obey him: if we draw lots he speeds;
His cocks do win the battle still of mine;
His quails ever beat mine, inhoop’d, at odds.[127]

Thersites speaks thus slightingly of a great warrior:

Here’s Agamemnon, an honest fellow enough, and one that loves quails; but he has not so much brain as ear-wax.[128]

In both these quotations the reference seems to be to a practice of training quails to fight after the manner of cock-fighting.

The allusions to the LAPWING indicate that the dramatist was acquainted with some of the characteristics of the bird. The tactics of the male bird to entice a passer-by away from his nest are expressed in the line

Far from her nest the lapwing cries away.[129]

When the plot is laid to get Beatrice to accept Benedick as her lover, and the plotters see her “couched in the woodbine coverture,” Hero urges:

Now begin;
For look where Beatrice, like a lapwing, runs
Close by the ground, to hear our conference.[130]

Lucio, the Euphuist, in Measure for Measure, confesses

’Tis my familiar sin,
With maids to seem the lapwing, and to jest,
Tongue far from heart.[131]

The WILD DUCK or MALLARD is taken by Shakespeare as a symbol of cowardice and uxoriousness. Falstaff, after robbing the travellers on the highway, without the help of the two chief members of the gang, declares,

An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there’s no equity stirring: there’s no more valour in that Poins than in a wild duck.[132]

In the description of the flight of Cleopatra from the battle of Actium, the conduct of her Roman lover is thus given:

The noble ruin of her magic, Antony,
Claps on his sea-wing, and like a doting mallard,
Leaving the fight in height, flies after her.[133]

The Dabchick and Raven

The DABCHICK, DIVE-DAPPER or LITTLE GREBE is portrayed in a dainty little vignette in the Venus and Adonis, which brings the bird before our eyes, as it may be seen on many a stream or lake in this country and even on artificial waters, such as those of St. James’s Park. The passage represents Venus vowing to her unresponsive mortal “by her fair immortal hand”:

Upon this promise did he raise his chin
Like a dive-dapper peering through a wave
Who, being look’d on, ducks as quickly in.[134]

The birds of the CROW family are well represented in Shakespeare’s works. Chief among them comes the RAVEN, to which frequent and effective allusion is made. The remarkably dark hue of the bird, including even his bill and his feet, has made his name proverbial as a type of the deepest blackness in Nature. In one of the Sonnets it is said that

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not beauty’s name;
But now is black beauty’s successive heir:
*   *   *   *   *   *   *
Therefore my mistress’ eyes are raven black.[135]

With pardonable exaggeration, Juliet, as she stood alone in the orchard awaiting her lover, gave vent thus to her longing:

Come, night; come, Romeo; come, thou day in night;
For thou wilt lie upon the wings of night
Whiter than new snow on a raven’s back.[136]

The blackness of this bird in contrast to the pure whiteness of a dove, supplies an image to Lysander, mistakenly bewitched by the mischievous Puck:

Not Hermia but Helena I love:
Who will not change a raven for a dove?[137]
The Raven

The Raven has long had the evil reputation of not only killing the smaller wild animals but, in common with the crows and kites, of watching for and attacking those of larger size that look enfeebled by disease or accident. Thus we read that

Vast confusion waits,
As doth a raven on a sick-fallen beast,
The imminent decay of wrested pomp.[138]

With less justice, the bird has also been credited with savageness of disposition—a character which Shakespeare has sometimes attributed to persons who may outwardly seem to be gentle and kindly. These are said to have “a raven’s heart within a dove.”[139] Juliet expands the simile—

Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather’d raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem’st.[140]

Yet there was a belief that the Raven can show a wholly different nature:

Some say that ravens foster forlorn children,
The whilst their own birds famish in their nests.[141]

The Raven comes into one of the Scriptural allusions in the Plays where the faithful old Adam, pressing upon Orlando the thrifty savings of his lifetime, consoles himself with the prayer

He that doth the ravens feed,
Yea, providently caters for the sparrow,
Be comfort to my age![142]

But the most frequent reference made by Shakespeare to this bird has regard to its supposed boding power. It is called the “fatal raven.” A messenger of ill news is said to “sing a raven’s note.” When Othello has the first suspicions craftily suggested to him by Iago, he exclaims

O, it comes o’er my memory,
As doth the raven o’er the infected house,
Boding to all.[143]

Again, when the king is approaching the Castle at Inverness, we hear from Lady Macbeth the ominous words:

