Categories
English English language Etymology Expression Grammar Language Usage Word origin Writing

On fawning and fawns

Q: My daughter and I were watching a DVD of the 1942 Disney film Bambi when I thought of this question: Is the verb “fawn” (to show affection or flatter) related to the noun “fawn” (a young deer)?

A: No, the words aren’t related. The verb comes from the Old English fægnian or fægenian (to rejoice or applaud) while the noun comes from the Old French faon or feon (a young animal).

In Old English, fægnian meant “to be delighted or glad, rejoice,” according to the Oxford English Dictionary. In Middle English, the verb (spelled fayne, faine, fawn, etc.) took on its affectionate and flattering senses.

The earliest OED citation for the verb, which we’ve expanded here, is from an Old English translation of  De Consolatione Philosophiae, a sixth-century Latin treatise by the Roman philosopher Boethius:

“Ne sceal he na be hræ þor to ungemetlice fægnian ðæs folces worda” (“He must not fawn [rejoice] too immoderately at the people’s words”).

When the affectionate/flattering sense appeared in Middle English, the OED says, it originally referred to the efforts of an animal, especially a dog, “to show delight or fondness (by wagging the tail, whining, etc.).”

In its first recorded use, the dictionary says, the verb is implied in the gerund (“fawning”). The citation, from the anonymous Ancrene Riwle, or rules for anchoresses, dates from sometime before 1200.

This passage offers advice on how to respond to the “fawning” (uawenunge) of the Devil, who is referred to earlier as “Þene helle dogge” (“the hell hound”):

“Spet him amidde þe bearde to hoker ⁊ to schom, þet flikereð so mit þe, ⁊  fikeð mid dogge uawenunge” (“Spit on him amid the beard to scorn and to shame him, the one who so flatters thee and woos with doglike fawning”).

The first OED citation for the verb used explicitly in the sense of to show affection or flatter is from Piers Plowman (B text, 1377), an allegorical poem by William Langland.

In this passage, which we’ve expanded, wild animals are said to submit before the innocence and righteousness of saints and martyrs:

Ac þere ne was lyoun ne leopart þat on laundes wenten,
Noyther bere, ne bor ne other best wilde,
Þat ne fel to her feet and fauned with þe tailles.

(But there was no lion nor leopard that went on lands,
Neither bear, nor boar, nor other wild beast,
That did not fall at their feet and fawn with their tails.)

By the early 14th century, the verb was also being used in reference to human behavior, a sense the OED defines as “to affect a servile fondness; to court favour or notice by an abject demeanour.”

In this sense, “fawn” or “fawning” is often seen in constructions with “on,” “over,” and “upon.”

In the earliest citation, the dictionary says, the verb is implied. The passage, written around 1325, comes from a homily that warns against the temptations of the world, and refers to “fleishshes faunyng” (“fawning upon the flesh”):

“Fyth of other ne he fleo, that fleishshes faunyng furst foreode” (“He need not flee the assault of any other, who first withstood fawning upon the flesh”). From “Middelerd for Mon Wes Mad” (“Middle Earth for Man Was Made”), in The Harley Lyrics (4th edition, 1968), edited by George Leslie Brook.

The OED’s first explicit citation for human fawning is from a Middle English version of a treatise purportedly written by Aristotle for his pupil Alexander the Great. We’ve expanded it here:

“Smothe afore folk to fawnyn and to shyne, / And shewe two facys in Oon hood” (“Smooth [flattering] before people, to fawn and to shine, / And show two faces under one hood”).

The passage is from John Lydgate and Benedict Burgh’s Secrees of Old Philisoffres: A Version of the Secreta Secretorum (circa 1440), a translation from the Latin. Scholars believe Secreta Secretorum originated in Arabic in the 10th century, long after Aristotle (384–322 BC), and was translated into Latin in the 12th century.

After all the philosophical and theological examples above, we’ll end on a lighter note. In our “fawn” research, we came across this headline from the Aug. 14, 2025, issue of the Lodi News-Sentinel in Lodi, CA:

“Lost and fawned: Abandoned deer rescued by Lodi Animal Services.”

