Idle braynes are the Diuell's playgrounde
I'm overhauling the Wikipedia article on minced oaths, for no better reason than that it needed it and I happened to have Geoffrey Hughes's Swearing: A Social History of Foul Language, Oaths, and Profanity in English on my shelf. (I also rewrote a shockingly bad article on Fakelore, so I've got a whole "things that are ersatz" theme emerging here.) Doing some more research on the subject I came across this brilliant rant from 1550 about how the English just can't seem to "talke wythouten othes plentye": And some sweare [by] his fleshe, his bloude, and hys fote; And some by hys guttes, hys lyfe, and herte rote; Some sweare by Gods nayles, hys herte, and his bodye; Some other woulde seme all sweryng to refrayne, And they invent idle othes, such is theyr idle brayne: By cocke and by pye, and by the goose wyng; By the crosse of the mouse fote, and by saynte Chyckyn. And some sweare by the Diuell, such is theyr blyndeness; Not knowyng that they call these thynges to wytnes, Of their consciences, in that they afirme or denye, So boeth sortes commit Most abominable blasphemie. (Furnivall 133,294) [ETA: switched two lines that I'm convinced the source transposed; it makes much more sense now.]
Ah yes, Saint Chicken. That's the one who miraculously ran around for forty days and nights after his head was cut off and taken to Canterbury, right?
Also, I recently found out that Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog will sell you a shirt that says: Okaye, so sometymes it raineth in March: make notte a chancerye case of the whole mattere.
Hee.
Ah yes, Saint Chicken. That's the one who miraculously ran around for forty days and nights after his head was cut off and taken to Canterbury, right?
Also, I recently found out that Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog will sell you a shirt that says: Okaye, so sometymes it raineth in March: make notte a chancerye case of the whole mattere.
Hee.