ground. Another form for debemus, we agon, now becomes we achten (we ought), page 167. The old geworht is turned into iwrat (wrought). In page 173, we find hi walkeð eure. This is our modern sense of the old verb wealcan, which before meant nothing but to roll. The old scéadan (separare) now gets the sense of fundere (page 157); the former meaning still lingers in watershed. Stœlwyrð used to mean ‘worth stealing;’ at page 25 it gets its new sense, validus: perhaps it was confounded with staðelferhð, The verb sceáwian loses its old meaning spectare, and gets its new sense monstrare, though we still call spectaculum a show. We know that the word afford has puzzled our antiquarians; we find it employed in these Homilies, page 37: ‘do þine elmesse of þon þet þu maht iforðien.’ Bishop Pecock uses avorthi in this sense three hundred years later. The old geforðian only meant ‘to further or help.’ Here, at least, we need not seek for help from France.[1] The substantive cachepol may be seen, in page 97, applied to St. Matthew's old trade. The verb catch is found for the first time with its Past Participle cauhte; this Mr. Wedgwood derives from the Picard cacher, meaning the same as chasser. There is hardly another instance of an English Verb, coming from the French, not ending with ed in the Past Participle.[2] To put or pult, another dark word, is also met with; there is a Danish putten, but some point us to the French bouter, and to Celtic roots. It was long before put meant ponere as well as trudere.