Help support the Grammarphobia Blog with your donation. And check out our books about the English language and more.

Subscribe to the blog by email

Enter your email address to subscribe to the blog by email. If you’re a subscriber and not getting posts, please subscribe again.

Categories
English English language Etymology Expression Language Usage Word origin Writing

‘All Sects, all Ages smack of this vice’

Q: What is the meaning of “smack” in a sentence like “it smacked of bigotry”?

A: When something “smacks of bigotry,” it has a trace or a suggestion of bigotry, a usage that dates back to the earliest days of English.

When the word “smack” was first recorded in Old English (spelled smæc), it was a noun meaning a taste or a flavor. When the verb appeared in Middle English, to “smack” meant to perceive by the sense of taste, but it could also be used figuratively in the sense of to experience or suggest something.

The American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European Roots says the word ultimately comes from the prehistoric Germanic base smak- and the Proto-Indo-European base smeg-, both meaning to taste.

As the Oxford English Dictionary explains, “smack” was originally a noun in Old English meaning “a taste or flavour; the distinctive or peculiar taste of something, or a special flavour distinguishable from this.”

The first OED citation is from a 10th-century glossary of Latin and Old English, where the Latin “Dulcis sapor, i. dulcis odor” (“Sweet taste, i.e, sweet smell”) is rendered in Old English as “swete smæc” (“sweet taste or flavor”). From Anglo-Saxon and Old English Vocabularies (2d ed, 1884), edited by Thomas Wright and Richard Paul Wülcker.

When the verb “smack” entered Middle English in the 14th century, Oxford says, it meant “to perceive by the sense of taste” and figuratively “to experience; to suspect.” In the dictionary’s first citation, which we’ve expanded, it’s used figuratively to mean perceive or experience the sweetness of God:

“And uorzoþe huo þet hedde wel ytasted and ysmacked þe ilke zuetnesse þet god yefþ to his urendes he ssolde onworþi alle þe lostes and alle þe blissen of þise wordle” (“And forsooth whoever has tasted and smacked [experienced] the same sweetness that God gives to his friends, he should scorn all the desires and all the blessings of this world”).

From Ayenbite of Inwyt (“Remorse of Conscience”), a 1340 translation by Michel of Northgate of a French devotional guide, La Somme des Vices et des Vertus (1279), by Laurent du Bois.

In the late 14th century, Oxford says, the verb took on various meanings in reference to food, liquor, and other beverages: “To taste (well or ill); to have a (specified) taste or flavour; to taste or savour of something.” Here’s the earliest citation:

“Som bitter þinges … þat smakkeþ of aloye” (“Some bitter things … that smack [taste] of aloe”). From John Trevisa’s 1398 translation of De Proprietatibus Rerum (“On the Properties of Things”), an encyclopedic Latin work compiled by Bartholomew de Glanville in 1240.

The “taste” sense of “smack,” perhaps influenced by developments in other Germanic languages, may have led to the word’s use for sounds made when noisily eating, kissing, and hitting.

In the mid-16th century, the OED says, the verb “smack” came to mean “to open or separate (the lips) in such a way as to produce a sharp sound; to do this in connection with eating or drinking, esp. as a sign of keen relish or anticipation.”

The first Oxford example is from The Babees Book (1557), by Francis Seager, in a section entitled “How to Behave at One’s Own Dinner”: “Not smackynge thy lyppes, As comonly do hogges.”

The verb soon took on the sense of to kiss noisily: “To Smacke, kisse, suauiare” (from Manipulus Vocabulorum, an English-Latin dictionary compiled in 1570 by the English lexicographer Peter Levens).

In the early 17th century, “smack” took on the sense of “to partake or savour of, to be strongly suggestive or reminiscent of, something,” the OED says.

Here’s an example from Shakespeare’s play Measure for Measure, believed written in 1603 or 1604: “All Sects, all Ages smack [partake] of this vice.” The vice here is sex outside of marriage.

It wasn’t until the 19th century that “smack” came to mean “to strike (a person, part of the body, etc.) with the open hand or with something having a flat surface; to slap,” Oxford says.

