Not only do we view these allusions as relics, but we may as justly consider them in the light of literary fossils. The aim and intention of the author have become petrified. It is, in fact, only by the help of study and appreciation that the true shape and proportion of the idea can be adequately revealed. But search beneath the crust of this intellectual spoil-bank, and there will be seen those slight, if somewhat corroded indications which disclose the humour and the temper of a forgotten age. These inconsequent oaths and no less incomprehensible bywords, fit only now-a-days to undetermine critics and to baffle commentary, are really the reflection of a tinsel finery that was no doubt borne aloft and bravely carried in its day. The explanation for this is simple. The player, to be well in with his patrons, had to turn the laugh from side to side, to give a thrust here and a buffet there, just as the mood or the opportunity dictated. It is this easy familiarity with audiences which has filled our play-books with such store of meaningless or half-meaningless expressions. Not that their supposed want of meaning is more than co-extensive with their apparent want of purpose. Once re-animated with a design, and that of ever so trivial a character, and their significance stands out in relief. When, as frequently happens in our reading, we encounter oaths of the pattern which Shakespeare ascribes to the youth of Verona, we may feel sure we have fallen upon some passing home-thrust, some spectral blow, delivered, as it were, among now ghostly antagonists. Thus we find that in the town life of the more favoured days of Charles I. it was a common affectation to use the words "refuse me," much as the Elizabethan dandies made mention of the word "protest." We see this indicated by several examples of contemporary raillery, and particularly in the play of 'Match at Midnight,' in which the lordlings of the time are described as "those wicked elder brothers, that swear, _refuse them!_ and drink nothing but wicked sack." So at other periods we find other combinations doing yeoman service in this particular; as, for instance, in Killigrew's play 'The Parson's Wedding,' where Careless is explaining his plan for attacking the affections of the fair sex--"I am resolved to put on their own silence, answer forsooth, swear nothing but _God's nigs_." Except upon the score of banter at prevailing idiotcies, it would be difficult to account for the luxuriant way in which oaths of this description have been provided.