that is, unstable and fickle. In a short poem, ascribed to Lydgate, pointing out to children their course of behaviour in company, we are told— Who spekithe to thee in any maner place, Rudely cast not thyn eye adowne, But with a sad cheer look hym in the face.[527] Here of course sobriety of demeanour, rather than sorrowfulness, is intended.[528] That ‘Henry le Wepere’ (A.), and ‘Peter le Walur’ (A.), and ‘William le Blubere’ (A.), however, must have been of rueful countenance we need not doubt. Many changes too have passed over the names as well doubtless as over the lives of another section of our nomenclatural community. Our ‘Cunnings,’ we will hope, dated from the time when he who _kenned_ his work well was so entitled without any suspicion of duplicity.[529] Very likely too our ‘Slys’ (‘John Slye,’ H.), and ‘Sleighs’ (‘Simon le Slegh,’ M.), ‘Slees’ (‘Isabella Slee,’ W.G.), and ‘Slemmans’ and Slymans’ were simply remarkable for being honestly dexterous in their several avocations.[530] The ‘mighty hand and outstretched arm’ of modern psalters was once translated ‘a hand that was slegh.’ But as slyness got by degrees but more and more associated with the juggler’s sleight-of-hand tricks, the word fell into disrepute. Such is the invariable effect of keeping bad company. So late, however, as the seventeenth century, one of our commonwealth poets was not misunderstood when he spoke of one whom— Graver age had made wise and sly.