The first citation, which we’ve expanded here, is from a sketch by Charles Dickens about a London slum. It appeared first in the weekly Bell’s Life in London and Sporting Chronicle (Sept. 27, 1835), and later in Sketches by Boz (1836), Dickens’s first book:

“Mrs. A. smacks Mrs. B.’s child for ‘making faces.’ Mrs. B. forthwith throws cold water over Mrs. A.’s child for ‘calling names.’ ”

Help support the Grammarphobia Blog with your donation. And check out our books about the English language and more.

Subscribe to the blog by email

Enter your email address to subscribe to the blog by email. If you’re a subscriber and not getting posts, please subscribe again.

Categories
English English language Etymology Expression Language Usage Word origin Writing

‘Allude’ and its playful history

Q: The expression “as I alluded to earlier” has been rife amongst sports broadcasters and now seems to have spread beyond that sphere. Is the use of “allude” for a direct reference another case where popular misuse leads to acceptance?

A: The verb “allude” meant to suggest or hint when it first appeared in Middle English in the late 15th century. In the early 16th century, it took on the senses of to mention indirectly, fancifully, or figuratively. And a few decades later, it came to mean to use wordplay or to pun.

The fanciful, figurative and punning senses, which are now obsolete, reflect the Latin source of the term, alludere, which meant to make a playful comment. As you can see, the verb “allude” has been a work in progress from its earliest days. And it’s not at all surprising that it still is.

Yes, many people are using “allude” these days to mean refer directly, and some usage guides accept that sense of the word. But most standard dictionaries and style manuals still say “allude” means to refer indirectly or casually.

Fowler’s Dictionary of Modern English Usage (4th ed.) and Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage recognize as standard English the use of “allude” to mean refer either directly or indirectly.

Fowler’s, edited by Jeremy Butterfield, says, “It has been claimed by some critics that to allude to someone or something can only properly mean to mention them ‘indirectly or covertly,’ i.e. without mentioning their name, unlike refer, which means to mention them directly, i.e. by name.”

“But in practice,” Fowler’s goes on to say, allude is often used to mean ‘refer,’ e.g. He had star quality, an element often alluded to in Arlene’s circle of show-biz friends—Gore Vidal, 1978 [from the post-apocalyptic novel Kalki].” The usage guide concludes: “This use is well established and perfectly acceptable.”

Merriam-Webster’s challenges the “false assumption” that “the ignorant and uneducated are responsible for the ‘direct’ sense,” and provides examples of its use by “speakers and writers of high cultivation.”

Here’s an early example: “He never alluded so directly to his story again” (from Edward Everett Hale’s short story “The Man Without a Country,” 1863).

The usage guide says the “direct” use of “allude” is “simply a logical extension from the indirect use, and indeed is an inevitable development” because the verb was often used ambiguously by established writers.

It cites a half-dozen examples in which “allude” is used in “contexts in which it is not possible to know for certain whether the word is to be taken in its ‘indirect’ sense or not.”

Here’s one from Edith Wharton’s novel The Age of Innocence (1920): “it was against all the rules of their code that the mother and son should ever allude to what was uppermost in their thoughts.”

However, Merriam-Webster says the direct use of “allude” hasn’t “driven the old subtle sense out of the language.” It cites this example, which we’ve expanded here, from “Why I Write,” an essay by Joan Didion in The New York Times Book Review (Dec. 5, 1976):

“You can disguise its aggressiveness all you want with veils of subordinate clauses and qualifiers and tentative subjunctives, with ellipses and evasions—with the whole manner of intimating rather than claiming, of alluding rather than stating—but there’s no getting around the fact that setting words on paper is the tactic of a secret bully, an invasion, an imposition of the writer’s sensibility on the reader’s most private space.”

As for other views, Garner’s Modern English Usage (4th ed.) says “allude” means “to refer to (something) indirectly or by suggestion only.” It says the verb “is misused for refer when the indirect nature of a comment or suggestion is missing.”

