(1)	Oberon.	I know a bank where the wild Thyme blows, Where Oxlips and the nodding Violet grows; Quite over-canopied with luscious Woodbine, With sweet Musk-Roses and with Eglantine.
Midsummer Night's Dream, act ii, sc. 1 (249).
(2)	Arviragus.	Thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale Primrose, nor The azured Harebell, like thy veins, no, nor The leaf of Eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath.
Cymbeline, act iv, sc. 2 (220).

If Shakespeare had only written these two passages they would sufficiently have told of his love for simple flowers. None but a dear lover of such flowers could have written these lines. There can be no doubt that the Eglantine in his time was the Sweet Brier—his notice of the sweet leaf makes this certain. Gerard so calls it, but makes some confusion—which it is not easy to explain—by saying that the flowers are white, whereas the flowers of the true Sweet Brier are pink. In the earlier poets the name seems to have been given to any wild Rose, and Milton certainly did not consider the Eglantine and the Sweet Brier to be identical. He says ("L'Allegro")—

But Milton's knowledge of flowers was very limited. Herrick has some pretty lines on the flower, in which it seems most probable that he was referring to the Sweet Brier—

It was thus the emblem of pleasure mixed with pain—

Spenser, Sonnet xxvi.

And so its names pronounced it to be; it was either the Sweet Brier, or it was Eglantine, the thorny plant (Fr., aiglentier). There was also an older name for the plant, of which I can give no explanation. It was called Bedagar. "Bedagar dicitur gallice aiglentier" (John de Gerlande). "Bedagrage, spina alba, wit-thorn" (Harl. MS., No. 978 in "ReliquiÆ AntiquÆ," i, 36).[84:1] The name still exists, though not in common use; but only as the name of a drug made from "the excrescences on the branches of the Rose, and particularly on those of the wild varieties" (Parsons on the Rose).

It is a native of Britain, but not very common, being chiefly confined to the South of England. I have found it on Maidenhead Thicket. As a garden plant it is desirable for the extremely delicate scent of its leaves, but the flower is not equal to others of the family. There is, however, a double-flowered variety, which is handsome. The fruit of the single flowered tree is large, and of a deep red colour, and is said to be sometimes made into a preserve. In modern times this is seldom done, but it may have been common in Shakespeare's time, for Gerard says quaintly: "The fruit when it is ripe maketh most pleasant meats and banqueting dishes, as tarts and such like, the making whereof I commit to the cunning cooke, and teeth to eat them in the rich man's mouth." And Drayton says—

Nymphal II.

Eglantine has a further interest in being one of the many thorny trees from which the sacred crown of thorns was supposed to be made—"And afterwards he was led into a garden of Cayphas, and there he was crowned with Eglantine" (Sir John Mandeville).

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