The raven himself is hoarse
That croaks the fatal entrance of Duncan
Under my battlements.[144]

The Mallard

The Mallard

The Crows

Under the general name of CROWS Shakespeare seems to group the Carrion Crow, the Hooded Crow and the Rook, though the last-named is plainly distinguished in the description of evening when Macbeth tells his wife

Light thickens, and the crow

Like the Raven, the Crows are often contrasted with something pure and white. Thus, in a striking simile, we learn that

The ornament of beauty is suspect,
A crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air.[146]

The simile is sometimes reversed, as where Romeo, on seeing Juliet for the first time, exclaims:

Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.[147]

Although it is usually with the dove that the contrast is drawn, another bird is sometimes chosen:

The crow may bathe his coal-black wings in mire,
And unperceiv’d fly with the filth away;
But if the like the snow-white swan desire,
The stain upon his silver down will stay.[148]

Again, when Benvolio presses Romeo to come with him to Capulet’s feast, where he will see his Rosaline among the admired beauties of Verona, he challenges him, “with unattainted eye,” to

Compare her face with some that I shall show
And I will make thee think thy swan a crow.[149]

The Ravenn

The Raven

The Chough

In Shakespeare’s day the CHOUGH must have been a much commoner bird in our islands than it is now. At present it is not known to breed on the south coast of England further east than the cliffs of Dorset. Three hundred years ago, however, it seems to have been abundant about the chalk headlands of Kent. That it was a familiar English bird may be inferred from various passages in our poet’s writings. The most striking scene depicted by him, wherein this bird plays a conspicuous part, is his picture of Dover cliffs, drawn so vividly, as from an actual visit to the place:

How fearful
And dizzy ’tis to east one’s eyes so low!
The crows and choughs that wing the midway air
Show scarce so gross as beetles: half way down
Hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head:
The fishermen that walk upon the beach
Appear like mice; and yond tall anchoring bark
Diminish’d to her cock; her cock, a buoy
Almost too small for sight: the murmuring surge,
That on the unnumber’d idle pebbles chafes,

It is interesting to notice that while birds are here taken as a help to the eye in estimating the height of the precipice as seen from the summit, a bird is again used as a guide to gauge the height as seen from below:

Look up a-height; the shrill-gorged lark so far
Cannot be seen or heard.[151]

The habits of the chough were not unknown to the poet, since he chose the bird as a symbol for a certain courtier of whom it was said that “it was a vice to know him”:

’Tis a chough, but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt.[152]

The chough’s continuous and unmusical chatter is more than once contemptuously invoked to describe the talk of some men. When Antonio in The Tempest tempts Sebastian to assassinate the honest old Counsellor Gonzalo, he speaks of

Lords that can prate
As amply and unnecessarily
As this Gonzalo; I myself could make
A chough of as deep chat.[153]

In a passage in All’s Well that Ends Well where the ambush party are concocting some sort of gibberish to deceive the vainglorious Parolles, they agree to talk “Choughs’ language, gabble enough and good enough.”[154] When Puck recounts to Oberon what happened to the rustics when Bottom reappeared among them wearing the ass’s head, he gives an excellent description of the effect of the discharge of a fowling-piece at a bird-haunted cliff:

When they him spy,
As russet-pated choughs, many in sort,
Rising and cawing at the gun’s report,
Sever themselves and madly sweep the sky:
So, at his sight, away his fellows fly.[155]

The Chough together with the other members of the Crow family was thought to have a supernatural prophetic gift, and a faculty of revealing hidden deeds. Macbeth’s evil conscience was troubled with the thought that

Stones have been known to move and trees to speak;
Augures and understood relations have
By maggot-pies and choughs and rooks brought forth
The secret’st man of blood.[156]

The Chough

The Chough

The STARLING is mentioned only once by Shakespeare, in a passage which shows that in his time this bird, which has so remarkable a power of imitation, was taught to say some words. The fiery Hotspur declares that although the King had forbidden him to speak of Mortimer he would find his Majesty

When he lies asleep,
And in his ear I’ll holla ‘Mortimer!’
Nay,
I’ll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but ‘Mortimer,’ and give it him,
The Jackdaw and Magpie

The JACKDAW appears occasionally in the dramas as obviously a familiar bird, but no outstanding characters are assigned to it, except that it was common and looked upon as somewhat stupid. Reference has already been made to the comparison of the lower orders of society to “crows and daws.” When, in the Temple Garden, the Earl of Warwick was asked to decide a legal point between the supporters of the White Rose and those of the Red Rose, he replied, that if the question had been one of hawks, sword-blades, horses or merry-eyed girls,