And Pat, in her grammar and usage guide Woe Is I (4th ed.) says: “To allude is to mention indirectly or to hint at—to speak of something in a covert or roundabout way. Cyril suspected that the discussion of bad taste alluded to his loud pants. To refer to something is to mention directly. ‘They’re plaid!’ said Gussie, referring to Cyril’s trousers.” 

If there’s a 5th edition of Woe, Pat may recommend avoiding “allude” when there’s any  chance of ambiguity. There are many alternatives, including “refer,” “mention,” and “indicate” for the direct sense, and “suggest,” “hint,” and “imply” for the indirect sense.

And if you do use “allude,” make clear whether you mean refer directly or indirectly, as Didion did when she used it indirectly in her essay and Hale did when he used it directly in his short story cited above.

As for the etymology, “allude” is derived from the classical Latin alludere (“to play with, to make a playful or mocking allusion to, to jest”), according to the Oxford English Dictionary. When the verb first appeared in English in the 15th century, it meant “to suggest, hint, hint at.”

The OED’s earliest English citation, which uses “alluding” to mean “suggesting,” is from John Skelton’s late Middle English translation (circa 1487) of the 40-volume Bibliotheca Historica, written by the Greek historian Diodorus Siculus (Diodorus of Sicily) in the first century BC:

“Ne none so covenable a name in theire supposell vnto it can be appropried, as to call it ambrosia … alludyng by that worde enwarde dilectation” (“Nor can any name be more fitting, in their opinion, to call it than ‘ambrosia’ … alluding by that word an inner delight”).

In the early 16th century, the OED says, “allude” took on the sense of “to make an oblique or indirect reference to, to refer indirectly or in passing to.”

The dictionary’s first citation is from a 1531 letter by George Joye, an English Protestant writer living in exile in Antwerp. In the letter, Joye responds to charges of heresy made against him by John Ashwell, the prior of Newnham Abbey in Bedfordshire:

“Christe called his Gospel & holy worde the keye of knowlege or keyes in the plural noumber of the kingdom of heauen alluding vnto the double propertye that one keye hathe both to open and to shutte.”

In that same letter, Oxford says, Joye used “allude” in a sense closer to its Latin source: to “refer (something) fancifully or figuratively to; to compare (something) symbolically.” The dictionary’s first citation expands on Joye’s earlier comment about keys:

“The propertye of a keye is to open that which before was shitte thus doth Luce allude & agre his speach with the propertys of a keye” (“The property of a key is to open that which before was shut, thus doth [the Apostle] Luke allude and agree [symbolize and align] his words with the properties of a key”).

In the mid-16th century, the OED says, “allude” came to mean “to make a play on words; to pun.” The first citation is from The Castle of Knowledge (1556), by the mathematician Robert Recorde:

“There canne be no such allusion of woordes in the englyshe … except a man wold rather allude at the woordes, than expresse the sentence.”

As we’ve noted earlier, the figurative and punning senses of “allude” are now obsolete. However, the OED says the early 16th-century meaning “to make an oblique or indirect reference” evolved “(esp. in later use): to refer in any manner”—that is, to refer directly or indirectly.

We’ll end with a few words from Mrs. Wilfer in Our Mutual Friend (1864-65), Charles Dickens’s final completed novel:

“ ‘The mind,’ pursued Mrs Wilfer in an oratorical manner, ‘naturally reverts to Papa and Mamma—I here allude to my parents.’ ”

Help support the Grammarphobia Blog with your donation. And check out our books about the English language and more.

Subscribe to the blog by email

Enter your email address to subscribe to the blog by email. If you’re a subscriber and not getting posts, please subscribe again.

Categories
English English language Etymology Expression Grammar Language Usage Word origin Writing

A pub, yclept Ye Olde Watering Hole

Q: I saw this sentence the other day in Two Faced Murder, a 1946 mystery by Jean Leslie: “The professor is yclept Peter, and I hate to have him called Pete.” What’s with “yclept” here?

A: The word “yclept” is an old adjective that means named, called, or by the name of. So “the professor is yclept Peter” is an old-fashioned way of saying the professor is named Peter.

The Oxford English Dictionary, an etymological reference, labels “yclept” archaic, but several standard dictionaries include  it without a label—that is, as standard English.

