“It’s important that we study slang because it’s part of the world,” Sheidlower says. For instance, Grose takes a jab at Jesuits with his entry “to box the Jesuit,” which is to masturbate, something that Grose adds, “is much practised by the reverend fathers of that society.” (Some of the words and phrases included live on into the modern vernacular with their centuries-old meaning, such as “to screw” and “to kick the bucket.”)Īnd the “pop culture” references to late 18th century-England, such as specific jabs at societies or people in positions of power or influence, are also revealing. Terms used in various underground criminal enterprises-like “bean feakers,” or bill counterfeiters-intermingle with simple words used among commonfolk like “lobkin,” which is just another word for a house or home. It’s a window into a crossroads of language at the heart of 18th-century Britain. Grose’s dictionary is “one of the more important slang books ever published,” says lexicographer Jesse Sheidlower.īut this isn’t just a collection of fun phraseology, explains Sheidlower.
For instance, “kittle pitchering,” where one frequently interrupts a teller of long stories in an effort to curb their long-windedness and “duke of limbs,” which simply means a tall, awkward, ill-made fellow. There are also numerous entries that link Grose back to his military days, including “camp candlestick,” (a bayonet) and “caterpillar” (a slang for soldier). Among the pages are such listings such as “cheeser,” another word for a fart an “Admiral of the narrow seas,” someone who drunkenly vomits into the lap of the person sitting opposite him and “to dance upon nothing,” meaning “to be hanged.” The entries in Grose’s dictionary run the gamut from words and phrases common to laborers, military personnel, and bar frequenters to cant-the jargony language of criminals. Grose-a poet and a military man-enjoyed the seedier parts of London, the late-night revelry where Johnson’s proper tongue wasn’t exactly adhered to, nor was it even widely understood. “Johnson made a specific effort to keep out this kind of language.”
Today, “it’s one of the more important slang books ever published,” says lexicographer Jesse Sheidlower, an adjunct assistant professor at Columbia University. So well, in fact, that it required a second printing just three years later in 1788, and then another five years after Grose’s death in 1796. There was an audience for these vulgarities: Grose’s dictionary sold quite well following its publication in 1785, according to lexicographer Jesse Sheidlower. It simply referred to the language that commonfolk used in everyday life-yes, including some swear words-as opposed to the proper English that Johnson had pursued.
Today, one sounds a bit haughty in scope and the other sounds a bit more fun, but the word “vulgar” didn’t have the same meaning in Grose’s time that it does now. The only thing differentiating these two is their focus: the English language versus the “vulgar tongue.” Francis Grose, an 18th-century poet and military man, recorded the language of Britain’s commoners. With aged, off-white pages and an unassuming cover, A Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue, written by Francis Grose, looks a lot like another noted 18th-century dictionary-Samuel Johnson’s Dictionary of the English Language. It’s tucked away at the British Library in London, shelved and looking prim and proper in its original 1785 binding.
But you won’t find this dictionary at Spencer’s Gifts. A “dictionary of the vulgar tongue” may sound like some kind of prank gift, something you pick up as a means of upping the ante on your name-calling or adding some spice to your conversations for all occasions.
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