I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement;
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.[158]

The MAGPIE or Maggot-pie has already been alluded to. Macbeth associates it with choughs and rocks as a prophet or discoverer of evil. It is named by King Henry VI. among the boding portents that attended the birth of his murderer Gloucester:

Dogs howl’d, and hideous tempest shook down trees;
The raven rook’d her on the chimney’s top,
And chattering pies in dismal discords sung.[159]

The JAY is referred to five times by Shakespeare. In the enchanted isle Caliban offers to guide the drunken Trinculo and Sebastian to some of the dainties of the place:

I with my long nails will dig thee pig-nuts:
Show thee a jay’s nest, and instruct thee how
To snare the nimble marmoset.[160]

The Starling

The Starling

The name of the bird is used as an uncomplimentary epithet for some women, as where Mrs. Ford, in reference to Falstaff’s addresses, declares “we’ll teach him to know turtles from jays,”[161] and where Imogen affirmed, “Some jay of Italy hath betrayed him.”[162] But perhaps the most interesting appearance of the bird in the Plays occurs in the scene of the Taming of the Shrew, where after the tailor has been sent about his business, taking with him the cap and gown which had been ordered for Katharine, and with which she was well pleased, her husband addresses her thus:

Well, come, my Kate; we will unto your father’s
Even in these honest mean habiliments:
Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor;
For ’tis the mind that makes the body rich;
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds,
So honour peereth in the meanest habit.
What is the jay more precious than the lark
Because his feathers are more beautiful?
Or is the adder better than the eel,
Because his painted skin contents the eye?[163]
Birds of the Farm-yard

The various Birds of the Farm-yard have received due attention from the great dramatist. Chief among them, the cock is frequently cited, especially as a recognised chronometer of the morning hours, for in Elizabethan days this mode of indicating time had not gone out of popular use. We all remember the unhappy experience of the carrier in the inn at Rochester “since the first cock.”[164] We also recall how Capulet, bustling among his household, gave them a three-fold indication of the time:

Come, stir, stir, stir! the second cock hath crow’d,
The curfew-bell hath rung, ’tis three o’clock.[165]

Shakespeare brings the cock’s shrill clarion even into his fairyland, for Ariel’s song breaks off at this signal:

Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow.[166]

But the most detailed and impressive reference to this familiar bird occurs in the memorable scene on the platform before the Castle of Elsinore. The ghost had just appeared to Hamlet’s friends and

The Cock and Goose
Was about to speak when the cock crew.
And then it started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons. I have heard,
The cock, that is the trumpet to the morn,
Doth with his lofty and shrill-sounding throat
Awake the god of day, and at his warning,
Whether in sea or fire, in earth or air,
The extravagant and erring spirit hies
To his confine: and of the truth herein
This present object made probation:
It faded on the crowing of the cock.
Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,
The bird of dawning singeth all night long:
And then, they say, no spirit dare stir abroad,
The nights are wholesome, then no planets strike,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm;
So hallowed and so gracious is the time.[167]

The GOOSE, so frequently alluded to in the Plays, usually appears there as the recognised symbol of human stupidity and cowardice. How far this character, if really deserved by the bird, is the result of domestication and association with man for many centuries, is a question for ornithological psychologists. There can be no doubt that the wild-goose does not deserve the reputation attributed to his degenerate kinsman in the farm-yard. Shakespeare was aware how active and vigilant that bird was among the fens which it haunted. He refers to the sudden uprise and flight of

The wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,[168]

and to the autumnal movement of these fowl to the larger waters, a fact known even to Lear’s fool, who remarks:

The winter’s not gone yet if the wild geese fly that way.[169]

The rapidity with which these birds disappear when they take wing was likewise familiar knowledge. The melancholy Jaques claims that if a man whom he censures does not deserve reproof,

Why then my taxing, like a wild goose, flies,
Unclaim’d of any man.[170]

The difficulty of circumventing the bird is conveyed in the proverbial expression “a wild-goose chase,” which was well known in the time of Elizabeth. Mercutio retorts to Romeo:

Nay, if thy wits run the wild-goose chase, I have done; for thou hast more of the wild-goose in one of thy wits than, I am sure, I have in my whole five.[171]