Merriam-Webster online, for example, says the adjective may be old, “but it’s still got some presence in the living language.” M-W says “yclept appears (usually in playful contexts) in phrases like ‘We ventured to a pub, yclept Ye Olde Watering Hole.’ ”

The Old English ancestor of “yclept” was geclypod, past participle or participial adjective of the verb clypian, “to cry, call; to call on, appeal to (a person), for or after (a thing),” according to the OED.

Ultimately, these words are derived from kom (beside, near, by, with), a prehistoric base that’s been reconstructed by linguists, according to The American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European Roots.

The earliest OED citation for the verb, which we’ve expanded here, is from a ninth-century Old English gloss, or translation, of the eighth-century Latin in the Vespasian Psalter. In this passage, cleopiu is the first person singular of clypian.

“dryhten gehereð me ðnne ic cleopiu to him” (“the Lord hears me when I call to him”). The Old English gloss was written between the lines of the Latin psalms.

The first Oxford citation for the participial adjective (spelled gicliopad) is from a manuscript, written around 1000, that contains an early Latin-Old English version of the Christian liturgy conducted at the Cathedral Church of Durham. Here we’ll translate both the Latin and the Old English:

Dignus vocari apostolus” (“worthy to be called an apostle”), “wyrðe þætte ic se gicliopad erendwraca” (“may I be worthy to be called a messenger”). From Rituale Ecclesiae Dunelmensis (1840), edited by Joseph Stevenson.

In Old and Middle English, the prefixes “ge-,” “i-,” and “y-” were used to form past participles and participial adjectives. In the example above, “gi-” is apparently a scribe’s variant spelling of “ge-.”

This “i-” example in the OED, which we’ve expanded, is from The Chronicle of Robert of Gloucester, an account of early British history written in Middle English sometime before 1300:

“Al þis was ȝwile icluped þe march of walis” (“All this was once called the March of Wales”). Oxford notes that in other scribal versions of the passage the term was written “ycleped, icleped, clepud, callyde, callyd.”

The dictionary’s earliest “y-” example is from Arthour & Merlin, an anonymous Middle English romance written around 1330: “Her ost was ycleped Blaire” (“Her host was called Blaire”).

The usage was common in Middle English, the dictionary says, but it was considered “a literary archaism” by the early Modern English of Elizabethan times and was “often used for the sake of quaintness or with serio-comic intention.”

The OED cites Love’s Labour’s Lost (1598), where Shakespeare uses “ycliped” comically in a letter from the long-winded Spaniard Don Adriano de Armado to Ferdinand, King of Navarre.

In explaining how he caught the fool Costard consorting with a country girl, Jaquenetta, in the king’s park, supposedly for men only, Armado writes, “Now for the ground Which? which I meane I walkt vpon, it is ycliped Thy Park.”

The word “yclept” in its various spellings was rarely seen in the 16th and 17th centuries, but had a burst of popularity in the 18th and 19th before falling out of favor in the 20th, according to Google’s Ngram Viewer, which tracks words and phrases in digitized books.

Although it’s not common now, “yclept” does appear every once in a while. In the Jean Leslie novel you noticed, Two Faced Murder, Professor Peter Ponsonby and his fiancée, Mara Mallery, are asked to search for a missing faculty wife. Maura uses “yclept” in introducing Peter to another faculty member.

We’ll end with a more recent appearance, one we especially like. Here’s the opening of “My Man Bertie,” a review by Christopher Buckley of Jeeves and the Wedding Bells (2013), by Sebastia Faulks:

“What, ho? A new Jeeves and Wooster novel? Steady on. Your faithful reviewer may not be the brightest bulb in the old marquee, but dash it, isn’t this anno dom 2013, and didn’t ‘the Master’—yclept Pelham Grenville Wodehouse (‘Plum’ to his chums)—shove off across the old Rio Styx back in 1975?”

Help support the Grammarphobia Blog with your donation. And check out our books about the English language and more.

Subscribe to the blog by email

Enter your email address to subscribe to the blog by email. If you’re a subscriber and not getting posts, please subscribe again.